6. Chapter Six #2
She shivers. I feel it roll through her, spine to thighs.
I drag my nose along the line of her jaw, slowly, savoring, breathing her in like smoke I’m never quitting.
“Sweet as sin,” I whisper. “Addictive as fuck.”
Her lips part, a soundless protest dying unspoken as I close the last inches between us. My mouth ghosts across hers, lips barely grazing. Taunting. Tempting. Her body melts toward me, traitorous in the way it reaches out.
“You hate that you loved it,” I rasp softly, tongue sliding along her lower lip. “You hate that it’s all you think about at night, when your fingers drift under your sheets.”
Her breath hitches hard, shock and shame coloring her cheeks deeper. I hum low, enjoying the delicious torture of her silence.
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Won’t happen…
again,” she breathes out, voice trembling beneath the weight of a promise she can’t keep.
I pull back. Watch her shatter. It’s beautiful.
The way her cheeks flush, heat and humiliation fighting for dominance.
The way her chin lifts, like that pride is still fighting.
Like it can save her. But it can’t. Not from me.
Not from the memory of what I did to her. The truth of what she begged for.
I grin. Slow. Wicked. Victorious.
“Say it again.”
She snaps her head toward me, eyes blazing. “It won’t happen again.” Her gaze drops to my mouth. I smile slowly. Predatory. Sharp edges hidden beneath velvet softness.
She inhales sharply, breath stuttering, pulse jumping under my touch. Her pride is a fragile, beautiful thing, shaking, slipping.
“Tell me, Camille,” I whisper, voice rough, almost mocking, eyes locked mercilessly on hers, “should I prove how wrong you are?”
She turns away, just a fraction, and it’s all the permission I need. My hand wraps around her throat, fingers firm, a warning, not pain, just enough pressure to make her remember exactly who she’s dealing with.
And then my mouth is on hers.
Not gentle. Not sweet.
Possessive. Brutal. Devouring.
All teeth, tongue, heat, and ruthless fucking hunger.
She gasps sharply, and I swallow the sound, groaning as her fists knot into my shirt, dragging me closer instead of shoving me away. Her body betrays her, arching into mine, melting, desperate. Every cell screaming her surrender.
Fuck, yes.
I press her back hard into the seat, hand sliding swiftly up her thigh, higher, rough fingers sinking into soft flesh.
Her dress is in my way so I shove it out of the way.
And fuck if she doesn’t arch deeper into it, a whimper breaking from her lips the moment my fingers skim the edge of lace between her thighs.
A sound that wakes something dark, primal, and hungry in me.
I knew it.
Knew she wanted this. Needed this.
Needed me.
I break our kiss just long enough to murmur roughly against her mouth, “If you want it, princesa, you’re gonna have to ask.”
She shudders as my thumb slips under her panties, brushing slow and deliberate over her clit, just enough to tease, to torture. Her eyes widen, disbelief tangled with hunger, like I’ve already stolen something she didn’t know she’d willingly give.
Her lips part, but I stop. Pull back, leaving her cold, desperate, empty.
“Ask,” I command, voice low, dangerous, lethal.
She hesitates, pride clawing desperately, pulse hammering violently under my fingertips, heartbeat racing like a caged bird.
“Ask me,” I repeat against her lips, slipping my thumb lower again, dipping quickly into the slick heat before pulling away, teasing. Driving her fucking insane.
She arches forward instinctively, eyes wide, mouth soft, frustrated. “Kane…” Her voice breaks, quiet, pleading, barely audible.
Her mouth moves again without sound, then soft and broken. “…please.”
Not enough. Never enough. But I want to hear it. I need her surrender fully spoken, raw and exposed.
“Please what, Munequita?” I whisper, my voice edged in dark velvet, wrapping her in a challenge she can’t escape. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
She swallows hard, chest rising and falling unevenly, eyes defiant yet glazed with need.
“Please,” she says again, voice fracturing beautifully. “Please touch me…please.”
Fuck, yes.
I close the space between us, crushing my mouth over hers, tasting the honesty behind her whispered plea. Her lips open beneath mine, hungry, desperate, a silent confession as her tongue tangles with mine, needy and reckless.
My hand slips under her skirt, brushing soft silk and warm skin. She gasps against my lips as I ease her panties aside, two fingers sliding through slick, heated flesh, teasing her open, feeling how fucking ready she is.
I push inside her slowly, deliberately deep. Her body shudders around me, tight and molten-hot. I drag my fingers back and thrust deeper again, curling them slightly until she jerks, breath hitching sharply, hips rocking forward to meet my hand.
