“Sensitive,” he murmured, tracing the spot that made me spiral. “I could spend hours learning every reaction, every sweet little moan, every way your body begs for me.” With a thumb pressed to my clit, he bit my shoulder, and it had me crying out from both the pleasure and the pain.
“More,” I gasped out, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders,feeling the strength that powered his movements, everything he was doing to me.
“Patience,” he whispered as he captured my wrist and brought it to his mouth where he placed a kiss on my pulse point, the gesture unbearably intimate.
“Callum, please,” I pleaded, ready to fall off the cliff, my limbs tingling, my core tightening.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” And then he moved, a rhythm that was both new and as ancient as the pull between two bodies desperate for union. Each thrust was a word in our silent dialogue, each gasp a punctuation mark in the sentence we were writing with our joined bodies. Because that was what it felt like. A story we wrote together.
And God, I never wanted it to end.
“Look at you… so beautiful,” he rasped, thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
“S’il te plaît,” I whimpered.
His eyes flared, an intense blue that held a storm of emotion, reflecting my own whirlwind of feelings. In them, I saw not just the fierce competitor but the man, raw and open, sharing this moment of carnal desire.
“Fuck,” he growled. “Say it again.”
“S’ilteplaît,” I whispered, helpless and desperate.
“That accent,” he rasped, thrusting harder. “Thatvoice.That’s mine now.”
Okay, yeah, yep, that possession had my orgasm peaking.
“Lâche-toi,Aurélie,” he whispered.Let go. His voice was raw velvet, the French on his tongue sounding like it was designed to bring me to my knees.
And it did.
I let go with a cry muffled by his kiss, exploding under him while he murmured filthy praise to me.
Then he came with a wrecked, broken moan, buried in the crook of my neck like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. His entire body trembled against mine, like I’d taken him to the edge and fuckingshovedhim off it.
For a long, breathless moment, all I could hear was our lungsdragging in air like we’d been drowning in each other. I was boneless.Blissedout. Ruined.
Callumdidn’t move. Just kept hisforehead pressed to my shoulder, like he needed to stay tethered to something real.
When he finally pulled back, meeting my eyes… I knew. This wasn’t just tonight.
We’d just rewritten everything.
In the stillness that followed,with night pressing against the windows, I realized we’d crossed a line that couldn’t be undone. What started as a rivalry had become something else—something real. As undeniable as the marks we’d left on each other’s skin.
I relaxed onto the desk, still tangled with him, his fingers lazily tracing my thigh. For a moment, I let myself forget the world outside this room. Let myself melt into his warmth, into the safety of it.
“Never knew victory tasted this sweet,” he murmured against my neck, the words wrapped in amusement… and something deeper.
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll spoil me for all other men,” I said, heart still racing but oddly… steady. There was peace in the rhythm of his breathing.
I felt safe. Unbearably so.
“Good,” he said, simple and certain, possessive, even. It should’ve warned me off, but it didn’t.
“Good,” I echoed, knowing full well how complicated this was already. But in that moment, I let myself sink into the afterglow. IntoCallum. Into us.
Our breathing slowed in sync, sweat-slick skin sticking together, and the illusion began to shatter.
When he pulled away, the warmth between us vanished like mist inthe morning sun. He pressed a kiss to my forehead—too soft, too sweet—and murmured, “Be right back,” before disappearing into the bathroom.
