38. Kaos
The bite of pain shouldn’t be as addictive as it is.
But then, Camilla shouldn’t be either. The princess that fell into our laps should have been disposable. I shouldn’t give a fuck that I betrayed her. I shouldn’t care at all. But the dark-haired beauty has crawled under my skin, and no matter how hard I try to dig her out, she only seems to burrow deeper.
Much like the knife in my stomach.
Her hand shakes as she holds the handle tight between her fingers, and I imagine her hand around something else, something further south. The thought makes me bite back a groan, because although it’s obvious at this point we’re all unhinged as fuck, she does currently have the power to drive the blade deep into my gut, and I doubt Rogers wants to deal with a stab wound tonight. It’s not the first time she’s held a knife to someone, and it’s probably not even the first time she’s used one on another person, but she seems hesitant to hurt me.
“Kaos,” she warns in a breathy whisper.
“Is this what you want, Princess?” I ask, forcing my hands to remain fisted at my sides. “Do you want to hurt me for what I did to you?”
She swallows heavily, and the sight of her throat bobbing does nothing to smother the illicit images filtering through my mind. I can still taste her sweetness and her innocence from the day I almost fucked her like a wild animal, barely able to stop myself when she told me she had her period. Hell, the thought was almost as enticing as taking her virginity, but I managed to pry myself away from her. Barely.
This time, I don’t know that she’ll be so lucky.
I lean forward, hissing as the blade presses deeper, but I need to be in her space. She’s too fucking intoxicating to resist. “Cat got your tongue, Camilla?” I smirk.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re the one wielding the knife, Princess.” I chuckle, ignoring the added pain the movement causes.
She moves to step back, but before she can, I grasp her hips in both hands, holding her in place. She stares at the knife still pressed into my stomach and watches as blood drips down my abdomen and onto the waistband of my gray sweatpants. Maggie isn’t going to be happy when she does the laundry. The number of times Kovu and I have been chewed out about the blood on our clothing isn’t for the faint of heart. She may be a five-foot-nothing old lady, but she can be scary as hell.
“Will you accept this as penance for what I’ve done?” I ask, and I hate to admit how much I want her to tell me this is enough. I don’t know how to deal with women, not anymore, but I know blood. I know pain.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her gaze locked on the knife in her hand. She couldn’t step away even if she wanted to, and the longer the knife remains lodged in my stomach, the more her hand shakes.
I reach between us and grasp the blade with my palm, barely flinching as it slices into the flesh and covers us both with crimson.
Camilla gasps, and this time when she tries to step back, I allow it, but only because I have plans for her. Before the knife can fall from her trembling hands, I take it from her and place it on the bench, leaving nothing between us.
She looks so fucking tempting dressed in nothing but one of Kovu’s shirts, and I have the urge to tear it from her body. Jealousy isn’t something we’ve ever had between us, but the woman in front of me seems to bring it to the surface. Not because I don’t want him to have her, but because I want her to look at me the way she does the others. I want her to reach for my clothes when she needs something comfortable to wear.
I wrap my hands around her waist, and before she can think to argue, I lift her from the cool tiles and place her on the bench beside whatever she was preparing. But right now, I’m hungry for something aside from food.
I’m starved for her.
“Kaos, what are you—” I cut her off by slamming my mouth down on hers, and I’m hooked from the first taste.
I forgot how fucking sweet she is. How addictive she is when a startled moan escapes from her pretty plump lips, only to be swallowed by my kiss.
Kissing has never been my thing. It’s a part of sex that I don’t get. But with Camilla, it’s everything. Hell, I’m pretty sure I could come just from her breathy moans and tentative kisses alone.
I drop my hands to her thighs and wrench them far enough apart from me to step between them, and I’m immediately rewarded with her sweet scent. Fuck. Is she even wearing any panties?
Part of me hopes she is because my control is already teetering on the edge, but the other part, the primal beast that wants nothing more than for me to slam into her sweet cunt and claim her as my own hopes she’s bare.
Tentative hands grasp my shoulders, and the feel of her nails digging into my bare skin is almost my undoing.
I trail my hands up her thighs, all too aware of the blood I’m smearing all over her soft skin. If Kovu were here, he’d be going feral for his little lamb covered in blood, but right now she’s all mine.
I shove at the shirt she’s wearing, pressing it up until my fingers graze against lace. It’s disappointing that she has panties on, but something that’s easy as fuck to remedy. I grasp the flimsy material between my fingers and tug, eliciting a startled moan from Camilla’s throat.
I tear my lips from hers and gaze down into her stormy gray eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest is heaving, and her lips are swollen from my rough treatment.
My eyes trail further down until they lock on the mess I’ve made of her legs. Bloody handprints are smeared across her thighs, and Kovu’s shirt is definitely going to have some stains Maggie is going to be pissed about. But I’m too far gone to give a fuck. I need more.
“You look so pretty covered in my blood, Princess,” I murmur between us, and before she can respond, I reach for the hem of the shirt and make quick work of tugging it over her head, leaving her completely bare for me.
Fuck, she’s perfect.
So fucking perfect. I know I shouldn’t ruin her. None of us should. If we were better men, we’d set her free. We’d leave her to meet someone who will treat her right, who won’t push her to her limits because of his own selfish desires. But the thought of letting her go, of another man touching what belongs to us, only reminds me exactly why I won’t let her go. Why none of us will.
The day Bishop brought her into our lives was the day her fate was sealed.
Her hands lift to cover herself, a flash of vulnerability appearing in her eyes, but I make quick work of gathering her wrists into one of my hands.
“No,” I growl. “You do not cover yourself.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I quickly slam my lips down on hers and devour her. The feel of her naked body pressed against me makes it all the more difficult not to fuck her right this second, but there’s too much I want to do to her, too many ways I want to take her.
I reach for the hand towel hanging from the oven behind me and release her wrists for long enough to tear the cotton to shreds. A surprised gasp escapes Camilla’s throat but I swallow it, and before she can think to push me off and question what I’m doing, I have her wrists tied in the ruined towel tight enough she can’t escape, but not so tight I’m cutting off the circulation.
Once she’s bound, I drag my lips down her neck, biting into the soft skin. A cry tears from her throat, and if I wasn’t already too far gone, that sound alone would be enough to catch me hook, line, and fucking sinker.
“Kaos,” she moans as she tests her binds, causing a smirk to tug at my lips. She doesn’t know me very well if she thinks she’s getting out of them, but she’ll learn.
“Lay back, Princess, and keep your arms above your head. Move them, and I’ll find something to tie them to.”
Her eyes flare with a mix of apprehension and excitement, and I can’t help but chuckle. We sure did hit the jackpot with this one.