Page 170 of Corrupting Camille

I want to hurt her, worship her, break her, protect her. I want every fractured, damaged, beautiful piece of this mess we’ve made together.

My jaw clenches hard enough to fracture, knuckles white as I grip the doorframe, forcing myself to stay still, silent, immovable.

Camille Sinclair belongs to me. Her pain is mine to soothe, mine to inflict. Her tears, mine to drink or wipe away. Every broken piece scattered at my feet, mine to gather, to keep, to possess.

And then…“I’m yours,” “now…tomorrow…always.”

The last thread of my restraint snaps.

My fist tangles in her hair, brutal, merciless, yanking her head back so sharply a fractured sob rips from her throat. Camille’s eyes fly wide, desperate and shattered, and she stares up at me with pure, surrender etched in every line of her face.

I haul her up, slamming her body against mine with violence, ownership, fucking hunger. Her mouth opens on another sob, and I capture it, crush it, devour it. My kiss is ruthless, savage, stripping every last broken piece of her soul and swallowing it whole. Her tears, her apologies, her shattered submission, I claim them all, tasting desperation, salt, and burning truth on my tongue.

She clings to me instantly, legs locking around my waist, thighs trembling as she anchors herself to my body, her bare skin hot, frantic, desperate. Her nails sink into my shoulders, digging hard enough to hurt. I welcome the sting, needing the pain to ground me, to keep me from completely destroying her right here, right fucking now.

My fingers dig into her thighs hard enough to bruise, the muscles flexing beneath my grip, trembling with the effort to hold me. Her heels bite into my back like punishment, like desperation, as if she’s terrified I’ll vanish if she lets go.

Not fucking happening.

I kick the door shut violently behind me, letting the crash echo through every dark corner of the penthouse. Let the world hear. Let them know who she belongs to.

Her breath hitches sharply against my mouth as I drag my lips down her jaw, finding the vulnerable hollow of her throat. My teeth sink in without mercy, biting hard, deep, marking her exactly where she’s softest, where she’ll bruise deepest.

She screams, not fake, not staged, real, raw, honest pain, and it fucking brands me.

I savor the taste of her skin, blood, metallic and hot, tongue stroking over the imprint my teeth left behind. She jerks against me, hips rolling desperately, needing friction, needing me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging hard, begging me with breathless, broken little moans.

“You’re fucking ruin me,” I snarl, teeth scraping roughly up her throat, pressing bruises into delicate skin. “Every goddamn time, Camille. Every fucking time.”

She shudders violently, gasping against my ear, hips grinding urgently, shamelessly, begging for more. But I’m already beyond control, beyond mercy, drowning in the addictive chaos of Camille Sinclair.

I drag my tongue back over the bite mark, sealing it, branding her, staking my claim in a way no one else will ever see but both of us will always feel. She’s marked, mine. Now. Forever.

“Mine,” I whisper darkly, the word harsh, violent, final. A promise and a threat. “Every breath, every heartbeat, every fucking inch of you, Camille. Mine to worship. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep.”

She clings tighter, shaking, nails clawing desperately at my back, holding on as I carry her deeper into the darkness of the penthouse. She buries her face into my neck, skin hot and damp against mine.

I toss her onto the bed without gentleness, watching her land breathless and stunned, hair wild, eyes wide. But there’s no escape, no retreat because I’m already on the bed, crawling after her like a predator, stalking forward, shedding my soaked shirt along the way.

Her eyes track me hungrily, lips parted, heaving as she tries to scramble backward, instinct kicking in, fighting even as her body begs me closer. She knows…knows this time is different.

This time there’s no running.

No mercy.

No stopping.

Because tonight, Camille Sinclair isn’t just submitting to me. Tonight, I’m finally unleashing everything I’ve held back, everything I’ve hidden, every savage, brutal part of myself she ever begged for.

I grab her ankles and drag her down the bed in one rough, unforgiving pull, flipping her onto her stomach. Her breath punches out in a gasp, but I’m already tearing into her, ripping the lacy panties down her thighs, yanking the matching bra off with one brutal motion until nothing’s left between her and me.

Just skin.

My skin.

She shudders beneath me, bare and trembling, but I don’t give her time to think. I lean over her, mouth grazing her ear, my cock grinding against the curve of her ass, hard, leaking, pulsing with need so vicious it borders on pain.

Already hers. Always fucking hers.