19. Chapter Nineteen #3
I whimper softly, shamelessly, hips grinding harder into him, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more Kane. He groans quietly, a low, primal sound, his cock throbbing thickly against me through his pants, hard and unyielding.
“Keep moving, Munequita,” he commands darkly, breath hot against my skin. “Show me exactly how much you want it.”
His mouth trails hotly along my jaw, lips brushing my ear, voice a smoky whisper that owns every nerve ending in my body. “Nice and slow, Camille. Just like that. Let them all see how fucking perfect you are when you move for me.”
My breath shatters, the heat of his words branding me deep beneath the skin, setting every hidden, aching desire on fire.
I roll my hips obediently, pressing tight against him, matching each thrust, each possessive slide of his thigh between mine.
Our bodies fuse together, seamless, one heartbeat pulsing through tangled limbs.
He controls the rhythm, his breathing rough but controlled, voice low and filthy as he murmurs directly into my ear, “Slow…slower, Munequita. Fuck, yes…just like that. Imagine it’s my cock buried inside you, fucking you deep, filling you until you can’t even breathe without feeling me.”
I moan quietly, clutching at his shirt, nails digging into his chest as pleasure coils sharply, dangerously tight.
His hands shift, one sliding boldly downward, cupping me firmly, the thin fabric of my dress the only barrier from his touch.
He presses me hard against him, letting me feel exactly how much he wants me.
The crowd around us fades.
Disappears.
It’s just him.
And me.
And that dark, decadent beat pulsing through our bodies like a heartbeat.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, press my face into the crook of his neck.
He smells like danger and home and heat.
“Kane…” I whisper into his skin. “I need you…”
His jaw flexes hard. He doesn’t answer.
He just grips my hip harder with one hand and grinds against me, slow and punishing, until I gasp, until my nails dig into his shoulder, until I don’t remember what breathing feels like.
Our bodies slide, grind, connect and retreat again like heat and gravity are pulling us apart just to slam us back together. My hands move up the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. His mouth brushes my jaw, my temple, my cheek, everywhere but my lips.
It’s too much.
And not enough.
I don’t care that people are watching.
I forget that anyone else exists.
It’s just Kane, his body, his rhythm, his restraint that’s fraying more with every step.
My forehead rests against his as I breathe, “Please.”
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes.
And that’s when I see it.
The unraveling.
That line between control and obsession going slack.
He doesn’t speak.
He just grabs my wrist.
Gently, but like a decision.
And leads me off the dance floor.
Kane
I don’t let go of her hand.
Not once.
Not even when we move past Rosa and Diego and a few cousins who know better than to stop me. Not when Reina calls something lighthearted after us. Not when someone whistles low and the music swells again.
I don’t answer.
I don’t look back.
I keep walking.
Camille’s steps are silent behind mine, barefoot on the stone, her breath just slightly uneven. She knows where we’re going. She knows what I need.
It’s not sex.
Not this time.
It’s silence.
It’s stillness.
I take her into one of the side wings, an open hallway lined with Spanish tile and half-lit sconces. The house is too big, too quiet here. The sounds of the courtyard echo faintly behind us.
I stop at the edge of the hall and turn.
She doesn’t speak.
I back her against the wall.
But I don’t kiss her.
I don’t touch her hips.
I just look.
At her flushed cheeks. Her swollen mouth. The glassiness in her eyes. Her dress twisted slightly from how I gripped her. Her curls frizzed from the heat and the sweat and me.
“You looked happy,” I say quietly.
Her breath hitches. “I was.”
“You danced.”
She nods. “I had fun.”
“You laughed.”
She bites her bottom lip, then nods again. “I did.”
I take a step closer.
My voice drops to a whisper. “Did you forget about me?”
“No,” she breathes.
Another step.
“Even for a second?”
“No…not once.”
I cage her in with one hand pressed against the wall beside her head. She shivers beneath me.
“I’m trying, Camille,” I say, voice fraying. “Trying to give you peace. To let you breathe.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“But you look too fucking good when you’re free.”
Her lips part.
I trace the side of her face with the back of my knuckles, barely touching.
My forehead rests against hers,
Both of us breathing harder than we should be for two people barely moving.
Her skin is warm, burning, really, and I know it’s not just the dance or the rum. It’s me. It’s what I do to her. What she lets me do.
“You smell like lime and vanilla sugar,” I whisper roughly, lips grazing the delicate slope of her neck. My tongue slides along her pulse, soft, hot skin tasting like sweetness, salt, and fucking submission.
Shw shudders violently, clutching my shirt so desperately she nearly tears the fabric. Good. I want her wild. I want her desperate, broken, completely fucking mine.
“Kane,” she whimpers, voice trembling, fractured against my skin, a plea, a promise, a goddamn invitation to ruin.
My hand drifts lower, sliding down her body, gripping the back of her thigh.
Her breath hitches sharply, knees weakening as I push her harder against the wall, pinning her there completely.
My thigh presses between hers, forcing them apart.
Her dress bunches higher, and my hand finds bare, trembling skin beneath.
Fuck. No panties.
I growl softly, possessively, nipping at her jaw. “You wore this for me, didn’t you?”
Her breath rushes out on a trembling gasp. “Yes.”
