9. Aurélie
We barely made it around the corner from the media room set before Callum grabbed my waist. Marco and Kimi started talking about dinner plans ahead of us. Callum stopped them with a tone I'd only ever heard over the radio when he was frustrated about something.
"We'll meet you there. Go ahead."
“Alone time?” Marco teased with an arched brow as they both turned to look at us. Kimi opened his mouth, but Callum cut him off.
“Five seconds,” Callum warned, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got five seconds to walk away before you see something you definitely don’t want to.”
They scrambled, Marco muttering something about trauma and therapy. Dress shoes slapped against the concrete floors of the hallway, and I stood there dazed, barely catching my breath before Callum spun me around when it was just us.
His eyes burned, molten blue flames. I opened my mouth to ask what the hell that was, but he shoved me against the nearest wall like he was about to devour me.
And he did. He collided with me in a kiss that nearly split me in half—rough, desperate, wet and filthy and everything I’d been starving for.
I moaned into it, letting my fingers twist into his dress shirt as his mouth ravaged mine.
His tongue slid between my lips, and I whimpered, trying to keep up but drowning in the taste of him.
He kissed me like I was the air he’d been deprived of.
As if I was the answer to every question he’d never had the courage to ask.
His body was hot and solid against mine, all bruised muscles that I should've been worried about.
I was too lost in him to consider that when he pressed against me like he couldn't stand an inch between us.
And God, I didn't want any either.
His cock was already hard against me, and when he ground against me with a low growl, my ovaries fucking lurched.
"I… missed… you." I sighed into his mouth.
He pulled back and hummed. "Tu m’as manqué.
" The French version was so much more intimate .
It was like he remembered me sitting by him in his bed, telling him about the translation.
Maybe he was, and that was the point, but that didn't matter, because his hand found my throat and squeezed gently, and my head fell against the wall.
"I missed this mouth." He dragged his lips across my jaw, biting the spot behind my ear and sucking.
The sound I made was straight-up pornographic.
"But you did something naughty, didn't you, love? "
I swallowed, and he squeezed harder. "Y-yeah."
His other hand undid the buttons of my blazer, revealing the white lace bralette I wore underneath. It had been the only thing tethering me to myself earlier when I'd put it on, and he groaned when he saw it.
"Callum," I whispered. "Please touch me." My panties were already soaked and the apex of my thighs were sticky with arousal. My skirt was entirely too short to be dealing with this right now, but I didn't fucking care anymore.
“Oh, I plan to. I need to,” he rasped against my ear. “I missed the way you taste. The way you moan when I’ve got my fingers inside you, knuckles deep, making a fucking mess of the sheets.”
My knees buckled and my head rolled back. “Callum— fuck. ”
“I can still smell your pussy in my bed,” he snarled.
The hand holding my throat keeping me upright, his body just far enough away to leave me desperate for his touch.
“You left those photos like you wanted me to snap. And now you’re pressed against this wall, whimpering like you want me to take you right here like the perfect little slut you are for me. Is that it, mon c?ur?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes—s'il te pla?t.”
“Oh, now she says please,” he mocked, devilish and sharp. "In French, no less. Just the way I love you. Incoherent and losing your fucking mind between my language and yours."
He shoved a thigh between mine, and the friction alone nearly undid me.
His hand slipped under my blazer, palming my breast, rough through the fabric of my bralette.
My nipples ached. I arched into his hand, craving everything he wouldn’t give me yet.
I choked on a moan, my legs clamping around his as I rolled my hips, craving the friction.
Then his other hand slid down, slipping his fingers under the hem of my skirt, brushing over the curve of my thigh, teasing the soaked lace of my panties. I let out a garbled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. He'd always known how to make my body sing for him.
“You gave me your body and then tried to disappear,” he growled. "Ignored me for almost three fucking days when all I've done is need you . Now you want me to play nice?"
I nodded, biting my lip. Tears stung my eyes. “I was scared,” I whispered. “I didn’t know if you still wanted me.”
