40. Aurélie #2
Because love didn’t make you weak. Its strength forged in the fiery depths of devotion, the kind that remade ruin into resurrection.
Love would always pick the goddamn locks and show up even in the worst of times, would help the other person stand when they could barely support themselves, and took every broken piece as if it were both whole and holy.
And just like that, his laughter broke. I felt the shift in him instantly, like his whole body forgot how to breathe. His grip in my hair turned desperate, reverent. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking around the edges. “You really are gonna undo me.”
My heart squeezed so violently it hurt. I pressed my lips to his, soft but sure.
“I already have.” The dark pull in his endless, impossibly blue eyes begged me to wreck him further, so I did.
“Besides… you like it. Admit, mon amour—” I pitched my voice into a butchered Scottish accent, because the French in me would never be dimmed, “—it’s bloody romantic. ”
The sound he made—fuck, it was torn straight from his soul. A groan, a laugh, a plea all in one. His hand dragged behind my knee, hitching my leg over his hip until I felt the hot, throbbing press of his cock against me.
“God, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he growled into my mouth, kissing me hungrily, possessively, as if swallowing every last bit of me.
I kissed him back slowly, sinfully, tasting him with my tongue until I pulled back just enough to breathe.
“No,” I purred. “I’m trying to resurrect you.”
The way he froze. The way his eyes flew wide and his entire body reacted.
I felt it like a live wire under my palms. His cock pulsed hot against me, his breath stuttered, and I realized exactly what I’d done.
That word—resurrect—struck him deep, brutal and holy, the way it had struck me yesterday when he’d held me together.
“Baby,” he rasped, his hips bucking helplessly against mine, “you can’t just fucking say things like that.”
“Oh, but I can,” I said quietly, smug and breathless.
I caught his bottom lip between my teeth, biting before letting it go.
His groan rumbled through me, and I shivered with it.
My gaze locked on his, tender and filthy at once.
“Maybe next time, I’ll make you beg for your resurrection.
You always rise so perfectly for me, mon amour. ”
Men had always tried to take my choice from me.
Seen me as an object to play with, to touch, to use.
Even yesterday. The memory scraped like glass against my ribs.
But here, now, with him, I could erase it.
What I needed was to feel him claim me in the only way that mattered: to know that no matter how many pieces the world broke me into, he would always put me back together.
And then I moved. I rolled, straddling him, reclaiming my power over him. My hair fell in a wild curtain around us, cocooning us in shadow as my hips ground down slow, deliberate, claiming. His strangled laugh told me everything. I had him. I was in complete control.
And I’d never felt more powerful, more alive, more his, in my life.
“You know what will really kill me, love, is if you keep looking at me like you’re already my wife.”
The words hit like a shiver straight down my spine, zipping through me, hot with arousal and burning with love. My body rocked harder on top of him, partly because I wanted him to feel just how undone I was, partly because if I didn’t laugh I might cry. Already his wife? Mon Dieu.
The thought struck me so hard I saw it: a veil brushing my shoulders, his broad hands trembling as he slid a ring onto my finger, his accent wrecked as he said my name at an altar. Callum Fraser, in a kilt, of all things, beaming like he’d won the championship just for showing up and saying I do.
I grinned down at him, unhinged and not at all tame as I teased, “Pink peonies, yes? For the church aisle? Or maybe on the cake too. Tell me, mon c?ur, will you wear a kilt at the altar, or is that reserved for just the naughty ones?”
His laugh broke on a groan, his hands gripping my hips like I was slipping through his fingers. “A church, love? I would’ve guessed you’d want your beloved lavender fields. Barefoot bride, smelling like sunshine and wildflowers.”
I hummed, thinking of the image he painted. My family’s estate, endless lavender fields before us as the sun set over the hills. The floral scent wrapping around us. Dirt under my feet, his tie loosened, both of us barefoot because we couldn’t wait one more second to belong to each other.
Hope—terrifying, impossible, beautifully destructive hope—fluttered in my chest like wings. “Maybe both.” The words slipped out softer than I meant them to, but he caught them anyway.
“Doesn’t matter to me.” One palm slid up my spine, tugging me down until our chests were flush against each other. “I’ll marry you wherever you want, baby. A church, a field, a bloody parking lot. As long as I can bow at your feet, worship you, and make you mine forever.”
My teeth caught my bottom lip, eyes going wide.
Did he know what he’d just done to me? Because now I couldn’t stop seeing any of it.
A parking lot, the fields, a sprawling church with grandiose architecture—it didn’t matter.
It was the same image every time: me, walking toward him.
Him, waiting for me. A vow that had nothing to do with flowers or rings and everything to do with how he looked at me like I was already his.
For the first time in my life, I believed I deserved that kind of devotion.
“Hmm,” I managed, letting the filth cover the ache in my chest, “well if I get my way, I’ll have you on your knees before the vows. Let the whole fucking world know we belonged to each other long before we said I do.”
He smirked, fingers twisting into my hair in a claiming hold that made my whole body tighten. “Then I’d better start practicing how to look humbled. Hope the vicar’s comfortable, because I’ll be taking my time.”
Heat curled low in my belly, reckless and wild.
I arched a brow, voice purring. “After I take your last name, and I’m Mrs. Fraser, will the cake be chocolate, or just me on my knees in white lace?
” My grin widened, devilish. “Also, what do we teach our kids—however that looks for us—to call you? Daddy or Father?”
The way he groaned, all loud and ruined, rattled the walls. And God, the power of it nearly split me apart. He wasn’t running from the word kids . He wasn’t flinching. He was here, wanting it all with me. My body rocked against his, desperate, reveling in the redemption of that.
