Page 132 of Corrupting Camille

“Kane, please,” I gasp, hips grinding against his mouth. “Please don’t stop…fuck…please.”

He groans into me, tongue flicking faster now, rougher, his hands pinning my thighs open until I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe.

And when I come again, hard, it’s with his name on my lips, my body breaking open beneath him, my soul split in two and begging for him to slide into the center.

Chapter Twelve

Camille

My eyes flutter open, dazed, disoriented, and suddenly…fully aware.

The ache hits first…deep, delicious, raw. The kind of soreness that means I was fucked roughly, completely. The sheets are tangled beneath me, silken, slightly damp from sweat and sex. My skin is bare, flushed, and I shift slightly, trying to stretch…

But I can’t.

I tug harder. My wrists are bound tight, stretched above my head, pinned securely to the bed frame. My ankles are spread wide, tied to either side, exposing me obscenely. My muscles protest the sudden awareness of being so thoroughly restrained, the burn in my thighs sharp and undeniable.

It’s not rope or scarves or something innocent.

It’s leather.

Foreign. Thick. Unyielding.

Kane’s belts.

My heart hammers violently, panic spiking through my bloodstream, mixing cruelly with the unmistakable heat already pooling low in my belly. My breath catches, shallow and trembling.

A noise from across the room, the soft scrape of wood on polished marble, and my head snaps toward the sound.

Kane sits in an armchair beside the bed, relaxed, watching me like my owner. Like he was just waiting for me to wake up so he could resume playing with his favorite toy. He’s shirtless, those powerful muscles on shameless display, his loose gray sweats hanging low enough that the dark ink along his hip bones is visible, teasing the path downward.

He’s holding a cup of coffee, sipping it leisurely as his dark eyes travel down my body, slow, appraising, utterly possessive. My nipples pebble into hard points under the intensity of his gaze, my skin flushing even hotter, shameful arousal making my thighs quiver.

“Good morning, Camille,” he says, voice rough, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. “You sleep well?”

I tug again at my restraints, frustration flaring. “What the hell is this, Kane?”

He sets the cup down on a small side table, rising easily from his chair, movements slow and predatory. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between my widely spread thighs, staring down at me like I’m his breakfast. His palms slide slowly up my bare thighs, fingertips teasing, barely touching, sending sparks of electricity through my trembling muscles.

“This,” he murmurs calmly, dragging his thumb along my inner thigh, deliberately close to my swollen, aching pussy, He tilts his head slightly, eyes glittering with a dark, amused hunger as he leans over me, his thumb tracing lazy circles dangerously close to where I’m already slick and aching. “This is my entertainment.

“And yours, of course,” he adds smoothly, voice dripping with cruel charm, lips curling into a wicked smirk. “I’m generous like that.” My breath hitches sharply. My heart pounds violently in my chest, heat blooming through every nerve ending, every vein, every hidden, shameful part of me.

“Kane, let me go…”

“No,” he says simply, leaning over me, bracing himself on one powerful arm. His scent, dark spice, clean soap, lingering sex, floods my senses, making me dizzy. “I don’t think I will.”

He reaches over, grabbing his phone from the bedside table, thumb swiping slowly across the screen. My heart slams into my ribs as he opens the camera app, casually angling it downward, letting me see exactly what he sees: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, bare skin slick and glistening, thighs spread wide and trembling helplessly.

“Kane, don’t…”

“You’re not in charge, Muñequita.” He hits record, the red light blinking mockingly as my humiliation burns hotter, mingling darkly with aching need. “Look at yourself,” he murmurs cruelly, tipping the phone so I can’t avoid it…my soaked pussy on full, obscene display.

“You’re soaked, Camille,” he taunts quietly, thumb pressing deliberately onto my swollen clit, making me buck helplessly against the restraints “Bound to my bed, spread open, dripping like the absolute fucking nympho you are. Tell me why.” His free hand dips lower, dragging slowly, torturously, through my slick folds, deliberately circling every sensitive nerve as he captures each trembling breath, each broken gasp.

“…Kane…” It’s not a sound I was aware I could make.

“Tell me why,” he insists again, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “Say it loud and clear for the camera.”