Chapter 196 Aurélie #2
I moaned loudly and dug my fingers into his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut. The breeze whipped through my hair, lifting it from my clammy skin. Cool where I burned for him, hot where I was already unraveling.
“I’ll be so good for you,” I gasped, grinding my hips down again and again and again, desperate to push us both over the edge.
“I’ll beg so fucking pretty. I’ll earn it.
I’ll do anything. Everything. Just tell me how—just let me—please—s’il te pla?t—” The words dissolved into broken, needy whimpers.
Then I fisted both hands in the open collar of his shirt and yanked him closer, teeth grazing his bottom lip before I kissed him—rough and a little unhinged.
“If you loving it makes you a sadist,” I whispered against his mouth, “then baby, the way I fucking crave begging for you makes me a masochist.”
A pause. A breath. A promise.
“Your masochist.”
The perfect little submissive he’d trained me to be.
Callum groaned low in his chest, cock twitching hard beneath me—pressing perfectly against my clit, and God, I gasped as lightning lanced through me, all heat and tension and soaked, slick friction.
“Fuck me, Aurélie…”
“I’m trying to,” I said sweetly, rolling my hips over him again. “But apparently we’re waiting until we’re indoors like civilized people.”
He bit down on a curse and dragged his mouth to my neck, kissing a slow path down, his stubble rough and deliberate against my flushed skin. It scraped just enough to make me shiver. To make my pussy flutter. To make me grind down faster.
We dry humped like we were a couple of goddamn teenagers instead of newly engaged degenerates. Dripping and desperate in paradise, the sound of our moans was positively sinful beneath the stars.
“Back to your question. You remember what you said?” he asked when I stilled, voice rough. “When I win my fifth title or you win your first. Whatever comes first.”
I let my head fall back, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy. My hips rocked lazily against his again, slower this time, controlled only by the ache still tightening in my core.
The orgasm was building, stealing oxygen, making my thighs quiver.
“Mm, I remember.” It came out all breathy and pitchy and wrong, but oh, so fucking right with the rush of hormones flooding my system like I was seconds from coming.
He slid a hand up my spine to grip the back of my neck, forcing me to look at him. His impossibly blue eyes steadied me, owned me.
I smiled, teasing. “I’m just getting a head start. I’m thinking of an October wedding, evening ceremony.” I leaned down and kissed his neck, dragging my teeth just enough to leave a mark. “You in black, me with cherries on my lingerie.”
“Cherries.”
“Mhmm.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“But have I earned this tonight, mon amour?”
He chuckled, quiet and wrecked, then leaned in—his mouth brushing my jaw as he whispered, “You have earned it, Auri baby. You said yes.” His lips found the corner of my mouth. “You picked me.” A kiss. “You picked us.” Another, this time harder. “And I’m gonna make sure you never fucking regret it.”
His tongue pried my lips apart. I opened willingly, my stomach erupting with butterflies. His hand slipped between us, not inside me—God, not yet—but cupping me.
“Every time you come while we’re on holiday,” he murmured, “I want you to remember this moment. Ring on your finger. My cock inside you. And the ocean singing in your ears.”
I whimpered, grinding against his hand, chasing friction like it was salvation.
“You want your fiancé to fill you up right here?” He was breathing hard. On the brink of losing his grip. I wanted him completely unraveled right there with me. “You want me to take you before we even make it inside?”
“Yes,” I begged. “Please.”
He wedged his hand further between us, and I gasped as he teased the seam of me, slick and swollen and so ready. Then, just when I thought he’d give in, he pulled back with a wicked smile.
“Look at you,” he said, slow and cruel and completely in love, “dripping all over me already.”
He dragged the pad of his thumb in a slow, lazy circle just below where I was throbbing, just far enough to make me cry.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” Callum breathed. “This pussy’s mine forever now, yeah?”
I nodded, breath hitching. “Oui, mon dominant.”
His thumb slipped higher, pressed exactly where I needed him, and this time he didn’t stop. He circled and circled, firm and perfect and relentless, until the pressure exploded inside me and I was coming hard—body convulsing, mouth open in a silent cry as I broke apart in his lap.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice filthy and full of reverence. “My good girl. My fiancée. So fuckin’ perfect when you come for me.”
I rode his hand, clenching and unraveling. He undid his pants, pulled himself free, and slid inside me in one deep, claiming thrust.
My orgasm strengthened. It didn’t end; it dragged, pulsing around his cock, dragged out by the stretch of him filling me, sliding against every tender, overworked nerve ending. I could feel his veins, the coolness of his piercing hitting my walls, the deepness from this angle.
“Oh, fuck, Callum.”
