3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
C amille
His floor.
My knees.
His mouth.
And I’m fucking gone.
The moment his tongue hits my clit, it’s not pleasure, it’s obliteration.
There’s no lead-up. No slow burn. No gentle climb to the edge.
It’s a brutal, headlong crash into sensation that tears the breath from my lungs. My spine arches like a live wire’s been jammed down my back, hips jerking wildly as my body tries to escape the intensity, only to find out there’s no escape.
He doesn’t let me move.
Doesn’t let me breathe.
He wants me unhinged.
His hands are unforgiving, fingers locked around my thighs, spreading me open like I’m his to fuck, his to break, his to feed on. His grip is rough, possessive, bruising. He’s not holding me in place. He’s staking a claim.
And fuck, he’s not eating me out.
He’s devouring me.
Starving. Ferocious.
Like I’m the only thing he’s ever needed in his life.
Every flick of his tongue is calculated chaos. Flat, broad strokes that make me see white. Then a slow swirl, circling my clit like he’s branding it, learning it, owning it.
Then comes the flick. That precise, infuriating flick that turns my moan into a scream, my heartbeat into a riot.
Hot tongue.
Wet lips.
A kiss…so fucking dirty.
It’s obscene, the way he mouths at me. Kissing my pussy like it’s sacred and filthy at the same time. Like he worships it. Like he needs it.
Sloppy, possessive, starved.
Over and over and over again…
flick
lick
circle
suck
kiss
moan
repeat.
But then the rhythm stops. He pulls back. Drives me to the edge and then fucking abandons me there, panting and ruined, drenched and shaking.
I whimper. It’s humiliating. My thighs are trembling, my pussy is throbbing, aching, soaked, needy.
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.
She’s trembling, breath ragged, eyes glazed like she’s drifting somewhere between the woman she used to be and the woman she’s about to become.
The woman I just remade with my tongue, my mouth, my hands.
Mine.
Slowly, I drag my palm up the inside of her thigh, soft enough to soothe, firm enough to remind her who put her here. She flinches at my touch, overstimulated, sensitive, stripped raw.
Fucking perfect.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
My voice is quiet.
No sharpness. No edge.
Just that steady, relentless demand that she obeys.
She blinks slowly, eyes still hazy, like she’s still coming down from the high.
“Camille,” I say again, lower, closer to something that might almost be tenderness, if it wasn’t laced with the kind of danger she knows she can’t resist. “Look. At. Me.”
Finally, her eyes find mine. Wide. Open. Wrecked.
And seeing her like this, vulnerable and ruined, lights something primal behind my ribs. Because no one else gets this part of her.
This belongs only to me.
I reach up, brush a strand of hair from her flushed face, fingertips lingering against her skin.
“Eres tan jodidamente hermosa.”
You’re so fucking beautiful.
Not whispered. Not a compliment. A confession, raw and reckless, drawn from that hollow space I never show anyone.
Then I rise. Slow. Silent. Controlled.
She stays on her knees, lingerie twisted and damp, skin glowing softly in the dim light, pulse thrumming visibly at her throat. She’s still trembling, still waiting, still hungry.
My perfect, polished heiress. My chaos wrapped in silk and lace. My sweetest poison.
I lean down, scoop her effortlessly into my arms. One hand beneath her knees, one behind her back.
She gasps quietly, a sound so delicate I almost miss it. Her head drops to my chest, breath shallow, heart pounding.
Not surrendering. Not yet. But bracing for more.
And I’m not giving it to her. Yet.
The bedroom waits, dark sheets, deeper shadows, moonlight spilling across the bed like silver ink. I lay her down carefully, deliberately, like something I’m planning to break, but not yet.
She stares up at me, lips swollen, body still flushed and wanting. Still desperate.
I lean in, kissing her slowly, firmly, just enough pressure to brand her. To remind her that she’ll feel this even when she’s back in her perfect, empty world tomorrow.
When I pull back, her breath catches sharply, eyes fluttering in confusion. She’s used to getting what she wants. She’s never been left like this.
Hungry. Needy. Waiting.
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.