Page 169 of Corrupting Camille

He fills the doorway, body tense, muscles coiled tight, every inch of him radiating fury and hunger and something raw and savage enough to destroy me. His dark eyes burn, glinting withshock that swiftly twists into blistering rage, melting into pure, unchecked need. It slices through me, stripping me down to nothing but bone and blood and a heartbeat begging to be claimed again.

His knuckles whiten as his grip tightens brutally on the doorframe, like it’s the only thing keeping him from tearing me apart. His jaw clenches violently, eyes dropping slowly, deliberately, taking in every broken, desperate piece of me: drenched hair tangled against flushed cheeks, mascara smeared down my face like battle scars, lips swollen from biting back sobs. His gaze pauses on my bare finger…my left hand stripped of the lies I wore like armor.

The silence between us stretches, savage and punishing, until my chest feels split wide open beneath the weight of everything I can’t say.

“I left,” I whisper, voice cracking softly, trembling yet utterly sure. “I left everything.”

His eyes narrow dangerously, tension rippling off him, dark and lethal. My name on his lips is a threat, a warning, a promise. “Camille…”

“Kane,” I breathe out, choking on the thousand apologies clawing up my throat, each more brutal than the last. “I’m so…I'm so sorry.”

Rain trails down my face, dripping steadily from my chin, splattering onto the flawless marble between us, staining his pristine space with my chaos, my brokenness, my truth.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but his stare darkens further, raw intensity blazing behind his midnight eyes. Rage tangles with desperate hunger, a savage storm barely restrained beneath that beautiful, brutal surface.

Slowly, trembling, I step closer, closing the torturous inches separating us. Rain slips down my throat, over my collarbone, my dress clinging like a confession to every fragile, vulnerableinch of my skin. His gaze burns over me, silent and ruthless, stripping me bare. I lift my chin higher, baring my throat, surrendering every part of myself that he’s already claimed and ruined, begging him to do it again.

“If you slam this door in my face,” I whisper, voice shredded, dignity abandoned, “I’ll deserve it. But I’m here, Kane. I’m not running anymore.”

My chest heaves violently, lungs desperate for air, but my eyes hold his relentlessly. Every secret, every lie, every truth I’ve hidden crashes down at his feet, a silent, messy offering.

“I’m standing right here,” I tell him, voice splintering, shaking beneath the weight of everything I feel. “If you need me on my knees, I’ll kneel. If you need me broken, I’ll break. If you need me naked, stripped bare, I’ll take my dress off right now. But I’m done running from you, from us, from whatever twisted, brutal, fucked-up thing we’ve become.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, fists white-knuckled against the doorframe, the pulse in his throat racing violently.

“I want this,” I whisper fiercely, agony slicing through every syllable, tears mixing with the rain, blurring everything but him. “I want you. Every ruthless, dangerous, terrifying part of who you are, who we are together. I want all of it, Kane.”

He stays silent, his breathing harsh, eyes burning into me, the storm raging inside him darker and more dangerous than the one soaking my skin.

“Say something,” I beg, desperation clawing its way up my throat, shredding every ounce of pride I’ve ever had. “Anything. Punish me, scream at me, ruin me, but don’t leave me in this fucking silence. Don’t leave me here like this.”

The seconds stretch cruelly, painfully, dragging me to the brink.

“Kane,” I plead, voice breaking, the sound of his name raw and ragged as it rips from my throat. “Please…”

His silence cuts deeper than any blade, and suddenly I’m drowning in the agony of it. I don’t even think, my hands moving on their own, fingers grasping at the thin straps of my dress. I pull them down my shoulders, trembling violently, peeling the fabric from my body, letting it slip over my hips until it pools around my feet in a defeated whisper.

I kick off my shoes next, stepping down until I’m smaller, lower, more vulnerable beneath the ruthless intensity of his stare. I feel exposed, skin prickling with fear and anticipation, stripped raw and desperate in front of him.

Slowly, deliberately, I sink down onto my knees, the cold marble biting cruelly into my skin, bruising me instantly. My head bows submissively, hair falling forward in a tangled curtain, my breathing ragged and shallow, lungs burning with the weight of my humiliation, my surrender.

My trembling hand lifts hesitantly, hovering inches from his thigh. I feel the heat radiating from his body, the barely restrained violence thrumming beneath his skin, but I don’t dare look up.

Then, gently, desperately, I press my palm against him, a silent plea in the simple act of touching him.

“Kane,” I whisper brokenly, voice fractured, tears spilling freely, staining my cheeks, dripping helplessly onto the marble at his feet. “This is all I have left to give you. Take it…take me. Break me. Do whatever the hell you want, just don’t turn me away...please..”

I shudder, sobbing quietly, my pride in tatters, dignity abandoned completely. I kneel in front of him, stripped bare, soul bleeding openly at his feet.

“I’m yours,” I whisper hoarsely, finally lifting my eyes to his, showing him every ugly truth etched across my tear-streaked face. “now…tomorrow…always.”

Kane

Fuck.

She’s on her knees, bare and trembling, palm pressed against my thigh, her skin like fire, branding straight through the fabric of my pants, burning itself into my bones. Camille Sinclair, heiress, princess, goddess…witch…my fucking torment is kneeling, broken, shattered wide open at my feet, begging me with a desperation so raw it shreds something inside my chest.

This girl isn’t just kneeling in front of me. She’s destroying herself. She’s handing me the sharpest blade imaginable and begging me to plunge it into her chest, twist it deeper, bleed her dry, drain every last drop of fight left inside her. I’ve watched her hide, run, pretend, lie so convincingly she almost believed it herself. But now, Camille Sinclair is stripped completely raw, her pride in shreds, dignity bleeding out at my feet, pleading for punishment, forgiveness, redemption. All from me.