I barely made it through the hotel checkout without collapsing, the pounding in my skull making every interaction feel like nails in my brain. Hydration and food? Not even on my radar. Not when my body still hummed from the night before, and every time I closed my eyes, I heard him,felthim.
That’s a good girl.
So fucking pretty when you come for me.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I needed air. Needed to move. Needed to stopneedinghim.
The marina was quiet this time of morning, the boats swaying gently against the docks, the scent of salt thick in the humid air. The world moved in slow motion, the heat clinging to my skin, giving my hangover no relief as I pulled my sunglasses lower over my aching eyes—thank you, hangover—and tried to think quiet my thoughts.
I should’ve gotten on a flight and buried last night like the scandal it was. Pretended it was a bad decision I'd never say out loud. But I didn’t, because I was a fucking idiot. And because even now, even after having him in sinful ways, Ifelthim before I saw him. That pull—ourconnection—was a live wire I couldn’t cut. It was always there, always visceral.
You’re still fucking dripping for me.
My stomach clenched and my pulse jumped. My body betrayed me all over again because there he was.
Callumsat at the edge of the dock, elbows on his knees, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the brutal Miami glare. He didn’t move when I stopped, didn’t turn to acknowledge me, but he knew I was there.
I exhaled sharply, the sound too loud in the quiet morning.
I should have turned the other way and acted like I hadn't seen him. Instead, I hesitated… and then walked straight up to him, stopping a few feet behind him.
Neither of us spoke. The silence stretching tight between us.
“Running again?”
I crossed my arms. “You’re one to talk.”
That got him. He looked up, finally pushing his sunglasses into his hair—and God, his eyes. Blue and penetrating, red-rimmed and knowing. For once, not smug, not taunting. It was worse. It waspatient.
He was waiting for me to lie to him.
And he looked as hungover as I felt.
“Ididn’trun,” I insisted, a little too defensive. “I kicked you out, remember?”
He smirked slowly, and it was lethal. “Right. I remember leaving after we had sex twice… and you came all over me like a woman who'd never been properly fucked before.”
Keep talking like that, love. It’s sexy when you swear at me in French.
Let me hear how pretty you sound when you beg.
I swallowed hard, turning toward the water instead so my face didn’t give away how turned on I still was, how every word he spoke tightened something low and filthy inside me. I tried to figure out how to word what I felt in English, but all I could come up with was, “I can’t let a scandal happen.”
Callumexhaled slowly, and the sound stripped something raw inside me. “Right,” he repeated. “Because your priority is keepingLuminis happy. Not yourself.”
My head snapped toward him. The motion made everything tilt, my head and stomach spinning. “Excuse me?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.” His tone was too calm. Too fucking confident. It was infuriating. And stupidly hot. And maddening. “Tell me that you didn’t run because you were thinking about the media. About your team. About what it would look like if the world knew thatAurélieDubois—Luminis’sgolden rookie—was up against a wall with her rival’s hands up her dress. Or if they knew thatF1’s world champion knows what their rookie tastes like.”
His voice was gravel and heat and every dark craving I tried to ignore. It slid beneath my skin, curling around my spine, lighting me up from the inside out. I felt everything deep in my core all over again. Each place he bruised me lit up at the memories of his touch, mixing pain and pleasure, caving to an obsessive need for one another.
He made me feel soft and strong, wanted and wrecked. Feminine in a way that made me ache, not because I was weak—but because he made me feelseen. My brain stuttered, caught between fight and surrender.
I tried to respond, but nothing came out. All I could do was feel.
He was right.
