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She glares up at me. “You already said you’re going to torture and murder me. How much worse could it get?”
“You have to ask me that question?” I bark out a harsh laugh. “You know me, Camille. I can do things to your friends and family that would make you cry.”
I won’t touch any of them. This is between Camille and me, but she doesn’t need to know that. Fear for her loved ones is what will keep her in line.
Her muscles go stiff, and she looks at me, almost fearless. “I wouldn’t recommend it.” Ice frosts her every word.
Reluctant admiration surges through me. Other girls would have been sniveling and dribbling and losing their minds, knowing what was going to happen to them. She’s stronger than I remembered. But this isn’t how the game is played. I make the threats.
I slide her skirt up again and thrust my fingers through the crotch of her panty hose, tearing the fabric. I stroke her, finding her slit is wet for me. My cock pulses with arousal at the sweet scent of her pussy. I need to taste her. Need to feel her come on my tongue. I want to hear every noise she makes while I make lo—”
No. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I summon up hate from the depths of my soul. “Little lying bitch. Traitor whore. You’re going to be screaming for mercy when you die.”
I’ll take what I want, but it won’t be love I give to her.
I force her legs open wide with my knees, and in one swift move, I slide down between her legs and rip the crotch of her hose open even wider. My hands are on her thighs, and she’s not even fighting me anymore. I smell the sweet, spicy scent of her arousal and grin. Dipping my head, I run my tongue along the seam of her pussy, and she shudders in pleasure.
“Bastien… please don’t make me… oh God, yes…” Her soft voice caresses me.
“You want to come? Scream for me, baby.” I spread her dewy pink lips open and drag my tongue down her exposed wetness.
“No,” she whimpers. So I stop licking her and stroke her with the gentlest of touches while she mewls and cries out for release.
“You know you want it, baby. You love how I touch you.” My fingers are like feathers drifting across her pussy, teasing her, making her ache.
Her eyes roll back into her head, and I know she can’t stand it anymore. She shrieks, “Yes! Make me come. Please make me come.”
And I do. I bend down and lap up her delicious juices, sucking on her clit between.
I close my eyes and let myself drift away, imagining that the terrible day in our past never happened. Camille is still my love, and we’re on our honeymoon. I’m making my sweetheart cry out for me… no. No, she’s getting in my head again. She is not my love. She’s a lying jezebel, and I’m only pleasuring her to punish her with what comes after.
I’m losing my grip. My thoughts and feelings contradict themselves at every turn.
I suckle, nip, and lap at her. I’m a man possessed. A hungry bear tearing apart the jar to get to the contents inside. I’m ravenous.
I devour her oozing honey until she spasms and cries out in ecstasy, soaking my face with her arousal. She pushes her pussy into my face, riding out her orgasm until she goes limp.
As I pull back, she sits up, dazed—and looks at the doorway. She utters a strangled cry. I’ve never heard such despair before. God, that’s nice. That sound, I wish I could bottle it and take it home with me so I could down it like sweet nectar. I’m fucking hard as a rock.
The gallery owner, Thomas Sinclair, stands there with Pandora. That’s because I planned this out perfectly. I had Simon come to the gallery with me tonight and told him to send Mr. Sinclair and Camille’s best friend to the storage room fifteen minutes after I went in. I didn’t know then that we’d move things to the hallway for everyone to witness Camille’s fall from grace.
I stand up, grinning, as Camille frantically staggers to her feet and pulls her skirt down. Her hose are torn, her mascara smeared, and she smells like pussy.
The revulsion and rage on Mr. Sinclair’s face make Camille burst into tears. “Oh no,” she sobs. She sounds so hopeless.
Pandora looks furious and disgusted. “How could you?” she cries out to Camille. “What is wrong with you?”
“So sorry.” I smirk at them. “I mean, she just grabbed my crotch and dragged me back here. What’s a fellow to do? I was loathe to reject such a refined woman.” I look down at Camille with disdain for all to see. “Sadly, I found that she’s just another loose woman, unable to control her urges.” I push my way past them, licking Camille off my lips.
As I make my way toward the front door, I hear Mr. Sinclair’s outraged bellow. “Get out.Get out!”he yells at Camille.
Her perfect world, crashing down on her and burying her alive is a symphony I’ll play over in my head until the day I die.
CHAPTER17
Camille
