15. Chapter Fifteen #4
The seconds stretch cruelly, painfully, dragging me to the brink.
“Kane,” I plead, voice breaking, the sound of his name raw and ragged as it rips from my throat. “Please…”
His silence cuts deeper than any blade, and suddenly I’m drowning in the agony of it.
I don’t even think, my hands moving on their own, fingers grasping at the thin straps of my dress.
I pull them down my shoulders, trembling violently, peeling the fabric from my body, letting it slip over my hips until it pools around my feet in a defeated whisper.
I kick off my shoes next, stepping down until I’m smaller, lower, more vulnerable beneath the ruthless intensity of his stare. I feel exposed, skin prickling with fear and anticipation, stripped raw and desperate in front of him.
Slowly, deliberately, I sink down onto my knees, the cold marble biting cruelly into my skin, bruising me instantly. My head bows submissively, hair falling forward in a tangled curtain, my breathing ragged and shallow, lungs burning with the weight of my humiliation, my surrender.
My trembling hand lifts hesitantly, hovering inches from his thigh. I feel the heat radiating from his body, the barely restrained violence thrumming beneath his skin, but I don’t dare look up.
Then, gently, desperately, I press my palm against him, a silent plea in the simple act of touching him.
“Kane,” I whisper brokenly, voice fractured, tears spilling freely, staining my cheeks, dripping helplessly onto the marble at his feet. “This is all I have left to give you. Take it…take me. Break me. Do whatever the hell you want, just don’t turn me away...please..”
I shudder, sobbing quietly, my pride in tatters, dignity abandoned completely. I kneel in front of him, stripped bare, soul bleeding openly at his feet.
“I’m yours,” I whisper hoarsely, finally lifting my eyes to his, showing him every ugly truth etched across my tear-streaked face. “now…tomorrow…always.”
Kane
Fuck.
She’s on her knees, bare and trembling, palm pressed against my thigh, her skin like fire, branding straight through the fabric of my pants, burning itself into my bones.
Camille Sinclair, heiress, princess, goddess…
witch…my fucking torment is kneeling, broken, shattered wide open at my feet, begging me with a desperation so raw it shreds something inside my chest.
This girl isn’t just kneeling in front of me.
She’s destroying herself. She’s handing me the sharpest blade imaginable and begging me to plunge it into her chest, twist it deeper, bleed her dry, drain every last drop of fight left inside her.
I’ve watched her hide, run, pretend, lie so convincingly she almost believed it herself.
But now, Camille Sinclair is stripped completely raw, her pride in shreds, dignity bleeding out at my feet, pleading for punishment, forgiveness, redemption. All from me.
I want to hurt her, worship her, break her, protect her. I want every fractured, damaged, beautiful piece of this mess we’ve made together.
My jaw clenches hard enough to fracture, knuckles white as I grip the doorframe, forcing myself to stay still, silent, immovable.
Camille Sinclair belongs to me. Her pain is mine to soothe, mine to inflict. Her tears, mine to drink or wipe away. Every broken piece scattered at my feet, mine to gather, to keep, to possess.
And then… “I’m yours,” “now…tomorrow…always.”
The last thread of my restraint snaps.
My fist tangles in her hair, brutal, merciless, yanking her head back so sharply a fractured sob rips from her throat. Camille’s eyes fly wide, desperate and shattered, and she stares up at me with pure, surrender etched in every line of her face.
I haul her up, slamming her body against mine with violence, ownership, fucking hunger.
Her mouth opens on another sob, and I capture it, crush it, devour it.
My kiss is ruthless, savage, stripping every last broken piece of her soul and swallowing it whole.
Her tears, her apologies, her shattered submission, I claim them all, tasting desperation, salt, and burning truth on my tongue.
She clings to me instantly, legs locking around my waist, thighs trembling as she anchors herself to my body, her bare skin hot, frantic, desperate.
Her nails sink into my shoulders, digging hard enough to hurt.
I welcome the sting, needing the pain to ground me, to keep me from completely destroying her right here, right fucking now.
