Page 146 of Corrupting Camille

My fingertips trace downward, over the taut ridges of his stomach, muscles that flex slightly beneath my gentle touch. His body is pure power and ruthless strength, every inch sculpted by discipline and violence. But beneath my lips, right now, he feels like velvet and warmth. Like quiet reverence in the shadows.

I follow the trail of soft hair below his navel, and his hips shift subtly beneath my exploring touch. My heart beats harder, anticipation and heat unfurling low and liquid between my thighs. Desire coils tighter, hungrier, as my fingers slip lower still, brushing the sensitive skin just above where he’s already thickening for me.

My mouth follows slowly, breath warm against his flesh. A low, soft sound escapes him, almost a growl, when my lips press gently against his hipbone. His fingers tighten slightly in the sheets, knuckles going white with restraint. He’s awake now, fully, achingly awake, but he lets me set the pace, silently surrendering control to me, just this once.

“Camille,” he murmurs, voice dark and rough, barely audible in the heavy silence of the room.

“Let me,” I whisper softly, my breath grazing his skin. “I want to taste you.”

He doesn’t answer with words, just exhales sharply, and the muscles in his abdomen tighten in anticipation. His hand slides gently into my hair, not pushing or guiding, just anchoring.

My fingertips curl around him, slowly, reverently, learning the heavy weight of his cock, feeling the thick length pulse and swell beneath my touch. A low groan escapes him, soft, strained, and desperately restrained.

I lift my gaze to his face, finding his eyes hooded and blazing in the dim light, watching me intently. His jaw is tight, breath hitching in quiet surrender.

I don’t look away.

Slowly, deliberately, I lower my head, brushing my lips against the sensitive tip of his cock. The taste of him, salty and masculine, floods my senses, sending heat spiraling low in my belly. My tongue flicks out, softly teasing, savoring the way his breath hitches again, ragged and urgent.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, voice tight, raw. His hips shift instinctively, but still he holds back, waiting for me to choose.

I take him deeper.

Slowly, achingly slow, my mouth slides down over him, tongue tracing the thick, rigid length of him, tasting every inch, claiming every shuddering breath that escapes him.

My pulse pounds, body humming with power, heat, and the intoxicating thrill of finally having control over a man who controls everything else.

I begin to move, gentle, rhythmic strokes, taking him deeper each time, my mouth warm and wet and perfectly fitted around him. His hips begin to rock gently into my mouth, his fingers tightening carefully in my hair, guiding without force.

I feel every tremble, every barely restrained growl vibrating through him, and it ignites something fierce and primal within me.

“Camille,” he groans again, louder, rawer, filled with a deeper vulnerability he never shows.

I look up at him again, his eyes locked on mine, dark, intense, and stripped bare in the most beautiful, dangerous way. I hold his gaze, lips sliding deliberately along his length, drawing a strangled, desperate sound from deep in his chest.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers roughly, thumb stroking my cheek with aching reverence. “Fucking perfection.”

And in this moment, he’s mine.

His words,fucking perfection, settle in my chest like a brand.

I keep my rhythm steady, slow, letting my tongue trace the underside of his cock on every pass, letting him feel the softness, the devotion, the absolute hunger blooming in my mouth. His hand stays in my hair, not controlling, just there, tethering.

He groans again, a raw, broken sound, hips rising involuntarily beneath me, chasing the ruthless, relentless rhythm of my mouth.

“Camille…fuck,” he rasps, voice wrecked, shattered, every careful layer stripped away by my tongue and lips. His grip in my hair tightens without restraint, trying to anchor himself, to hold onto a shred of control, but I don’t let him have it. Not this time.

I move faster, deeper, tears slipping down my cheeks, heat pooling violently between my thighs as I feel him pulse harder against my tongue. His abs ripple beneath my fingertips, body tensing, muscles flexing, teetering right on the edge.

“Camille,” he growls, almost a plea now, the sound so raw, so human, it sends another wave of slick heat flooding through me.

“Knees up here,” he grits out, his voice rough, urgent.

I blink up at him, swallowing slowly as I release him from my mouth with a soft pop. “What?”

“Get up here.” His voice is a command now, deeper, guttural. “Now.”

I crawl up his body slowly, purposefully, straddling his hips, and the second I settle over him, his hands grab my thighs, holding me down. He’s still so hard, still slick and glistening from my mouth, resting heavy between us.