Chapter 73 Callum #2
The faint trace of lavender wafting from her hair—as if the universe could never strip that away—was everything.
And when the doors finally opened, I didn’t move until she did.
Only then did I lead her down the hall to the entrance of my flat.
The soft click of the door closing behind us seemed deafening in the otherwise quiet living room, the only sound besides the distant hum of city life outside.
Her eyes wandered over the space, slow and assessing, lingering on the modern decor, the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline, and the lamps that cast a warm glow across the open-plan living area.
Her expression was unreadable at first, but then her lips curved slightly, a hint of surprise breaking through.
“You live here?” she asked, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Don’t sound too impressed, Dubois. It’s just a place to sleep.”
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking back to the view. “Yeah, sure. Just a place to sleep.”
“Hungry?” I prompted her.
She turned on the chandelier that hung in my living room, giving more light to the space that I’d paid an interior decorator an ungodly amount to design.
“Starving, actually,” she replied. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
I shook my head, sighing. I couldn’t blame her, though.
If I was in the headspace she was, food would probably be the last thing on my mind.
I moved around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge.
Aurélie sat at the counter, her chin resting on her palm as she watched me.
She looked more relaxed now, the tension in her shoulders easing with each passing minute as she took in my flat from this angle.
I was never one for being self-conscious, yet having her here in my space messed with my head.
She turned to face me, mirth written all over her face, practically spelling out trouble. She was so goddamn intoxicating, even with her makeup smudged and her hair a wild mess. Aurélie completely undone was a creature I would never tire of.
“How much did this place cost you?” she wondered.
I snorted. “You could look that up online.”
“I know,” she said casually. “But I’m asking you.”
I turned away from her to grab spices, a cutting board, and a knife. “About twenty million.”
“Jesus,” she muttered.
“Come on; you’re in F1 now, too. We’re all millionaires.”
The giggle that erupted had me turning to gawk at her. It was light, free, and so completely unlike the Aurélie I’d seen all day—but the one I saw in my car. That version of her was still here with me. The sound lingered, wrapping around me like warmth on a cold day, and I grinned back at her.
“Careful,” I teased. “If you keep laughing like that, I might start thinking I’m funny.”
She rolled her eyes, but her amusement didn’t fade. “Don’t push your luck.”
I planted my hands on the granite counters and leaned toward her. “I have you here in my kitchen. How am I not lucky?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, her cheeks turning pink.
Then she bit her lip, and I lost my goddamn mind.
I knew how she tasted and wanted more. And right now, her lips were pink and puffy, as if the wind had ravaged her mouth and left it raw and ready for me to claim.
And that fucking look she was giving me—
I turned back to the stove, taking a deep breath. Trying to fucking focus on anything but kissing her within an inch of ruin and carrying her into my bedroom to remind her who she belonged to.
Me.
“You know, when Luminis came to me with an offer, it was the best thing in the world. Knowing now what the other drivers make, it’s a joke.”
Thank God for the change of subject.
“Most rookies don’t get the best offers.”
“That wasn’t true for you.”
My eyes flicked up to hers as I set a bowl of greens on the counter.
“How much do you know about me, Dubois?” I meant it jokingly, but judging by the deep red hue her neck and cheeks turned, it was clearly ill-timed.
So, I added, “My circumstances were an exception. I was plucked straight out of F3. My first time in an F1 car was shortly after my seventeenth birthday, and the next year I replaced a driver who was retiring. It was back when only the brave teams were taking a chance on such young drivers.”
She ran her fingers along the counter, slow and absent-minded.
I should’ve looked away, but I couldn’t.
Her hands—those hands that gripped a steering wheel with ruthless precision—were delicate here.
Soft. Curious. And for one dangerous second, I remembered what they’d felt like on me.
Nails on my back. Clutching the bedding.
Gripping my cock. Ecstasy shooting through me as she touched my piercing.
Fucking Christ.
What were we talking about?
