Chapter 99 Aurélie
aurélie
Four days. That's all it took to ruin me. –Callum
The light in Callum’s flat was unfair, all bright, warm, and stupidly romantic. Everything about it whispered stay, and everything in me screamed run before you get caught.
I sat on the edge of his bed, bra clasped but still twisted, trying to get the strap to lay flat. My thighs were sore. My lips were bruised. My heart was… unsteady.
Behind me, Callum groaned as he stretched. “Why are you dressed?”
I glanced over my shoulder, startled that he roused after slipping back into a deep slumber. He was still half-asleep, sprawled on his stomach like a goddamn sin come to life, covers low enough to see the curve of his spine and the top of that glorious ass. I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.
“I’ve got a flight in two hours,” I said.
He made a sound of protest, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Fly with me.”
“Callum—”
“My jet leaves in an hour and a half. We’ll be in Barcelona before your car even hits the airport. Come on.” His voice was still raspy, eyes sleepy and soft. “You can sleep the whole way. I’ll even get you a croissant.”
I rolled my eyes, standing to pull on my jeans and tug a shirt over my head. My aching body protested every movement. “You trying to seduce me with pastries now?”
“If it works. I’ll even make sure it’s pistachio.”
I shook my head, grinning. “First of all, I’ve already indulged in that this week, and you know as well as I do how strict our diets are. Second of all, it’s way too obvious. If anyone sees us getting off the same plane—“
“No one will. We’ll land at the private terminal, use different cars. You know this.”
“I do,” I said quietly, having just had this conversation last night as we curled into each other. “But I also know what people say when they think they’ve caught something. They don’t need evidence, they just need a headline. And right now, we can’t afford one.”
He watched me, silent, then slipped out of bed to close the space between us. His hands cupped my hips, warm and steady. “I hate this.”
“I know. I do too.”
He kissed my forehead like it physically hurt him not to ask for more. “At least let me book the seat next to yours. I’ll wear a hat. Sunglasses. Fake mustache.”
“Cal.”
“Fine, fine. You win.”
He dropped onto the edge of the bed and groaned into his hands. I sat next to him, trying to ignore the flare of discomfort up my spine and into my shoulders as I rubbed his back, smiling sadly. I reached for my phone to check the time. It buzzed the second I picked it up.
Group FaceTime call from Marco, Kimi
I froze. “Shit. Don’t they have anything better to do?”
Callum lifted his head. “Answer it.”
“Absolutely not—”
Too late. He swiped to accept and propped the phone on the nightstand, full body still gloriously naked.
Marco’s face filled the screen. “Good morning, lovers.”
Kimi popped into frame beside him. “Did you at least hydrate? You both look sweaty.”
I launched myself across the bed, yanking the sheet up to cover Callum and smacking him in the chest. “What the fuck—”
“Oh, don’t mind us,” Marco said. “We’re just checking in. Thought we’d see if you two are still on track for Barcelona after your big night last night.”
“Yep,” I said, overly chipper. “Totally normal. Two different flights. Nothing to see here.”
“Is that your bra in the background?” Kimi asked.
My head whipped around to find one of my sports bras hanging from the corner of Callum’s dresser. How the hell did that even get there? Wait—when did that get there? I squinted until I realized it was the one I wore yesterday for the race.
Callum smirked. “She was doing laundry.”
I slapped a hand over his mouth.
Marco folded his arms. “Look. We don’t care. Truly. But maybe don’t have your secret rendezvous in Monaco where every other driver lives, and maybe don’t answer FaceTime calls while one of you is clearly redressing and trying to flee.”
“I’m not fleeing,” I snapped. “I’m being professional.”
“Uh-huh.” Kimi sipped his coffee. “In a bed, naked, on a Monday morning is very professional. So, are you two done now?”
Callum glanced at me. “Yeah. We’re waiting until the end of the season. No distractions or trying to sneak around.” He said it so casually, even though we both loved to sneak around. It was in all those seldom private moments and knowing conversations in public that drew us together like magnets.
I nodded. “It’s just sex—I mean, it was sex. But not anymore. We’re back to being rivals.”
“Friends,” Callum added, still too smug.
“Friendly rivals with healthy mutual respect and… history.”
Kimi blinked. “History?”
I pointed. “Don’t make it weird.”
Marco sighed. “Just don’t get caught, alright? And if you do, lie better. Please. You guys are so bad at this, it’s comical.”
“Not lying. You two are just annoying.” I reached up to pull my tangled hair into a ponytail, my shoulders burning with the effort. “Besides, we’ve only slept together a few times. It was a convenient way to blow off steam. That, and he’s an easy lay.”
Marco and Kimi burst out laughing while Callum’s jaw dropped.
“She’s not wrong, Fraser,” Marco said, wiping at his eyes.
“Yeah, mate, she’s got you there. No wonder you’re just friends. You put out before the first date.”
I giggled while they continued to chuckle. Callum rolled his eyes before ending the call. I collapsed backward onto the mattress and groaned. “I hate them.”
“No you don’t.”
“I love them, but I also hate them.”
