11. Chapter Eleven #3
“Fuck, Camille,” he groans, voice thick with raw desire, eyes locked onto my chest, hands dragging roughly up my waist to cup my breasts, thumbs sliding over hard peaks through delicate lace. “You walked in here tonight desperate for exactly this.”
He pinches sharply, making me cry out, hips bucking against him, aching for more friction, more punishment, more him.
His lips close around my nipple, teeth scraping roughly through delicate lace, drawing a raw, filthy moan from deep in my chest, so needy, so desperate it should embarrass me, but I’m long past caring.
My fingers twist in his wet hair, gripping tightly as he sucks harder, his tongue rasping wickedly, demanding I give him everything.
“No more pretending you’re his,” he growls roughly against my skin, possessive, savage.
His free hand slides down my stomach, fingertips dragging a slow, torturous path, teasing just beneath the lace waistband of my shorts.
He pauses there, lingering maddeningly close, making me ache and tremble.
“You’re fucking done with that lie,” he breathes darkly. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp out, hips rolling shamelessly against his touch, begging for relief. “God, yes…”
He groans low, feral, and tears the lace down my thighs like it offends him, like the only thing he wants between us is nothing at all. And then he’s there, bare and thick and pulsing, dragging the slick head of his cock through my folds with slow, devastating precision.
I choke on a cry, body arching off the glass as he presses forward, not entering, just claiming, grinding hard against my soaked, aching center until I’m shaking.
“Look at me,” he growls again, rougher this time, hand gripping my jaw and forcing my gaze back to his. “I said…eyes on me, Munequita.”
I obey, because I need to, because that voice, that stare, that brutal need tethered to his every move owns me, owns everything.
His tip catches at my entrance, dragging through slick heat, then back up to my clit, again and again, slow and cruel. My breath hitches, thighs trembling as I try to roll my hips, needing more, needing him, but his grip tightens, holding me still.
“You feel that?” he rasps, voice thick with restraint. “That’s what you do to me. This is what happens when you wear another man’s ring and still drip for me.”
“Kane…please,” I whimper, desperate, raw, completely undone.
And then he thrusts, deep, one hard, brutal stroke that knocks the air from my lungs and punches a broken moan from my chest.
He holds my gaze, eyes fierce and unforgiving, commanding every ounce of my attention, forcing my body to open more, to take every thick, throbbing inch of him until he’s fully seated, buried to the hilt.
My mouth falls open on a helpless, choked gasp, feeling every deep, throbbing pulse of his cock inside me.
“Camille,” he groans, voice rough, raw. “You were made to take me like this.”
He begins to move, slowly at first, long, deep strokes that grind the head of his cock against the most sensitive parts of me, until I’m whimpering and writhing helplessly between him and the window.
My breasts bounce, nipples tight and aching as his hands slide up my body, pinching and twisting them roughly through my bra, every touch possessive, branding, claiming.
“Open your eyes,” he commands roughly, grinding harder, deeper, claiming every desperate moan that escapes my lips. “Look at me when you come.”
I force my eyes open, locked helplessly on his dark, hungry gaze. Pleasure coils low in my belly, dangerously close to breaking, every thrust of his cock pushing me higher, tighter, until I’m screaming his name without restraint.
“That’s it,” he growls, hips slamming mercilessly into mine now, driving me brutally against the glass, making sure the whole damn city can see if they bothered to look up. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”
“You do,” I sob, shaking uncontrollably, cunt spasming violently around him, dragging him deeper. “It’s yours, Kane…fuck, I’m yours…all of me…”
My orgasm rips through me, brutal and blinding, flooding my body with pleasure so intense it borders on pain as I pour around him, on him. Kane curses sharply, hips stuttering as my pussy grips him tightly, milking every last thrust.
He groans loudly into my neck, teeth sinking into my skin as he drives impossibly deeper, exploding inside me with a growl of possessive satisfaction.
For a long moment, we stay pressed against the window, sweat-slicked, panting, trembling, my body still clinging tightly to him.
Finally, he lifts his head, eyes dark and satisfied, voice husky and commanding against my swollen lips.
“I could fuck you a thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough. You want deep?” His eyes flare, throat working as he grits out, “I want under your skin, Camille. I want to live there. In every breath, every ache, every goddamn decision you make. You don’t walk away from this. Not from me.”
His forehead presses to mine, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll let you go when there’s nothing left of you that hasn’t belonged to me first...and even then…I’ll still demand more…”
What do you say to that?
My breath stutters, catching somewhere between a sob and a moan, because there’s no part of me untouched anymore. No corner of my mind, no inch of my body, no thread of sanity he hasn’t already torn apart and branded with his name.
He doesn’t kiss me. He just watches me. Eyes wild and unwavering, waiting for the denial he knows won’t come.
Because there’s nothing to deny.
He already lives there, under my skin, in my chest, curled around every single thought I try to silence. And I hate how much I want him to stay there. How much I want to give him the rest of what he hasn’t taken yet.
I tilt my head, my raw lips brushing his. “You have all of me.”