He didn’t wait. Two fingers pushed the lace aside and slid into my pussy like I belonged to him. I gasped loudly as my hips bucked against his hand.
“There she is,” he whispered. “So wet. So needy. Look at you, baby. You missed me that bad?”
I could barely breathe. I panted, hips grinding down on his hand like a fucking animal. His fingers curled inside me, slow and purposeful, and my head pitched forward so I could cry out into his shoulder.
“Shhh,” he soothed, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Don’t want to get caught, love, do we?”
“N-no,” I stammered. “Please. Just don’t stop .”
"You want to beg? Fucking beg properly, Aurélie. Use your goddamn words."
Tears leaked from my eyes. He didn't understand what he was doing to me. "Je t’en supplie… baise-moi comme si je t’appartenais." I beg you… fuck me like I belong to you.
He kept curling, fingers hitting that spot inside me that made my whole body lock up.
My orgasm built like a wave behind my eyes.
I clenched around him, desperate to come.
The other day, when I was on his bed, my orgasm had been so lackluster, and I'd been so in my head lately, had missed him so fucking much?—
“Such a good fucking girl for me, aren't you? Now I want you to tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me who owns you.”
"You," I gasped.
"Again, Aurélie."
“You do,” I sobbed. “You, toi, Callum, please .”
“That's right. Now beg for it again.”
“Please let me come. Please. I missed you so much, and I-I can’t take it?—”
“You can take it," he growled, and my pussy quivered around his fingers. So close, so fucking close. "That’s it. That’s my girl.”
But right as I was about to tip over the edge, he pulled out.
“No,” I choked, shaking. "No no no no?—"
He smiled—cruel and beautiful and smug—and leaned in close. Something shifted behind his gaze. For a beat, he just looked at me. His hand was still under my skirt, my thighs still trembling, my whole body feeling like a live wire waiting for contact.
“Don’t run from me again. You know I will chase you,” he murmured with a wicked smirk that told me he was thinking of the last time he literally did that. “I will find you. And when I do, I won’t be so fucking patient next time.”
“I won’t. I swear.”
“So good for me,” he growled—and just like that, I was gone for him again. "Because I'm not above stopping you on the fucking track if you try it again and showing everyone what you do to me."
"Putain, please, please, s'il te pla?t , mon bébé, I need to come." I wasn't even sure what I was saying anymore, I was just unraveling for him and weak in the fucking knees.
He didn’t move back. Instead, his hand slipped into his pocket and came out holding two gleaming metal spheres, each one catching the low hallway light, connected by a black thread. My mouth went dry, my eyes dragging over them, brain faltering as I tried to process what he intended.
“Open,” he ordered.
I hesitated a second too long. His brow arched, and my stomach bottomed out.
I parted my lips, heat rushing through me as he pressed one cool, heavy ball onto my tongue, followed by the other.
The chill shocked me, and then the weight of them—dense, metallic, utterly fucking indecent—settled against my tongue like a dirty secret.
He held my chin steady while I rolled them in my mouth, the taste sharp and cold, my saliva coating the surface.
“Good girl,” he rasped, but his own breath stuttered, chest rising harder than before. His eyes were fixed on my mouth, pupils blown wide, like he was watching a live fantasy play out right in front of him.
I hollowed my cheeks, sucking until he hummed with approval. His hips gave the faintest rock forward, like he couldn’t stop himself, and a harsh sound tore out of him, a half-growl, half-moan. The sound shot straight through me, my clit throbbing so hard it hurt.
When he tugged on the string, I released the balls with a pop.
His hand lingered on my jaw, thumb smearing spit across my bottom lip like he couldn’t get enough of the sight.
A strand of slick clung between us, obscene and wet, and he groaned low in his throat, head tipping forward as if fighting for control.
“Fuck, Aurélie,” he panted, his forehead almost brushing mine now. “You don’t even fucking realize. Watching you suck them like that—Jesus Christ, I could come just from looking at you.”
