12. Aurélie #4
He unzipped his pants and freed his cock.
I gasped. He was hard and veiny, visibly throbbing, leaking, furious with want.
His hand moved from my chin to grab the back of my head.
Slid the first couple inches into me slowly at first, just to watch me fall apart around him, just enough for the taste to hit.
"For the record," he growled, sliding another inch in.
I swirled my tongue around his length. "There's no hate here.
Just love. I love you, Aurélie." Another inch.
"I fucking love you, and I will keep telling you that every day for the rest of my life.
" Another inch, and I relaxed my throat to take more of him.
I tried not to choke or gag when his piercing reached the back, but did anyway.
I choked, spit pooling at the corners of my mouth, but I didn’t pull away, didn’t ask for air. I wanted him to know I’d rather suffocate on his cock than be anywhere else.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Fucking cry on it, baby. Let it break you.”
I did, because I didn't care. I wanted my voice hoarse by the end of it so he'd know just how much he owned me.
Callum cradled my face, moving me up and down his shaft, and I gripped the backs of his thighs as I held on for dear life, deep-throating him the best I could.
His thumbs brushed over my hollowed cheeks, wiping at the tears.
He didn’t just want to fuck my mouth. He wanted to leave pieces of himself inside it.
Then he pulled out and yanked me back to my feet by my hair, the pain so fucking good and delicious. “Not yet,” he growled against my mouth. “I need to ruin you properly.”
He carried me to the bed, and I clung to him, desperate for his touch.
I reached for his buttons, working them quickly when he set me down.
I sat up on my knees and almost fell over when I saw them—the purple and yellow bruises scattered across his chest, his ribs.
It was living proof of every nightmare I’d tried to shove down since the crash.
I didn’t even realize I was crying again until one of my tears hit his skin.
“Auri,” he whispered, catching my wrist.
But I didn’t want to be coddled. I wanted to be punished. I wanted to be destroyed. I wanted him to rip every piece of guilt out of me and remind me what it felt like to be alive again.
I kissed him, hard and messy and urgent, clawing at the hair at the nape of his neck, desperate for him to be closer, always closer. I needed him to know I couldn't survive without him.
He pushed me backwards on the bed. My back hit the mattress. I gasped, and then his mouth was at my ear in the next breath.
“I said I would do this when I saw you again.”
I didn’t even fight it, whatever this was, just let my arms fall above my head, boneless and responsive, as if my body had already given up. But really, I was offering myself to him like a prayer. I wanted to give myself over to him wholly and unapologetically.
His hand slid behind him, pulling out a pair of handcuffs—the metal I'd seen earlier. They gleamed in the low light. I moaned, my desire dampening the sheets beneath my hips.
He didn’t cuff me right away, but rolled me flat on my stomach with my arms still stretched overhead, leaving me exposed and aching.
He grabbed my skirt, and without warning, he ripped the second piece to my matching suit set.
The sound of it tearing echoed through the room like an engine misfire, but I couldn't bring myself to care anymore.
I was too far gone and couldn't even speak.
I gasped when he pulled the remainder of the garment from under me, then writhed and flexed my hips into the mattress, pathetic and weeping and falling apart without even being touched the way I needed to be.
"So perfect," he whispered, palm sliding up my back, fingertips tracing the freckles on my shoulders. He'd always loved those, and had once told me that he could map a constellation out of them. "I missed you."
I was about to return the sentiment when his weight shifted as he climbed off the bed. Then a loud crack followed by a white heat that bloomed across my ass. I screamed, but not from pain, from relief. From the realization that I had earned this punishment, and I was safe and loved and?—
Another slap, harder this time. Then another, lower, just shy of my pussy. He bent low, biting down on my shoulder where he'd just traced. "You're dripping all over my fucking belt." Another strike. "You're soaked like this because you asked for it. Even now, you're still in control of me, love."
I ground harder into the sheets and clutched the bedding like a goddamn lifeline.
"I wish you could see yourself right now. Fucking Christ, you're a vision. Face down, ass red underneath these filthy panties, still grinding like you're in heat."
One more strike, and I gasped, thrashed, begged incoherently for more .
I was so wet, it felt like I'd never been touched in my life.
He gave me another, and my vision blackened at the edges as I came harder than I ever had in my life.
I screamed his name, cursed at him, writhed under him as my entire body shuddered violently from the orgasm.
I heard the belt hit the floor behind him, and I hated how badly I wanted to feel it again.
“Look at this mess,” he rasped, dragging his fingers up the insides of my thighs, slick gathering on his knuckles.
“You fucking gushed again for me." Then he leaned down, pressing reverent kisses to my neck. “Couldn’t even take a spanking without squirting all over our fucking bed. You’re a dream, love. My perfect mess.”
His hand paused, then slid back to my ass, fingers grazing the sensitive skin he'd marked like it was precious. "I've seen you melt now, love," he murmured. "I think I finally found how far you'll drip."
My stomach bottomed out. I stopped breathing. The words struck something deep inside me— because I remembered . Miami. The club. Me in his lap trying to escape the booth. You've already melted for me once, love. I just want to see how far you'll drip.
That was him following through. That was him keeping that promise , the way he always did. That is, until he went and crashed his fucking car.
He turned me back to face him, and I had never seen the pale blues of his eyes so dark and wild.
“You’re so fucking desperate, it should be embarrassing.
But God, it's so fucking hot. This is how I felt when I worshipped at your feet in the shower.
I think about that all the goddamn time. You fucking own me, Aurélie."
He clicked the cuffs around my wrists. "My heart belongs to you.
" Threaded the chain through his belt. "My soul belongs to you.
" I should've felt trapped, collared, bound.
But all I felt was safe and chosen. I wanted him to wreck me in that safety.
Callum dragged me up the bed by the shackles, my body pliant and obedient, and looped the belt tight around the slats of the headboard before buckling it. "My life belongs to you."
I didn’t look away, not once, even as he moved down my body so he was between my legs.
“Tell me why you tried to disappear,” he said, and finally the dominant in him broke just a little when it came out sounding like a plea. He ran his fingers through the arousal on my inner thigh, slow and cruel. “We talked about this in Monaco. I thought we put this to rest.”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. He moved down my body. The bruises on him looked like his harness, and suddenly I was back in front of the wreckage, fighting to get to him. “I don’t know, I was scared, I?—”
He pressed his mouth against the soaked lace of my panties and sucked.
I cursed in French as my hips bucked off the mattress, and the cuffs clinked violently against the headboard.
His tongue was unrelenting. Every flick, every suck, every punishing lap over my clit was perfectly tuned to destroy me.
And fuck , another orgasm built fast, the fabric and his tongue and the heat all wrapping around me in an intoxicating cocktail.
He paused. “Why, Aurélie?”
“I—fuck—I couldn’t?—”
He growled and pulled my panties aside, then licked deeper and rougher. “You don’t get to run,” he said into me. “You don’t get to cry like that and pretend it didn’t matter to me.”
I sobbed again. I was helpless and thrashing. Every nerve in my body was on fire and begged for release.
“Say my name.”
“Callum—”
“ Full. Name. ”
“Callum James Fraser.”
“Again.”
“Callum—James— fucking —Fraser." Then he was on me again. I broke and screamed, my hands curling into fists as I tugged at my restraints. My body shattered into white-hot shards of pleasure, and I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop whispering his name as if it was the only thing I remembered.
He didn’t let go, didn’t stop, just licked me through it, held me open, kept me grounded like he needed this just as much as I did.
We’d been broken, and now we were bleeding our way back to each other.