“No,” he murmurs roughly, his voice scraping along my skin, eyes blazing as he cups my face, thumb tracing my lips like he’s memorizing every fractured breath.
“I have your skin, your taste, every perfect, pretty piece you’ve handed me.
But that’s not enough for me…” He leans in, mouth brushing mine in a way that’s soft, devastating, almost reverent.
“I want your ugly. I want the broken parts. Your scars, the secrets you keep, I want your nightmares.” His eyes burn into mine, intense, possessive, unrelenting.
“I want to stand centered in your ugly and watch you realize I’m never leaving. ”
I suck in a shaky breath, his words slicing through me more intimately than anything he’s ever done to my body. My chest tightens, not with fear, but with the terrifying ache of being seen too clearly, too deeply.
We don’t say another word as he lowers me slowly, purposefully down the glass, forcing me to feel every inch of him one last time before my bare feet finally meet the icy marble floor.
My legs nearly buckle, muscles trembling, weak and useless after everything he took, every line he crossed, every plea he wrenched from my lips.
Kane’s eyes linger, dark and possessive, tracing over me with smug satisfaction, arrogantly savoring the way my cheeks flush pink all over again.
Then I feel it, a hot, slick trail sliding slowly down the insides of my thighs, evidence of how completely he owned me moments ago.
My breath catches, my stomach tightening with shameful need as I glance down to see the creamy mess he’s left behind, staining my skin, branding me from the inside out.
His gaze dips, following mine, his eyes turning darker, more intense, devouring the visible proof of what we’ve done. A slow, devastating smirk curls his mouth.
“You look fucking beautiful wearing me, Camille,” he murmurs huskily, his thumb dragging over my swollen lower lip, lingering, pressing just hard enough to remind me who’s in charge. “So much better than diamonds.”
I hate how my core clenches greedily at those words, how the ache inside deepens, craving more, craving everything he gives me, every twisted promise, every wicked mark.
He stares shamelessly between my thighs, drinking in the slick trail of him on my skin, jaw tightening with fierce, dark hunger. As if marking me isn’t enough unless I see it, unless I feel it, unless I understand exactly how thoroughly I belong to him now.
“You’ll still be leaking me tomorrow,” he rasps, voice low, dangerous enough to make my thighs clench again. “Every time you sit, every time you press your thighs together, every time you fucking breathe, you’ll remember exactly who claimed you tonight. Exactly whose name you begged for.”
I whimper, humiliated and throbbing, and he smiles…proud. Fucking pleased.
And then he steps back, just enough to give me space, just enough to make me chase.
“Bedroom,” he says simply. Command, not invitation.
And I follow.
Of course I follow.
My legs still shake, my skin flushed, my panties gone, ripped and discarded like the last bit of dignity I walked in with. But I follow anyway, silent and aching, knowing exactly what I’m walking into.
Again.
Kane leads the way, broad shoulders flexing, muscles rippling under his skin as he moves, still gloriously naked, still damp, still hard. I stare shamelessly, mouth dry and cunt fluttering as I watch the tension in his back, the way the muscles of his ass shift with each slow, confident stride.
The bedroom is dim, warm, the air heavy with sex and something darker, something possessive, electric, waiting to strike.
He stops at the foot of the bed, turns, eyes dragging over me like he’s cataloging every breath I take, every tremble I try to hide.
“Off,” he says, nodding to my bra.
I hesitate.
Barely a second.
Then I reach behind me, fingers fumbling with the clasp, chest rising and falling as I free myself.
The bra drops to the floor.
His gaze drops to my breasts, slow, appreciative, a low hum vibrating from his throat. He reaches out, palms my tits roughly, thumbing over my nipples, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp.
“Perfection,” he says. “Even better when they’re marked up.”
He pushes me gently onto the bed, and I land on the mattress with a soft gasp, hair spilling across the sheets, legs parted instinctively. I’m already, already his, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s nowhere close to done.
He kneels between my legs, hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wide. His eyes lock onto my pussy, swollen and soaked and still pink from being fucked against the window.
He groans low in his throat.
“Look at this cunt,” he mutters, dragging two fingers slowly through my slick heat, spreading me wide with no shame. “So fucking wet. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed to be split open and filled up.”
I bite my lip, nodding helplessly, because yes…yes to all of it.
He leans in, dragging his tongue up my slit, slow and filthy, tasting himself on me. My hips jerk at the contact, pleasure ricocheting through my spine as his tongue circles my clit, then flattens against it, lapping at me like he’s starving.
I cry out, fingers clutching at the sheets, thighs shaking as he eats me with slow, devastating control. He teases me, flicking, sucking, licking…pushing me right to the edge and then backing off just enough to make me sob with frustration.
“Beg,” he rasps against my soaked cunt.
“Kane, please,” I gasp, hips grinding against his mouth. “Please don’t stop…fuck…please.”
He groans into me, tongue flicking faster now, rougher, his hands pinning my thighs open until I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe.
And when I come again, hard, it’s with his name on my lips, my body breaking open beneath him, my soul split in two and begging for him to slide into the center.