“I know,” he growled, one arm wrapped tight around my waist, the other gripping my shoulder hard enough to bruise as he fucked up into me—slow, deep, and possessive, like he wanted to fuck the word fiancée into my bloodstream. “I know. I’ve got you.”
“No, merde—oh mon Dieu—I can’t—”
“You can.” He kissed me. “You will.” He dragged every last pulse of my orgasm out with love and adoration, until it had nowhere else to go but him.
I collapsed in his lap, gasping through the aftershocks while he kept moving, slow and steady, like his only goal was carving himself into me. Like this was the only way he knew how to say forever.
“I should carry you inside,” he rasped, voice hoarse and holy. “Strip you all the way down. Bend you over the edge of our bed like a good husband would.”
“Cal—”
“That’s my name, baby.” His thrusts deepened. His breath stuttered. “Now let me finish making love to you.”
And he did.
He moved like I was something sacred and my body was built to hold him. Like I’d always been his, and now he was just reminding me.
His cock thrust through every soaked, swollen inch of me, the piercing hitting my G-spot perfectly with every roll of his hips. My clit throbbed where our bodies rubbed, the pressure building again, too soon, and yet not soon enough.
He cradled the back of my head, his forehead pressing to mine, his mouth falling open against my cheek.
“I love you,” he groaned, voice breaking.
“I love you,” I whimpered back. “I’m…” My voice faltered, because I was unraveling again. I could feel it building, hot and wild and all his.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come for me again, baby. Let me feel it.”
My second orgasm slammed through me like a wave crashing over rock. I clung to him, cried out for him, broke open with him. And as my body clenched around him, he followed me over the edge with a guttural curse, spilling deep inside me, holding me so tight I thought we might merge.
Like our soon-to-be vows weren’t just something we’d say at the altar. They were already coming true in every pulse, every breath, every part of me that belonged to him now.
He didn’t let go. Not when I shook. Not when I cried. Not when I melted against him, gasping into his neck, whispering his name like a prayer.
We stayed like that, with our limbs tangled and our breath syncing under the stars. His hands softened on my waist. His lips brushed my temple, then my jaw, then the corner of my mouth like he couldn’t stop kissing me. Like the kiss was the aftershock.
He murmured something low, nearly unintelligible, and kissed me again.
“Not before you fuck me against every surface of our villa,” I whispered.
Callum huffed out a laugh, and then froze. I tilted my head to the side, brow furrowing, before I heard it. There were footsteps, and they sounded close.
Then there was a polite voice, gentle but clear: “Excuse us, sir and ma’am… may we clear the table?”
We both startled like we’d been caught in a crime—which, honestly, we had. I twisted in Callum’s lap, eyes wide, face hot, legs still fucking shaking as I locked eyes with the poor, poor private resort staff standing a respectful two meters away.
Both in crisp black resort uniforms, holding trays and baskets for the leftover fruit and empty glasses, waiting patiently, like this was just another night shift on the private beach of some very unhinged millionaires.
I scrambled to tug my dress over my exposed ass. “Oh my God,” I whispered, burying my face in my hands, then spreading my fingers enough to watch Callum.
He blinked. “I hope you’re being paid very well,” he called out over my shoulder, chest still rising hard.
A joke. Jesus Christ, he was making a joke right now. And I’d never loved him more.
I pressed my lips together and fought the laughter at the pure absurdity of the whole situation. I wondered briefly if these moments would ever stop, or if we’d forever be getting caught with some clothing item skewed.
The staff didn’t react. Not even a twitch.
He turned back to me, eyes wild. “I’ve never wanted to disappear into the sand more in my life.”
“Too bad,” I teased, grinning as I wiggled slightly. “You’re already buried in me.”
“Fuck me.”
“They just watched you do it.”
He groaned, and still, the staff waited, stoic and professionally dead inside.
Then, Callum stood in one smooth, feral movement. With me in his arms, still filled to the brim, my legs wrapping tight around his waist. His mouth returned to mine, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging for dear life.
For a second, I felt weightless. Airborne. Drunk on champagne and post-orgasm euphoria, giggling into his lips like the rest of the world—resort staff included—didn’t exist.
He pulled away just long enough to nod to the staff and tell them, “Thank you. Come back tomorrow. We’ll have a tip waiting.”
Then, with zero shame, he reached over and swiped the half-full bottle of champagne straight off the table as he walked us past. The bottle was cold against my spine. His cock was still deep inside me. And the path to our villa lit up like something out of a dream.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, shifting his grip and trudging up the sand with me in his arms. “I committed to the line. Let them see how serious I am.”
And the ring? Still glittering on my finger, proof of everything we were, and everything we would be, as he carried me inside.