Yeah, we both know I know the direct translation.
"And if she doesn't?"Shebeingme.
He looked at me—reallylooked—and then said the kind of thing you feel in your fucking marrow. "Then it wasn't for her."
It hit me then. He wasn't talking about words, or translations. It was a brand. A promise. A silent fucking contract waiting for the woman meant to claim it.
And in that moment, God help me, I wanted it to be for me.
“I guess I’m her for tonight,” I whispered. The words slipped out before I could stop them—quiet, fragile, and a little terrifying but true. I was too intoxicated to care. My fingers brushed over the tattoo. All I could think was how much I wanted my mouth on that ink, to bite the edge of it, to know him in a way no one else did.
I leaned in and nipped his flesh, tasting his skin, and he hissed. I clawed at his thighs as I ran my tongue over the bite, then slowly pulled back. “Of course you’d have something poetic and romantic,” I muttered, eyes dragging over his nearly naked, gorgeous body, and the thick, hard outline of his cock. Jesus, would he evenfit? I'd spent plenty of time staring at that workout selfie and the outline of it flaccid, but this… I feared my vagina would not recover. “You dramatic little slut.”
His hand shot out—fast, rough, veiny as fuck—and caught my jaw. A moan slipped out of me, soft and involuntary. God. Why did that turn me on so much?
"Did you just call me a slut?” It was pure gravel and sex.
I grinned up at him, wicked and breathless, even as his grip tightened. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. “If the thigh tattoo fits…”
His hold tightened. My thighs clenched. Our chests brushed with every sharp inhale, heat sparking off our skin like live wires. The tension in the room was thick enough a knife could cut it.
I'd never been this passionate with a man. Besides, if this was my only time that I would havethisman, then I would make the most of it. There was no one around to interrupt us for once, nothing preventing us from acting on whatever desires we had for one another. And something told me that he would have zero problem being rough or experimental with me.
“You do know,” I teased, my nipples tingling and clit pulsing as his other hand gripped my hip to haul me against him, “your reputationprecedesyou.”
He didn’t speak. He just stared—dark, burning, and unreadable. He murmured, low and filthy, “Next time you call me that, I’m gonna fuck your mouth until you choke on my cock.”
Next time.God, I hoped there would be a next time.
I gasped, and then he shoved me back onto the bed. He gripped his cock through his briefs and stroked. I watched, enthralled and flushing at the sight. His teeth dragged over his lower lip as his eyes raked over me, then he crawled over me like a man starved.
“Only a slut would say something like that,” I whispered, nearly breathless, and then I held the condom up between us.
His eyes lit with something wicked before he leaned in so close I could see all the light shades of blue swirling together in his eyes. "Takes one to know one."
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Not with the way he was looking at me. He looked seconds away from devouring me, and fuck, I wanted it more than anything.
“You want a slut? I'll show you what a slut does.”
Then we were a frantic mess of mouths and limbs—hot and unhinged, greedy with touch. He kissed me as though he needed it to survive, biting at my bottom lip as his hands shoved my thighs apart and grabbed the condom from my grasp. My robe was half off, my bra twisted. I barely had time to breathe before he rolled the condom over his cock, grabbed my hips, and thrust in.Fuck, the stretch burned. My eyes slammed shut, and the sounds we both made when he slid in the first time were absolute filth.
He was big and thick, and I took every inch as if my body was built for it—because it was. He made me feel like it was. I couldn’t focus on anything but the way his hands gripped me and the sound of his low, feral groans in my ear. The pressure curling deep in my belly like a fire that could no longer be contained.
“Fuck, Aurélie,” he growled against my mouth. His breath was ragged, and he was as breathless as I was. “You feel so fucking good. Better than I dreamed.”
He wasn't wrong. This was better than any fantasy I'd ever had about him, better than any fanfiction version of us. This was real, and it was fucking messy and perfect andaddicting.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his other gripping my thigh as he drove into me—deep, brutal, completely unhinged. His rhythm was fast and messy, skin slapping, hipssnapping, filthy praises pouring out between gasps. Every thrust, he rocked against my clit. I couldn’t hold back. My legs shook around his waist. I whimpered into his mouth as my body arched up into his so I could feel him everywhere. I was so full, so overwhelmed, so hot I couldn’t think.
"God," I choked out. "Putain, I'm so close. I need to come."
He grinned wickedly and slowed his pace, and my hands flew to grab his shoulders. My nails dug into him in frustration. "Ask nicely, love."
I jutted my chin out defiantly, planted my feet on the bed, and used my years of strength training to thrust into him relentlessly from the bottom. His grin just deepened, and his dimple made a rare appearance. Damn him for being so fucking attractive that it made my pussy clench around him as he pulled out. He groaned when I did, dragging a hand up the column of my throat. I swallowed against his palm, and he applied pressure. My lashes fluttered in response.
"Say please, and I'll let you come."
“Callum, please.” I didn’t even know why I begged for it without question, just that he'd asked and I wanted to give it to him. I wanted to give everything to him, and in return I needed another fucking orgasm from the only man I'd been picturing for an embarrassing amount of time. “Please,pleaselet me come.”