I step back slightly, eyes locked on hers, her gaze dropping instantly as I unbuckle my belt. The leather slides free with a sharp, urgent hiss, making her tremble again, eyes darkening with raw hunger as I free myself, hard, ready, and aching to bury myself inside her.
“You see what you do to me?” I rasp roughly, gripping her thigh and lifting her effortlessly. “How fucking desperate you make me?”
“Yes,” she breathes again, her voice ragged and sweet.
With a single brutal thrust, I slam into her, burying myself to the hilt, stretching her, claiming her. She cries out sharply, head thrown back, nails clawing frantically at my shoulders, thighs squeezing tight around me, locking me inside.
“Fuck,” I groan, voice fractured, savage. I brace one hand beside her head, the other gripping her thigh harder, anchoring her against the wall, giving her no escape from the slow, merciless thrusts that drive deeper with every stroke.
“Move,” I growl against her mouth, lips brushing softly over hers. “Show me exactly how you danced out there, Camille. Slow. Fuck me like you want everyone out there to hear you.”
Her hips roll hesitantly, grinding down, taking me deeper with deliberate care. Her thighs tremble, eyes squeezed shut, every stroke dragging a desperate, ragged gasp from her throat.
“Just like that,” I whisper roughly, nipping her lower lip, tasting her helplessness. “Slow. Let me feel every inch.”
Her rhythm quickens, careful movements turning frantic, desperate. She rides me deeper, thighs quivering, nails cutting into my shoulders as she loses herself in the raw sensation. I meet her movements, hips driving mercilessly, filling her, claiming her, taking every desperate gasp she gives me.
“Kane,” she begs brokenly, eyes glassy and pleading, breath fracturing. “I can’t…”
“You fucking can,” I command roughly, thrusting harder, deeper, pressing her into the wall. “take it, Munequita, take every inch...”
She shudders violently, cries turning sharp, needy. Her body clenches tightly around me, the tension drawing almost painfully tight.
“Come for me,” I growl, voice savage and demanding. “Now, Camille.”
She shatters instantly, body arching off the wall, tightening fiercely around me. My name spills from her lips like a tortured prayer, shuddering cries echoing through the empty hallway, dragging me ruthlessly into oblivion with her.
I erupt inside her, thrusting brutally as she convulses around me, spilling deep.
“Fuck, Camille,” I groan into her throat, breathing harshly as we cling to each other, sweat-slick, trembling. “You’re mine.”
She whimpers softly, head falling onto my shoulder, breath trembling hotly against my neck. I press my mouth to her forehead, letting her feel every possessive, protective instinct surging through me.
“Can you walk?” I murmur roughly.
She gives a soft, embarrassed laugh, cheeks flaming, eyes still dazed. “Maybe. In a minute.”
“Good.” My thumb brushes her swollen lower lip. “Because I’m taking you back out there exactly like this.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, eyes wide and dark. “They’ll know.”
“I fucking hope so.” I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. “They’ll know you’re mine. That I just took you against this wall, and that every fucking scream was my name.”
She swallows hard, heat flooding her cheeks. Slowly, she smoothes the twisted silk of her dress, but it does little to hide the beautiful wreckage I’ve made of her.
I buckle my belt quickly, then take her hand firmly in mine, fingers threaded possessively.
“Come on,” I rasp, a dark smirk tugging at my lips as we head back toward the courtyard. “Let’s show them exactly how good you’ve been treated.”
***
We step back into the courtyard, and the air changes instantly.
Heads turn subtly, music lowering to a throbbing, sensual beat, firelight flickering across faces fixed in curious amusement.
Diego meets my gaze immediately, lips twitching knowingly.
Lucia remains oblivious, laughter bubbling softly as she braids her cousin’s hair, but Marisol and Reina watch us carefully, eyes sharp and knowing.
Camille’s grip on my hand tightens slightly, a pulse of anxiety fluttering through her fingertips. I lean down, mouth against her ear, voice rough and quiet, meant only for her:
“Relax, munequita. They already know exactly who you belong to.”
She inhales sharply, a tremor rippling through her before she steadies herself, following me toward our table. Reina sets another glass down, openly smirking as Camille sinks carefully into her seat, legs still shaking slightly.
I don’t sit. Instead, I stand behind her, hand gripping the back of her chair, a blatant declaration. Possessive. Protective. Territorial.
Mía.
Diego’s eyes flick lazily over us, his expression amused. “Todo bien, hermano?”
I nod slowly, gaze never leaving Camille, marking her openly as mine. “Perfecto.”
Reina leans in closer, eyes sparkling wickedly. “Enjoy your tour?”
Camille lifts her drink slowly, cheeks flushing beautifully, embarrassment and quiet triumph battling in her soft smile. “It was…informative.”
Marisol laughs warmly, shaking her head. “Oh, we can see that, carino. You learned plenty.”
The girls dissolve into laughter, gentle teasing pulling Camille back into their warmth, handing her grilled mango slices and street corn as she relaxes slowly, gradually easing into the rhythm of their easy affection.
But even as she smiles, laughing softly with them, she can’t help glancing back, drawn inevitably toward the darkness behind her.
She feels my stare burning like fire along her skin, possessive, ruthless, and achingly real. And she likes it.
Because no matter how brightly they shine, Camille knows exactly where she belongs.
In the shadows.
Conmigo.