Page 60 of Corrupting Camille
She turns away, just a fraction, and it’s all the permission I need. My hand wraps around her throat, fingers firm, a warning, not pain, just enough pressure to make her remember exactly who she’s dealing with.
And then my mouth is on hers.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
Possessive. Brutal. Devouring.
All teeth, tongue, heat, and ruthless fucking hunger.
She gasps sharply, and I swallow the sound, groaning as her fists knot into my shirt, dragging me closer instead of shoving me away. Her body betrays her, arching into mine, melting, desperate. Every cell screaming her surrender.
Fuck, yes.
I press her back hard into the seat, hand sliding swiftly up her thigh, higher, rough fingers sinking into soft flesh. Her dress is in my way so I shove it out of the way. And fuck if she doesn’t arch deeper into it, a whimper breaking from her lips the moment my fingers skim the edge of lace between her thighs.
A sound that wakes something dark, primal, and hungry in me.
I knew it.
Knew she wanted this. Needed this.
Needed me.
I break our kiss just long enough to murmur roughly against her mouth, “If you want it, princesa, you’re gonna have to ask.”
She shudders as my thumb slips under her panties, brushing slow and deliberate over her clit, just enough to tease, to torture.Her eyes widen, disbelief tangled with hunger, like I’ve already stolen something she didn’t know she’d willingly give.
Her lips part, but I stop. Pull back, leaving her cold, desperate, empty.
“Ask,” I command, voice low, dangerous, lethal.
She hesitates, pride clawing desperately, pulse hammering violently under my fingertips, heartbeat racing like a caged bird.
“Ask me,” I repeat against her lips, slipping my thumb lower again, dipping quickly into the slick heat before pulling away, teasing. Driving her fucking insane.
She arches forward instinctively, eyes wide, mouth soft, frustrated. “Kane…” Her voice breaks, quiet, pleading, barely audible.
Her mouth moves again without sound, then soft and broken. “…please.”
Not enough. Never enough. But I want to hear it. I need her surrender fully spoken, raw and exposed.
“Please what, Muñequita?” I whisper, my voice edged in dark velvet, wrapping her in a challenge she can’t escape. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
She swallows hard, chest rising and falling unevenly, eyes defiant yet glazed with need.
“Please,” she says again, voice fracturing beautifully. “Please touch me…please.”
Fuck, yes.
I close the space between us, crushing my mouth over hers, tasting the honesty behind her whispered plea. Her lips open beneath mine, hungry, desperate, a silent confession as her tongue tangles with mine, needy and reckless.
My hand slips under her skirt, brushing soft silk and warm skin. She gasps against my lips as I ease her panties aside, two fingers sliding through slick, heated flesh, teasing her open, feeling how fucking ready she is.
I push inside her slowly, deliberately deep. Her body shudders around me, tight and molten-hot. I drag my fingers back and thrust deeper again, curling them slightly until she jerks, breath hitching sharply, hips rocking forward to meet my hand.
She starts moving on her own, hips rolling, needy and shameless, riding my fingers in the dim luxury of the backseat. Every slick glide, every deep thrust has her moaning into my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders, silently begging for more.
I break the kiss just long enough to watch her. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, dark eyes wide and glazed as she moves her hips against my hand, taking control, riding my fingers with slow, desperate rhythm. Her breath shakes, hitching as she chases the release, I know she’s been craving ever since she ran out of my penthouse.
