Page 176 of Corrupting Camille

The cabin lights dim, leaving us wrapped in shadows, the hum of the engines blending with the tension lingering thick and unspoken between us. Kane’s hand hasn’t moved from my thigh in over an hour, but his touch grows more dangerous, more deliberate, fingertips dipping lower beneath the shirt’s edge with each passing minute.

Testing. Teasing. Torturing.

I shift restlessly, stretching my legs across his lap, my voice dropping low, edged with teasing accusation. “You’re not playing fair.”

His gaze slides up, dark lashes hooded, unhurried as his palm drags upward, slow enough to ignite sparks along every inch of skin he touches. He knows exactly what he's doing, tracing paths he's already mapped, territory he already owns. My nerves hum, drawn taut, desperate for more.

“I never said I would.”

The words slip from his lips effortlessly, quiet and dangerous. My breath catches sharply, my hips lifting instinctively toward his touch, chasing relief he deliberately withholds. His fingertips pause right there, at the trembling brink between torment and relief.

“If I didn’t know any better,” I whisper, my pulse a wild rhythm beneath my skin, “I’d swear you were addicted to sex.”

A slow, predatory smirk curls his lips as he leans closer, breath warm against my ear. His voice drops even deeper, a husky rasp that sinks right through my chest, pulling at something primal and reckless within me.

“No, hermosa,” he murmurs, rough and possessive. “I’m addicted to you.”

His lips graze my jaw, sending a shiver racing down my spine. I freeze, pinned beneath the ruthless intimacy of his words, caught up in utter surrender.

“I’m addicted to your mind, the ruthless way you think, how you dissect every conversation like you're playing chess with the devil himself. I’m addicted to how deeply you feel things, even when it leaves you shattered and raw.”

His thumb begins to circle slowly, purposefully, against the delicate ache at the center of my need, drawing a low, helpless sound from my throat.

“I’m addicted to the way your breath hitches when I bury myself inside you,” he growls, his voice breaking with barely restrained hunger. “To that single moment when your pride finally crumbles, and you admit to yourself, and to me, just how desperately you want this. How badly you need me.”

His thumb presses harder, and my thighs quiver, my entire body pulled tight with brutal anticipation.

“I could fuck you until time folds in on itself and still wake up starving, Camille, because your taste has embedded itself into my very bones. Every strand of my DNA is marked by you.”

His mouth drifts lower, teeth grazing my throat, hot breath branding my skin.

“And if that makes me an addict,” he whispers, dark and relentless, his smirk deepening into something savage against my pulse, “then you’re my overdose, princesa. And I’ll keep chasing the high until you fucking kill me.”

A breath passes between us. Heavy. Final.

“Now,” he adds, gaze flicking down to my thighs, voice warming with something darker, “You, nearly naked on my jet gets you fucked.”

“I was hoping for a nap.”

His mouth curves darkly, wickedly. “Nap later, you get fucked now.”

He presses two fingers between my thighs, just enough friction to tear a gasp from my throat.

“You’re already wet,” he murmurs, voice low, taunting. “Look at that…I did this.”

I shoot him a heated glare, cheeks flaming. “You’re insufferable.”

He drags his fingertips back and forth slowly, deliberately, making my hips twitch helplessly beneath his touch. My breathing grows uneven, pulse hammering louder with every stroke.

“Kane…” My gaze flickers nervously toward the cockpit. “What if Joaquin…”

“He’s busy flying,” Kane interrupts, leaning forward until his lips brush against the pulse point in my throat. His teeth graze gently, sending sparks racing down my spine. “And even if we crash, Camille, I swear you’ll come before we hit the ground.”

A strangled laugh, half-gasp, half-moan, escapes me. “Cocky.”

His eyes burn into mine, dark and devastating. “But I always deliver.”

Without another word, he lifts me effortlessly, pulling me onto his lap. His grip is unyielding, possessive, anchoring me to the heat and hardness of him pressing urgently between my legs.