Callum curled around me, lips brushing my bare shoulder. “We’ll convince them.”
“They bought it.” I sighed. “Hook, sinker, and… line de pêche. Or whatever the rest is.”
He rolled just enough that I could turn my face and meet his gaze. “Line de pêche?”
“You know, the fishing thing. The—how do you say it?”
He was already grinning, but by the time I finished, he was laughing, rich and full. Then he dropped his forehead to my shoulder. “Hook, line, and sinker, mon c?ur.”
“Ugh. That’s what I said.”
“Did you really just say ugh?”
“Yes, and I also said hook, line, and sinker. Just maybe not in that order.”
“You really didn’t. You said ‘line de pêche.’ I’m fairly certain that means fishing line.”
“Close enough,” I said flippantly, wiggling out from his hold so I could sit up.
Callum chuckled, soft and warm and only mine to hear. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I’m lucky?” I turned and pinned him with a glare. “You’re the one getting le sneaky sex.”
“Le sneaky sex? Auri, be so fucking for real right now.”
“Don’t mock me.” I climbed out of bed and raised my arms over my head to stretch. “I am très emotional. I’m supposed to get my period some time next week.”
He sat up, planted his feet on the floor, and grabbed my wrist, pulling me back to him for one more kiss, so fast I could barely blink before our mouths were moving against each other’s. “Officially, we wait until the end of the season.”
I nodded, silently agreeing. “Unofficially?”
“I’m yours,” he said softly, pale blue eyes meeting mine. “Every second we can steal.”
I sighed, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “This feels an awful lot like our friends with unconventional benefits arrangement.”
“You mean the one that lasted four days?”
“Ouais. That one.”
“Except now we’re saying I love you, but no official title, right?”
I smirked. “Complicated, secretive, emotionally devastating. Très on-brand for us.”
His face softened as he looked up at me through thick lashes that cast shadows down his sharp cheekbones, the stubble along his jaw darker than usual, dangerously kissable.”You know what that does to me,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “When you speak French. It ruins me.”
God help me, I caved. I stepped between his legs, hands sliding around his neck, and bent to kiss him—not a tease, not a goodbye, but a memorization.
My lips found his jaw first, soft and adoring against the delicious scratch from his stubble that was a little longer than usual.
Then his mouth, over and over, as I relaxed into him.
It wasn’t enough. It never would be, but it meant everything. I kissed him, licked the inside of his mouth, devoured him. I tried silently to tell him he was mine. Because he was, even now, in secret. Even in the quiet—especially in the quiet.
His hands moved frantically, as if he was unsure what part of me he wanted to touch the most. One slid down, gripping my ass with a possessive groan, squeezing until I gasped.
His other hand smoothed up my spine, goosebumps scattering across my skin in its wake, before settling beneath my breast. When his thumb brushed over my nipple, I arched into him on instinct, breath stuttering out of my lungs.
Heat bloomed low in my belly. Desire, reckless and wild, surged up like it always did when he touched me.
But beneath it, pressed painfully under the surface, was restraint.
The clock was ticking, and there was the looming goodbye and the tight ache in my chest that warned me this couldn’t last, not if we wanted to keep hiding.
A war raged in my body. One part of me screamed to crawl back into bed, to let him devour me again, get lost in him and his hands and the way he looked at me.
The other part—the rational, driven, career-focused part—knew I needed to leave.
Staying would make it harder even though I was already drowning in him.
“Callum,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest. “If you keep touching me like that, I won’t be able to walk out that door.”
“That’s the idea.”
Fuck.
My hands slid into his hair, holding on, desperately trying to hold on to right now, to us. My forehead rested against his as I took a shaky breath, trying to steel myself.
But I was melting. Always melting for him.
Then his hand slid lower again, and I flinched. Just slightly, barely enough for him to notice, but he stilled immediately.
His brows furrowed. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said quickly, too quickly. I sighed, brushing a stray hair from my face.
“I’m just… sore. My whole body aches. I skipped my post-race recovery protocol yesterday.
Didn’t find Jules, didn’t take an ice bath, didn’t stretch.
Too much adrenaline, chaos, and sex.” I gave him a pointed look, trying to be playful, but he didn’t give.
Callum’s eyes searched mine, concern darkening his features. “Sore is normal. Pain isn’t.”
I shrugged, brushing it off like it didn’t matter, even though it did. Every muscle throbbed, and my ribs ached every time I moved. It was getting worse with each race, even if I stuck to my routine. “I’ll be fine. Just need to get through this week.”
He hesitated, but finally nodded, his hand gentler now as it settled along my hip.
“I hate this,” he murmured. “Wanting you and knowing I can’t keep you here.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, and I shivered when his facial hair scraped across my skin. My core ignited, and a soft moan escaped me.
God fucking damn it. I didn’t want to leave him yet, but I had a flight to catch and public appearances to make.
I kissed him once more—slow, lingering, final. Then I begrudgingly pulled away before I could change my mind, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door so I could fall apart on my own.
Barcelona was calling.
But my heart was still in Monaco.