“Well, Vanguard’s gamble paid off.”
Oh. Right.
I cleared my throat. “You should be proud of yourself. Being only the third woman in the history of F1 to compete in a race? That’s legendary.”
Her expression grew solemn, and again I was kicking myself for an insensitive comment. Apparently when it came to her, all my charm went out the window.
Rather than letting it sour her mood, she jutted her chin at me, where I’d mindlessly begun cutting vegetables for a salad. “You cook?” she asked, her tone carrying a hint of teasing.
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m full of hidden talents.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Aurélie stood and rounded the island, joining my side to assist. She reached for a cutting board, and our shoulders touched—barely.
But neither of us moved. The contact was small, fleeting, but my skin heated.
She didn’t pull away. Not immediately. And that did something to me I didn’t want to name.
We worked in quiet harmony, the rhythmic sounds of chopping and stirring filling the space. We made something light and healthy—grilled chicken with a side of quinoa and a simple salad. Nothing fancy, but enough to refuel without weighing us down before FP1 tomorrow.
I turned just as she did, both of us reaching for the same damn drawer.
Our chests brushed.
She froze. I froze.
For one suspended breath, we just stared at each other. Her lips parted. I felt her exhale against my skin.
“Callum…”
I backed away first. Just barely. Just enough to keep from doing something we’d both remember forever. “Not tonight,” I murmured, even though everything in me begged for the opposite. “You’ve been through enough.”
Her eyes held mine like a dare. “That’s the only reason you’re not kissing me right now?”
I swallowed, throat thick. “It’s the only one I’m clinging to.”
Her mouth curved—not in surprise, but in something darker. Knowing. Teasing.
She leaned in, slow and deliberate, her voice barely more than a whisper against my neck. “Good boy.”
My stomach fucking dropped. My grip on the drawer handle went white-knuckle as every ounce of control I’d been clinging to teetered. My cock throbbed instantly, a gut-punch reaction I hadn’t expected, and holy hell—the way she said it? Confident. Soft. Like a command dressed in silk.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.
Her hand ghosted over mine where it still braced the counter, her fingers sliding just barely against my knuckles.
“Guess we both have our reasons, hm?” she murmured, as though she hadn’t just destroyed me. Then she stepped away, so casual and unbothered, to take our bowls to the other side of the island. As if I wasn’t about to drop to my knees just to hear her say that again.
I couldn’t look at her. If I did, I’d forget the entire fucking reason I hadn’t kissed her already.
I’d press her against the counter and let her tell me what to do next.
Eat her pretty little cunt like it was my last meal and then fuck her until we both passed out.
I didn’t—but God, I wanted to. More than I’d ever wanted anything.
When we sat down to eat, we made small talk—thank fuck.
I needed some distance from that whole situation.
It was a good thing, too, because as the meal went on, Aurélie began to open up, her voice soft but steady as she talked about the pressures she’d been facing at Luminis.
I listened, my focus entirely on her, offering the occasional nod or reassuring word.
By the time we moved to the terrace with glasses of wine in hand, the weight on her shoulders seemed lighter. The spring night air brushed against us, carrying the faint scent of the ocean and muffling the distant hum of the city below.
Aurélie leaned forward on the railing, her gaze drifting over the twinkling lights dotting the horizon. “It’s strange,” she said after a long pause. “How peaceful it is out here… compared to everything else.”
“Sometimes you have to step away to see things clearly,” I said.
She gave a small nod, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Maybe. It’s just… hard to imagine this kind of quiet when the paddock feels like it’s constantly swallowing me whole.”
Hearing her admit that made me ache in a way I couldn’t explain. I wanted to tell her she was more than the paddock, more than the gossip and the politics. She was Aurélie Dubois, and the world didn’t deserve her fire.
Her confession was heavy but honest, and I realized just how much she needed this moment to breathe, to let go.
“It doesn’t have to swallow you,” I murmured. “Not if you don’t let it.”