Chapter 90 Aurélie #2
“I’m fine,” I lied, even as I stared at the blood on his knuckles. My teeth started to chatter and my shoulders shook. “Are you?” My eyes flicked to the blood spatter on his neck, the tension still coiled through every muscle in his body.
His eyes dropped to my trembling hands. “Aurélie…”
“I’m fine,” I said again, but softer this time. I wasn’t convincing either of us. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”
He exhaled sharply, dragging his bloodied hand through his hair. “I swear to God, Aurélie,” he said, jaw tight. “If he ever touches you again, I won’t stop.”
And I believed him. He didn’t finish the job. Even though I saw it in his eyes—that primal, vicious part of him that wanted to break Santino’s face in two.
But he didn’t.
He chose me.
Not revenge.
And somehow, that made it both hotter and more romantic.
He hesitated, then reached for me again, his hand sliding from my shoulder down to the curve of my back, slow and tentative. I moved toward him without thinking, my body desperate for something solid, and wrapped my arms around his waist.
He didn’t say anything. Just held me until the shaking stopped, not even slightly worried that we were in a paddock lit by floodlights. Right here, just the two of us, we were someplace softer, safer. Some place that only existed when we were together.
I closed my eyes against his chest, breathing him in—champagne, sweat, high-octane fuel. Him.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I was too tired to fight back.”
His arms tightened around me. He was my unmovable rock I didn’t know I needed. Then he pulled away, one hand brushing a piece of hair off my cheek. “You don’t have to say thank you,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you’re saying it to me and not someone else.”
The corner of my mouth tilted. “Possessive much?”
He didn’t even pretend to hide the heat in his eyes. “Always when it comes to you.”
We stood like that for another moment, the world still spinning on the edges of our bubble.
I should say it right now. Tell him how I feel.
But then he bent and picked up the duffel bag I’d dropped, slinging it over his shoulder along with his own, like it wasn’t even a question that we were leaving together.
“I was coming to meet you.”
“I know. He won’t touch you again,” he said, voice like gravel. “You should come back to my place. You can shower. I haven’t yet either.”
The implication of showering together knowing what happened the last two times?
I’d told him to be a good boy, and we’d both wrapped our hands around his cock to jerk him off.
And then there was Imola, just last week, when he’d backed me against the tile, whispered filth in my ear, and slid his finger where no one else ever had.
The heat those memories sent crashing through me was instant. Visceral. My thighs clenched, my core tightening with the ghost of him still inside me.
Suddenly, all I could think about was being surrounded by him—his hands, his mouth, his body. Steam rising. Water beating down. His fingers tangled in my hair. Nothing between us but the need for each other.
I swallowed hard, brain stuttering. It felt wrong to be turned on, but I needed to erase the feel of Santino’s grip from my arm, the taste of fear still clinging to my throat.
Now all I could think about was being kissed senseless under hot water by the man who would never treat me like anything less than sacred.
“Won’t people see us?” I blurted, voice just a touch too high.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Then we’ll tell them we’re heading to an after party.”
I blinked. “Did you plan this?”
Callum flashed a panty-melting grin that revealed his dimple. “I’m looking for any excuse to get you alone.”
And just like that, my brain completely short-circuited.
I was dangerously close to dragging him further into the shadows and demanding he make good on every filthy promise he’d ever whispered into my ear.
So I pivoted, desperate to ground myself in something—anything—that wasn’t the pulsing heat building between my thighs.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get out of here.”
But I just stared at him holding both of our bags, still in his race suit half undone, knuckles split open, waiting for me to go with him.
“You keep doing that.”
He arched a brow. “Doing what?”
I exhaled. “Making me feel like I’m not alone anymore.”
Something shifted in his expression. Something wrecked and reverent and so full of want I couldn’t breathe.
He stepped forward and kiss to my temple. “You’re not. Not with me.”
As we walked back toward the paddock lights, our shoulders brushed, and I realized I’d stopped shaking. Callum had become my safe place.
I could’ve gone back to my hotel. Showered, changed, regrouped. Pretended everything was fine. But I didn’t want fine. I wanted him. For a long time, I wasn’t sure if I could survive loving someone again—not in a world where safety was an illusion and the monsters didn’t always hide under beds.
But he’d fought for me.
And I was so fucking in love with him I could barely breathe.