He dragged his gaze down, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing me, then back up again with a heat so raw it burned. The smirk that finally broke across his mouth was feral, but his voice cracked with the force of his want. “And you’re mine. My filthy little brat.”
“Yours. Always,” I breathed, and his eyes pinned mine with a knowing stare. I physically softened, body drifting toward his like a magnet. It was what I wrote on the last Polaroid I left in his flat.
“Now,” Callum murmured, crouching just enough to slide them up under my skirt, his fingers brushing my folds before he pushed the first ball inside, then the second. The stretch of the cold steel was shocking, filling, my cunt clenching hard around the foreign weight. I bit down on a whimper.
Then, with that same devastating look on his face, he hooked two fingers into the waistband of my panties, and tugged them up.
Tight and high, dragging the soaked lace up between my lips until it pressed right against my swollen clit.
My entire body went taut, my toes curling in my heels and up, up, up I went on my tiptoes as I tried to chase the sensations.
I let out a strangled moan as the pressure hit.
“There,” he said darkly, eyes glittering. “Now they’ll stay put until I decide otherwise.”
My whole body trembled. “O-kay.”
“Feel that?” he whispered, lips brushing mine.
“That’s what happens when you come to dinner with me after doing something so bad.
I’m going to sit you next to me like the proper gentleman I’m pretending to be, and the whole time, you’re going to be wet and flushed and shifting in your seat. And you’re not going to make a sound.”
“Cal—”
“No.” His hand withdrew from under my skirt and he reached up to button my blazer. “You’re going to sit there and take it . Because you know what happens when you don’t?”
I whimpered.
He leaned in, arms bracing on either side of my head, voice dark and delicious.
He towered over me, and a lock of his hair fell over his forehead.
God, he looked devastatingly hot like this.
“I’ll take you back to the hotel, bend you over my knee, and make you count every fucking stroke.
The rest of the hotel will wonder what the hell I’m doing to you. ”
“Oh my God.” That shouldn't have been so hot, but fuck, it was. It really, really was. I thought about Barcelona again, when he chased me through the paddock and I asked him to punish me.
"Stop talking and fucking listen , Aurélie.
I served my punishment. Now it's your turn.
Your little stunt was cute. Hot as hell, actually.
But you fucking killed me. And for the last day, I thought you were walking away for good.
You cried leaving my flat. What, you thought because we had a hard week that we were done ?
Not a fucking chance, love. So now you're going to dinner like this until you learn your fucking lesson.
You are mine. I am yours. There are no ifs, ands, or buts.
And I will keep punishing you until we've written that into the stars. Do you understand?"
My lower lip wobbled, but I nodded slowly. I was certain my panties, mascara, and lipstick were all ruined.
“That's my girl. You're going to eat and enjoy the company of your boys, and pretend you’re not dripping down your thighs,” he murmured, lips brushing mine. “And when I’m ready, I’ll decide if you’ve earned the right to come.” He popped his fingers into his mouth and sucked.
Holy fucking Christ.
"Now go fix your lipstick, love. And when you come back," his gaze dropped to my thighs, all possessive and dark, "I'm checking your panties." He leaned in one last time, breath hot against my ear. "And if you've moved them, I'll spank you raw for it, you little brat."
Then he stepped back like nothing happened—as if he hadn't just edged me into oblivion in a hallway in the fucking paddock —and held his arm out as if to say, Ladies first.
I could barely move without feeling the heavy balls shift inside me, pressing deeper with every step.
They weren’t called orgasm balls for nothing.
Each tiny sway of my hips made them roll, a slow, delicious torment against my walls, paired with the panties pulled snug and merciless against my swollen clit.
Every nerve ending was alive.
How the fuck was I supposed to sit across from Marco and Kimi, with Callum watching like he owned my every breath?
Dinner was going to kill me. Or I was going to kill him. I wasn't sure what would happen first.