Page 54 of Corrupting Camille

“What do you want?” I finally ask, hating how my voice shakes, hating how small I feel.

A slow smile curls his lips, sharp and lethal. “Now, that’s a dangerous question, Camille.”

The way he says my name, velvet-edged poison, sends heat spreading low in my stomach, a traitorous reaction my body can’t deny. He moves closer again, erasing the remainingdistance between us until his warmth brushes my skin, intoxicating and terrifying.

“I should’ve known it was you,” I murmur softly, bitterness seeping into my voice. “The stalled approvals, the frozen budgets…”

“You should’ve known a lot of things,” he murmurs back, low and rough, voice brushing along my jaw like a threat, like a promise. “Starting with the fact that you don’t get to disappear on me.”

“It was one night,” I whisper, throat tight.

“Two weeks,” he counters, his breath hot on my ear, dark amusement lacing his voice. “Has it really been that easy to forget me?”

My breath catches, heart racing. I stare at the elevator panel, desperate for distance, for escape, for something solid to hold onto. “What?”

He shifts slightly, leaning in, the smirk on his lips pressing into my skin even though he hasn’t touched me.

“It’s been two weeks since you left my bed,” he murmurs softly, as casual as if he’s stating the obvious, as if the tension between us isn’t thick enough to suffocate. “Tell me, Camille…have you thought about me?”

I lift my chin, forcing ice into my tone. “Not for a single second.”

It’s a lie. We both know it.

Kane chuckles softly, low, dark, dangerous. “I saw the parting gift you left.”

My heart stops dead, stuttering, restarting with a violent slam. My lipstick print flashes in my mind, the reckless kiss I pressed to his mirror, soft and smudged and far too permanent.

His voice drops, low and knowing. “Rosewood. Soft on the outside, stubborn as fuck to wipe clean.” He pauses deliberately, watching my reaction. “But maybe that was the point.”

I swallow hard, throat tight. “It meant nothing.”

He chuckles quietly. “Liar.”

The word slips between us, slicing through every carefully built wall. The elevator hums softly, confining us, trapping me here with him. His presence thickens the air, oppressive, intoxicating, suffocating me until breathing feels dangerous.

And worse?

My body remembers him. Every touch, every stroke, every brutal, reckless thrust. My pulse quickens, blood heating traitorously beneath my skin.

He moves closer, crowding me against the wall until there’s nowhere left to go. The cold surface bites through my blouse, a sharp contrast to the blistering heat radiating off him. His scent floods my senses, dark spice, whiskey, expensive leather invading my lungs, filling my veins, unraveling every fragile thread of control I’ve desperately tried to cling to.

“I thought about you, Princesa,” he murmurs, voice rough, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

My breath catches sharply, stomach twisting with reckless, traitorous need. Heat blooms low and hot between my thighs, muscles tightening as I press my nails into my palms, fighting the urge to reach for him. To sink into the brutal comfort of his touch again.

“Woke up hard,” he continues, voice darkening, becoming harsher, a rasp of sandpaper against skin. “Thinking about how tight your sweet little cunt felt wrapped around my cock. How fucking soaked you got for me when I made you beg.”

His fingertips lift slowly, deliberately, tracing along the delicate gold necklace at my throat, the contact so slight yet burning like a brand. My pulse jumps, violent and frantic beneath his touch.

“Couldn’t stop hearing your voice,” he growls softly, dangerously, pressing closer until his lips graze my ear again.“The pretty way you begged playing on repeat…please touch me…please eat me…please fuck me…”

His words slice through me, raw, shameful, exquisite. Heat surges to my face, my neck, pooling molten in my core. I can’t breathe, can’t speak. Can’t deny a single word.

Because it’s true. Every filthy word, every humiliating plea, I said them. I whispered them. I meant them.

And the worst part is, I want to say them again. But damn if I will.

I steel myself, forcing a steady breath into my burning lungs. Slowly, deliberately, I lift my chin, meeting those dark eyes head-on. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, but I refuse to flinch beneath his stare.