Page 188 of Corrupting Camille
My pulse pounds violently in my chest, every instinct primal, every thought feral.
“Fuck,” I breathe roughly, reverent and ruined. “The things I’m going to do to you.”
I part her slowly, deliberately, baring the most hidden, vulnerable part of her to the low golden light and the rumble ofmy breath. My chest tightens at the sight, at the fact that she’s letting me see her like this. Open. Exposed. Trusting.
I lower my mouth.
The first stroke of my tongue is slow. Deep. Designed to make her fall apart.
She gasps, the sound sharp and breathless. Her hands grip the hood of the car tighter, knuckles whitening, head bowing as a shiver rolls through her. I do it again, then again, until she’s moaning, raw and broken, her thighs trembling around my shoulders. I taste her like a man starving, every flick and drag of my tongue possessive, hungry, unrelenting.
Her body clenches. Her hips buck. She gasps my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
When I finally rise, her legs are shaking, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. I press my chest to her back, my hand sliding up her torso to cradle her throat gently not to restrain, just to ground her.
She expects me to take her one way. But I shift slightly. Nudge lower.
And still.
Her breath catches.
I wait.
Her silence is everything. Not hesitant. Not afraid. Just... aware.
Then, slowly, her hips shift backward…offering.
“Yes?” I whisper against her ear, voice strained, barely controlled.
She nods. Just once. A tiny movement. But it speaks volumes.
“I want all of you,” she says, breathless.
I groan, the sound guttural, reverent, wrecked. One hand guides me. The other anchors her. I press forward, inch by inch, easing into tight, uncharted heat that squeezes around me like avice. The resistance is real, body and mind, but she doesn’t pull away.
She gasps. Her spine arches. Her lips part in a cry, but she doesn’t say stop.
I freeze, buried only partway inside her, every muscle in my body clenched tight. “You’re okay,” I whisper against her shoulder, kissing it softly. “Breathe for me, muñequita.”
She nods again, shakily, fingers fisting on the cool metal.
I move deeper. Agonizingly slow.
She exhales on a sob, her body adjusting, stretching, accepting me. I wait for the tremble in her legs to steady, then begin to move, slow, shallow thrusts that let her feel every inch, every stretch, every burn.
“You’re doing so fucking good,” I murmur, voice hoarse, barely there. “So perfect. So tight.”
Camille
I don’t know how long I stay like this.
Bent over the hood of a million-dollar car, skin slick with sweat and steam, my body still shaking from the way he just consumed me. My cheek is pressed to the cool gloss of the Bugatti. My knees weak. My breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.
I’ve never…
No one’s ever…
He didn’t just eat me…there, he worshipped me.