My fingers dig into her thighs hard enough to bruise, the muscles flexing beneath my grip, trembling with the effort to hold me. Her heels bite into my back like punishment, like desperation, as if she’s terrified I’ll vanish if she lets go.
Not fucking happening.
I kick the door shut violently behind me, letting the crash echo through every dark corner of the penthouse. Let the world hear. Let them know who she belongs to.
Her breath hitches sharply against my mouth as I drag my lips down her jaw, finding the vulnerable hollow of her throat. My teeth sink in without mercy, biting hard, deep, marking her exactly where she’s softest, where she’ll bruise deepest.
She screams, not fake, not staged, real, raw, honest pain, and it fucking brands me.
I savor the taste of her skin, blood, metallic and hot, tongue stroking over the imprint my teeth left behind. She jerks against me, hips rolling desperately, needing friction, needing me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging hard, begging me with breathless, broken little moans.
“You’re fucking ruin me,” I snarl, teeth scraping roughly up her throat, pressing bruises into delicate skin. “Every goddamn time, Camille. Every fucking time.”
She shudders violently, gasping against my ear, hips grinding urgently, shamelessly, begging for more. But I’m already beyond control, beyond mercy, drowning in the addictive chaos of Camille Sinclair.
I drag my tongue back over the bite mark, sealing it, branding her, staking my claim in a way no one else will ever see but both of us will always feel. She’s marked, mine. Now. Forever.
“Mine,” I whisper darkly, the word harsh, violent, final. A promise and a threat. “Every breath, every heartbeat, every fucking inch of you, Camille. Mine to worship. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep.”
She clings tighter, shaking, nails clawing desperately at my back, holding on as I carry her deeper into the darkness of the penthouse. She buries her face into my neck, skin hot and damp against mine.
I toss her onto the bed without gentleness, watching her land breathless and stunned, hair wild, eyes wide. But there’s no escape, no retreat because I’m already on the bed, crawling after her like a predator, stalking forward, shedding my soaked shirt along the way.
Her eyes track me hungrily, lips parted, heaving as she tries to scramble backward, instinct kicking in, fighting even as her body begs me closer. She knows…knows this time is different.
This time there’s no running.
No mercy.
No stopping.
Because tonight, Camille Sinclair isn’t just submitting to me. Tonight, I’m finally unleashing everything I’ve held back, everything I’ve hidden, every savage, brutal part of myself she ever begged for.
I grab her ankles and drag her down the bed in one rough, unforgiving pull, flipping her onto her stomach.
Her breath punches out in a gasp, but I’m already tearing into her, ripping the lacy panties down her thighs, yanking the matching bra off with one brutal motion until nothing’s left between her and me.
Just skin.
My skin.
She shudders beneath me, bare and trembling, but I don’t give her time to think. I lean over her, mouth grazing her ear, my cock grinding against the curve of her ass, hard, leaking, pulsing with need so vicious it borders on pain.
Already hers. Always fucking hers.
“You don’t get to run anymore,” I growl, voice raw and low, dragging my fingers down her spine as she writhes beneath me. “This isn’t a fucking vacation, Camille. I’m not a break from the world you hate. I am the world now.”
She whimpers, trying to push up on her elbows, but I slam my hand down on the mattress beside her face, caging her in.
“There’s no more going back. You hear me?” My voice is a razor across her skin, every word deliberate. “That part of your life is dead . The pretending. The lies. The fake smiles and perfect pearls and that ring he bought to own you.”
I lean closer, lips brushing her temple, my cock lined up at her entrance.
“No one touches you but me,” I whisper, sliding the thick head against her soaking slit, teasing her, making her wait. “No one fucking owns you but me.”
She moans, high and desperate...waiting.
So I push in.
Slow.
All the way.
Deep.
She cries out, back arching, muscles clenching as I bottom out inside her, thick and hard and unchanging. I stay there, buried to the hilt, grinding my hips against her ass as she trembles beneath me.
This is the moment she breaks.
