Page 26 of Corrupting Camille

He drags his mouth down, lips brushing my inner thigh. Just enough to make me scream without making a sound.

“Keep squirming and I’ll make you come with my fingers buried in your throat instead,” he rasps against my skin, voice low, dripping with threat.

I go still. So still.

“Good girl,” he croons, lips brushing my soaked panties. “But I want to hear you say it. What do you want, princesa?”

“I want your mouth,” I gasp. “Please. Please eat me. Make me come. I need it…I need you…I need your mouth…your tongue, please…”

“You can do better than that,” he growls, voice thick, rough with warning. “Beg like you fucking mean it.”

“I’m soaked,” I choke out, voice fracturing, shattering into shameless desperation. “I’m so fucking wet it hurts. My pussy is aching, throbbing. I’m dripping for you. I need your mouth…I want to grind myself against your tongue until I’m screaming, until I can’t fucking breathe. Please, please, just let me come on your face, let me make a mess on your mouth, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop…”

That’s when he snaps.

A primal, feral growl tears from his throat, and he surges forward, mouth colliding brutally with my pussy, tongue flattening ruthlessly against my clit. He sucks, hard and merciless, then laps at me roughly, licks and flicks, devouring me like a starving animal, like I’m his last meal, his obsession, his property.

I scream…loud, broken, shameless.

My nails rake through his hair, pulling hard enough to tear, hips grinding desperately against his face, chasing friction, chasing more. I can feel myself soaking him, flooding his mouth, smearing his chin and cheeks, dripping down his jaw like proof of his conquest.

He moans deep into my cunt, vibrations rolling through me, shattering what’s left of my sanity.

My orgasm hits like a freight train, violent, all-consuming, brain breaking. I convulse under him, around him, through him. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t be. Tears stream down my face as I sob through the explosion, coming so hard my vision whites out, my throat raw from screaming.

But he doesn’t stop. He won’t let me escape.

He drinks me down, swallowing greedily, tongue relentless, like he’ll never get enough, determined to own every drop, every sound, every broken piece of me.

I’m sobbing.

Clawing.

Coming.

And I don’t care how I sound.

I don’t care who I am.

Because in this moment, split open, flooded with heat and tears and obscene fucking pleasure, this is the only version of me that’s ever felt real.

His.

Ruined.

And free.

Kane

She shatters.

And I don’t stop.

I watch every second.

Not just the way her body arches off the floor, thighs shaking, hands grasping uselessly for anything to hold onto. Not just the way her voice fractures into sobs of pleasure so raw they echo through my chest.

I watch for the moment after. The silence. That stillness where the old Camille breaks, and the new one begins.