Page 28 of Corrupting Camille

My thumb strokes softly across her cheek. “Goodnight,” I say quietly.

I start to rise. But her hand snaps out, fingers locking tight around my wrist, instinctive, urgent, desperate.

And then she whispers, small, honest, fucking helpless: “I don’t want to sleep.”

Her voice cracks, barely audible.

My cock throbs painfully, hard, ready, aching to bury itself deep inside her, but I don’t move. Not yet.

Instead, I lower myself beside her again, slow and deliberate, bracing my arm just above her head. Her breath quickens, eyes wide and glassy.

I smile slowly.

Darkly.

Exactly the way I know she hates it.

“I know,” I whisper, voice velvet-coated cruelty.

Her chest rises sharply. “Then why…”

“Because…” I cut her off, grazing my lips along her cheek, “you don’t get to step into my world and pretend you own it.”

She parts her lips to speak again, I cover them gently with my palm.

“I don’t give a fuck how soaked you are, princesa,” I growl against her ear, my breath hot, my tone ice. “You think a dripping pussy earns you anything with me? Think again.”

She jerks beneath me, defiant, flushed, furious. But her breath catches, shaky and ragged, and that tells me everything. Her body’s already caving. Her mind just hasn’t caught up.

I scrape my teeth slowly down her throat, biting just hard enough to make her gasp, just soft enough to keep her needy. My voice dips low, cut glass wrapped in sin.

“You want my cock?” I whisper, cruel and quiet, dragging it out like a threat. “Then earn it. Open that spoiled little mouth and fucking beg for it.”

I lean back slightly, just enough to see her face. She’s close, her mask cracking, pupils blown wide, lips parted around shallow, panting breaths. Her body’s already betraying her.

She hates this.

She loves this.

I drag my fingers along her throat, trailing slow, lazy circles that tighten just enough to make her eyes flutter. Then I slide lower. Over her collarbone. Across the swell of her breast. I brush her nipple with the backs of my fingers, barely a touch.Just enough to make it pebble beneath the lace. Just enough to make her moan.

Then I pull back. Ice cold.

“Not yet.” I smirk, letting the denial slice through her like a blade. “You haven’t earned shit.”

She whimpers, an actual fucking whimper, and clutches at my wrist like I’m oxygen, like she’ll die if I take more distance between us.

“You don’t get to lie there dripping, trembling, acting like a little brat and expect me to reward you. You don’t deserve my cock just because your cunt’s desperate.”

She swallows hard, throat bobbing, lashes wet.

Her hips twitch again, another pathetic, helpless plea her pride won’t let her speak.

But I see it.

I see everything.

The glossy desperation in her eyes. The involuntary tremble in her thighs. The way her body is practically crying for mine.