And I want her to remember it for the rest of her life.
“This is permanent,” I breathe against her neck, voice guttural as I start to move. “Every thrust, every bruise, every mark I leave…it’s all fucking forever.”
“Kane…” she gasps, voice splintered, lost, surrendering.
“Yeah…say my name,” I demand, hips rolling brutally slow, making her feel every inch, every nerve, every claim I lay to her body.
“Kane…!” she sobs louder, voice frayed, ruined.
I lean over her back, mouth against her ear, lips brushing tenderly against her skin, a stark contrast to the brutal thrusts that refuse to let her forget who’s inside her.
“Te amo,” I breathe, raw and honest, the words heavy with something I’ve never given anyone. Something I promised myself I never would. “Te amo, Camille.”
She shatters instantly.
Violent, helpless, beautiful.
Her body clenches around me, impossibly tight, pulling me under, dragging me into oblivion with her. And I don’t fucking fight it, I give in, pouring everything I have into her, body and soul and secrets and darkness.
When we collapse, breathless, sweat-slicked, hearts hammering in perfect chaos, I pull her close, wrapping my arm tight around her waist, burying my face into her tangled hair, breathing her in like salvation, like poison, like home.
“Te amo,” I whisper again, softer this time, vulnerable and dangerous all at once, pressing the words deeper into her skin like a brand. “You hear me, Camille? This isn’t lust. It’s our ruin. You don’t come back from this. Neither of us does.”
She doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t have to.
Because her body curls into mine, melting against me in exhausted surrender, her breathing steadying, matching mine heartbeat for heartbeat.
And I know, I know without a doubt, that she finally understands exactly what this is.
Exactly what we’ve become.
A twisted, beautiful disaster.
And I’ll destroy anything that threatens to tear us apart again.
***
We lie there.
Breathless.
Wrecked.
The sound of rain tapers into the quiet, distant and rhythmic, like the world finally understands it needs to shut the fuck up and let this moment breathe.
Her back is pressed to my chest, our legs tangled, her skin slick and flushed from everything we just did, everything we are. My arm’s locked around her waist, like my body knows it can’t risk losing her even now.
I’m still inside her.
Still buried so deep it feels like my soul is lodged between her ribs.
And then…
Her hand slides over mine.
Slow. Gentle. Intentional.
She threads her fingers through mine, lacing them tight, like a vow. Her palm is soft and trembling in mine, and for a second, I almost miss the shift, until she lifts our joined hands and presses her lips to my knuckles.
Her breath is warm, shaky against my skin. Her mouth lingers on the tattoo inked across my hand. The one that used to mean revenge.
Now it just means her.
She kisses each finger like she’s soothing every scar, every kill, every sin I’ve dragged through this life just to make it to this exact moment.
Then she shifts.
Slowly. Carefully.
Rolls in my arms and presses her lips to my chest, right over my heart.
And she says it.
Quietly.
So quietly I almost miss it.
“I love you Kane.”
I go still, bracing like I’ve been shot point-blank.
Her voice is hoarse but certain. That low, deliberate tone she only uses when she means it. When it costs her something.
Her palm flattens over my chest, feeling the chaos inside me, like she knows what she just did to me. What those words just did to me.
She lifts her head.
Her eyes meet mine, glass-soft, vulnerable, burning with that same ache I’ve been dragging through every day without her. She leans in again, closer, closer still, until her lips brush against mine and she whispers it again.
“Te amo.”
Spanish.
My language. My curse. My undoing.
Spoken like she’s known it her whole life.
Spoken like she owns it now.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t move.
She kisses me gently, again and again, lips dragging over mine like she’s trying to pour the words into me, like she wants them in my blood, my bones, my soul.
“Te amo,” she whispers again into my mouth, a breath, a confession, a chain.
My grip on her tightens, and I kiss her back like I’ve waited a lifetime. No hunger. No violence. Just mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, holding her so close I swear we’re the same body, same breath, same heartbeat.
And I know.
This is it.
There’s no going back.
There never was.