I rotated my hips, the duvet falling away, and his hand clamped on my hip, the other sliding around my neck like a prayer. Every inch of me tightened around the thick, throbbing length of him, and for once, what had felt like ruin yesterday felt like hope today—hot, desperate, holy.
His kiss was savage, teeth scraping my lip before his growl seared into me: “Maybe I’ll bend you over the altar itself.
Let the whole bloody congregation know I claimed you before God could.
And then I’ll ruin you in that dress, lace bunched around your hips, pearls rattling as I fuck you until you can’t even say your vows without moaning my name. ”
A cry broke from me, half laugh, half plea, and then he slammed into me—hard, deliberate, worshipful.
My body caught fire. The cool drag of his piercing sent sparks racing up my spine.
I matched him, thrust for thrust, my eyes catching his, glittering with mischief.
“Look at how enraptured you are by me.” My teeth nipped at his ear, lips scraping stubble, savoring the moan I pulled from him.
Yesterday my power had been ripped away. Today, I was taking it back.
“All you have to do is make me yours, Fraser. Make me yours right now. Marry me with your mouth first.”
I didn’t care if I sounded wild. I was-– Dieu, I was. Wild for him. Wild for this.
He groaned something between a laugh and a vow.
“Fine.” His kisses bruised, his hands slid under my ribs, holding me like I was breakable and unbreakable all at once.
“I vow to you, here and now, over and over, to carve a life out of whatever mess this world throws at us—kids or not, chaos, whatever. I promise to protect you, to be the man who holds the door when you need it open, and the one who gets on his knees when you need to be worshipped. You’re mine, Aurélie. All of you. Always.”
Jesus fuck, I loved this man.
A sob caught in my throat, but I buried it in a kiss, craving him in ways that only my soul could reach for.
I barely noticed he’d rolled us until I was on my back, legs locking around him to bring him as close to me as possible.
When he pulled my leg up over his shoulder, the new angle ripped a broken moan from my chest.
He filled me so deep it felt like eternity. There was no telling where he ended and I began. We were one, bound to each other on a level deeper than this universe could comprehend.
The world blurred—thrusts pounding, skin slick, breaths ragged. His mouth latched onto my throat, sucking at my pulse like he could taste the life he’d put back into me. His thumb found my clit, circling until my legs shook, until my body screamed.
Each touch, each thrust, wasn’t just sex. It was reclamation. It was resurrection.
I gasped his name, clawed my nails down his shoulders, every nerve ending unraveling. My walls fluttered around him, dragging him closer, tighter.
He whispered my full name like a prayer, promised me eternity between kisses, and I believed him. For the first time in forever, I truly believed.
When he said, “I promise,” my body clenched around him like it was sealing that vow into my skin.
And when I broke apart, when the world shattered into light and sound and Callum, he followed me over the edge, groaning my name like it was the only word he’d ever need.
We rode it out together, until there was nothing left but the quiet holy afterglow of being loved without condition.
And when he whispered home , I knew. That was exactly what we were.
I only climbed out of bed to brew some coffee before I was snuggling back into him. For a heartbeat, I thought maybe we could just stay wrapped in sheets and vows and the wreckage of yesterday. Safe. Whole. Together.
But stillness had never been my nature. My brain hummed, fast and relentless, chasing the pieces of something bigger.
Callum saw it instantly. He always did, because he’d always seen right through me, down to my core.
The way my shoulders tensed, the way my fingers twisted fabric like they were already gripping the wheel.
“What’s going on in that brilliant brain of yours?” he asked, brushing his knuckle over my cheekbone so tenderly it nearly shattered my resolve.
I didn’t answer. Not yet, not when the gears were still turning, trying to fit together in a way that made sense.
Instead, I sat up and reached for the cooling coffee on the nightstand.
One long sip, bitter and grounding, before I padded toward the window, the sheet trailing like a veil around me.
Outside, the English light bled soft gold across the glass, and I was relieved to not feel like a ghost.
The buzz of my phone cut through the quiet—a reminder for his meds. Even now, I’d set alarms to keep him standing, to keep him safe. I handed him the pills, watched him swallow them without question, and for a fleeting second, the intimacy of it nearly undid me more than sex ever could.
But I didn’t climb back into the bed. I stayed where I was, clutching the sheet, teeth worrying at my lip. The plan pressed against my ribs until it hurt to breathe.
“I think I have a plan,” I said at last. My voice didn’t tremble. “But it’s… crazy.”
Callum smiled, all gravel and ruin, like I hadn’t just dropped a live grenade between us. “You know I love it when you’re crazy.”
I met his eyes, and I knew he saw it—the fire back in mine, the reckless, feral promise. “No, Callum. I mean really crazy .”
“Those are my favorite kinds,” he said.
That was all I needed. I turned, grabbed my phone, and scrolled until I found the contact. My pulse kicked harder with every second. He tilted his head, watching me like it was lights out before the race. My heart pounded the way it did on a starting grid—anticipation, danger, inevitability.
Because that was who I was now. With him, for him, because of him, I lived flat out. Not just behind the wheel, but in every choice, every fight, every promise. No hesitations. No apologies. No stops.
The line clicked. A sharp Parisian accent, cool and curious. “Aurélie Dubois. Never expected to hear from you outside of the family business. What can I do for you?”
I hesitated only long enough to breathe. Then I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and let the words fall like a match into gasoline.
“Je veux poursuivre en justice la FIA.”
I want to sue the FIA.