She starts moving on her own, hips rolling, needy and shameless, riding my fingers in the dim luxury of the backseat. Every slick glide, every deep thrust has her moaning into my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders, silently begging for more.
I break the kiss just long enough to watch her.
Flushed cheeks, parted lips, dark eyes wide and glazed as she moves her hips against my hand, taking control, riding my fingers with slow, desperate rhythm.
Her breath shakes, hitching as she chases the release, I know she’s been craving ever since she ran out of my penthouse.
“That’s it,” I murmur roughly, feeling her flutter, her muscles tightening. “Take what you need. Let me feel you break again.”
She gasps softly, the sound fragile and beautiful as her eyes flutter closed, her movements growing frantic, grinding, desperate. She grips my wrist harder, silently urging me deeper, faster.
“Look at me,” I command gently, voice dark and soothing at once. “I want to watch you come apart.”
Her eyes snap open, locking on mine, bright with defiance and vulnerability as pleasure overtakes her. She rides my fingers, trembling, back arching, thighs clenching tight as she cries out softly, shattering completely against me.
I watch her fall apart, savoring every tremor, every breathless gasp, every beautiful, unguarded moment of her surrender.
Camille
This is madness.
Fucked up, reckless, wrong in every twisted way that makes me crave it even more.
But nothing has ever felt this dangerously right.
In this sick, desperate moment, Kane Rivera is the only truth in my hollow world of lies. With him, there’s no careful smile, no script to follow, just brutal honesty laid bare.
Just my traitorous body begging him to ruin me.
His thumb presses hard against my clit, merciless and demanding, and I shatter instantly. Pleasure rips violently through me, spine arching sharply, nails carving crescent moons into his shoulders as his name breaks helplessly from my throat.
“Oh…oh…Kane…fuck…yes!”
His grip tightens on my throat, fingers sliding deeper, rough and perfect as he wrings every last tremor from me, refusing to stop until I’m limp and broken beneath him.
When he finally pulls away, the sudden emptiness is cruel, deliberate. Punishing.
Then slowly, his dark eyes locked on mine, he lifts his fingers and slips them between his lips, tasting me shamelessly, letting me see exactly how much he owns me.
My body flares hot with humiliation, and sick, twisted desire.
I shove him back, palms slamming into his chest, needing space, distance, air untouched by the scent of his skin. He lets me, leaning back too calmly, his smirk arrogant, satisfied, like he knows I’m already ruined.
My breath rattles, fingers trembling as I yank my dress back down, fighting to find scraps of dignity beneath his arrogant gaze.
“Feel better?” His voice drips mockery, velvet cruelty that sets my teeth on edge.
I glare at him, hatred burning fiercely behind my eyes. “Fuck you,” I spit out, raw and ragged.
He laughs softly, eyes glittering with dark amusement. “You just did.”
Heat floods my cheeks, shame clawing viciously through my chest. My voice breaks, desperate and unsteady.
“I hate you.”
His expression shifts instantly, eyes darkening, deadly serious. “No,” he murmurs roughly, leaning in, crowding me until I’m trapped again, his gaze penetrating deep beneath my skin. “You hate that I see through every bullshit lie you’ve ever told. You hate that I’m the one man you can’t fool.”
“You don’t know shit about me,” I whisper fiercely, heart slamming painfully in my chest.
He smiles slowly, his knuckles brushing my jaw, sliding down my throat until they rest gently, dangerously, over my pulse. “Camille,” he breathes my name, hot against my ear, “I know everything about you.”
He presses closer, voice lowering to a dark whisper, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I know how much losing control terrifies you. And I know exactly how fucking good it feels when I tear it from your hands.”
I flinch violently, pushing him away again, breath jagged and uneven. “Stay away from me.”
His chuckle is low, merciless. “We both know that won’t happen.” He relaxes back against the seat, arrogant, unruffled, utterly certain. “Especially now that I’m your boss.”
His words slice me open, the humiliation of that boardroom moment flooding back with fresh rage.
“You think buying a seat on the board makes you powerful?” My voice is venom, sharp-edged and shaking. “You’re nothing but a criminal in an expensive suit.”
His smirk deepens, unbothered, amused by my fury. “You should know, Camille, your tantrums don’t change reality.” He tilts his head, eyes dark and ruthless. “You answer to me now.”
“I’ll never answer to you,” I hiss, fists clenched tight.
His laugh is quiet, darkly amused. “That pride is cute.” He leans in again, crowding my space, eyes drifting slowly over my body. “But we both know how easily I can break it.”