Chapter 211 Aurélie
aurélie
She was the wildfire I mistook for danger. The storm I tried to outrun. And now, she’s the altar I run toward without hesitation. –Callum
Callum was quiet for a moment, but the seconds felt like minutes.
Putain, what was I thinking, ruining this precious moment between us?
“And I–I mean, if you want one, I understand. I completely understand,” I stammered, praying my English wouldn’t fail me right now.
“I can get Ivy to call Alain. We could draft something now, even just a post-nuptial agreement. Something simple. I don't want you to ever feel like–like I’d take anything from you. I know what you’ve built.
I respect what you've built. Your legacy, your name. And I—God, Cal—I don’t want this to become a thing later. I don’t want it hanging over us.”
He was quiet, but not gone. Obviously. I could feel him breathing just inches away, but his lack of response made my blood pressure spike.
“I know it’s not romantic,” I rushed on.
“And my parents will probably try to force it on us even though my grandfather's trust is ironclad. So just be prepared for that. And, mon Dieu, why am I rambling?” I paused and forced a deep breath into my lungs.
“The point I'm trying to make is that I understand if you want to protect your assets, baby. Because if something ever happened, I know I’m safe. I want to make sure you feel that, too.”
My heart raced until he finally answered, his thumb never pausing its soothing circles across my knuckles.
“Would it make you feel better if we did?”
My bottom lip wobbled. I closed my eyes to try to hold the tears in.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know what the right answer is.
I just… I don’t want anything to go wrong.
I don’t want to hurt us later because I missed something now.
I don’t want my parents to think I’ve been reckless.
And I don’t want you to feel trapped or afraid to leave one day.
Not that you would—I don’t think you would—but what if I mess this up? What if I’m not enough?”
His grip tightened instantly, enough to make me gasp softly.
“You are enough. More than enough,” he said. “You always have been. And I don’t need another contract to tell me how I feel. The only one I need is the one that says we belong to each other now.”
“But if you want one—”
“I don’t,” he said, firmly now. “I want you. I want us. If you change your mind later, if something shifts, we can talk about it then. Together. But right now? I’m marrying you. Not your family. Not your money. Not your name. Just you.”
A tear slid down my cheek.
“Okay,” I said softly. “Okay.”
“I didn’t fight my way to the top and work this hard just to hold it all alone. I did it to offer something lasting to the people I love. And now you’re that person. We’re building something, baby, with legacy and love. A life we get to call ours.”
He dropped his voice even quieter. That tone. The one that slipped beneath my skin like silk and command, the one that made my knees weak and my heart beat harder—making it impossible to forget who I belonged to.
“I wish I could take the edge off for you right now,” he murmured. “Ease the ache, keep you floating in our little bliss bubble where nothing touches you but me. But I need you to stay with me for just a little longer.”
My pulse kicked up a notch and sweat gathered on the nape of my neck. I pressed my thighs together, pulse throbbing between them. “Please,” I pleaded, though for what I wasn’t sure, just that he made my head reel.
Stupidly romantic Scotsman who knew how to make me swoon through pain and poetry and pleasure.
“You’re going to be a good girl,” he told me, gravelly like the words were carved from hunger and heat, “walk down that aisle, marry me in front of our people, and then,” he exhaled like a promise, “then I’m going to spend the entire night rewarding you for becoming mine forever.”
My nipples pebbled beneath the soft fabric of my dress, straining against the charmeuse. I didn’t even try to hide the shiver that raked through me.
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered.
He groaned, low and strained, the way he did when his self-control was dwindling. My chest heaved, knowing we were out of time. I was torn between sprinting down the aisle to marry the hell out of him, or staying put just a little longer.
Then Callum’s voice lifted, directed over his shoulder away from me.
“Ivy? Can you give us two minutes? Tell the photographer we’re done here.”
“Fraser, I swear to God—”
“You can curse me later,” he said, voice fraying at the edges of his control. “But right now, I have a fiancée who needs a private moment.”
There was a pause, followed by Ivy’s amused sigh.
I barely had time to react before his voice dropped to a murmur so filthy and tender it rearranged my organs.
“I know I can’t look at you, but I can hear you. Feel you. And mo chridhe, I need to feel you.”
My lungs stalled, thighs clenching. Desire zipped through me so fast I swayed on my feet.
“I don’t want you walking down this aisle all wound up and unsteady. I want you flushed. I want you ruined. I want you mine.”
“I already am,” I whined. “And now you’re edging me, Cal, and—”
“Lift your dress,” he demanded.
My hand trembled in his, and then he let go.
“Cal—”
“Auri, do as you're told,” he said, voice rough with command. “Touch yourself. Guide me.”
I obeyed, hiking the dress slowly, the rustling of the fabric barely audible over the sound of my heart pounding wildly.
I could feel myself soaking through the special, ridiculously expensive white lace thong I’d picked just for today, cupping my freshly waxed skin with only a slim landing strip left.
It was a surprise for him, because I usually kept a cute little patch down there.
The breeze kissed my pussy, and I shivered, my skin overly sensitive. I’d wanted him this morning, aching to crawl into his lap before hair and makeup arrived—aka Ivy and Lucy—but we were interrupted before I could even try. This? This was survival.
“Good girl,” Callum growled. “Now ride my hand. Use me. Get messy for me. Right here, in the corner of the winery where we’re about to vow forever.”
I clutched my dress in one hand, not caring that it might wrinkle the fabric, and pushed up on my toes. My fingers closed around his wrist. I guided him blindly, clit pulsing in desperate anticipation. I whimpered, heat flooding me, wrapping around each nerve ending, burning me from the inside out.
Our hands moved together, and I nearly sobbed as he found the drenched strip of lace and pushed it aside. His fingertips dragged across my slick skin—slow, reverent, sure. My hand stayed over his, but I didn’t need to do much. He knew my body better than anyone ever had.
When his fingers finally circled my clit, I bucked, biting down on my bottom lip so hard I tasted cherry lip gloss and champagne. Sweat slicked the back of my neck and my head dropped forward.
“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he asked. “You’ll ride my hand like a good little wife?”
He brushed over my clit again, firmer now, and then—without warning—slid two fingers inside me. I nearly cried out. The full, perfect pressure of him wrecked me instantly.
“Yes,” I moaned. “Oui, mari.” Yes, husband.
“Fuck,” he swore. “When you call me that…” His voice trailed off, wrecked and reverent, as his fingers curled inside me, hitting that devastating spot that turned me inside out. My hips rolled instinctively, chasing the friction. My calves burned from standing on my tiptoes.
“Callum.”
“That’s my name, love,” he rasped, pushing his fingers slow and deep, his palm rubbing my clit with each pump. “Let go for me. Let your body lead. Don’t think. Just feel.”
I pressed my back harder against the stone, head spinning, thighs quaking. His thumb found my clit and circled in tight, devastating strokes, always knowing how to make my body sing for him.
“Make yourself come for me,” he panted. I pictured him touching himself, just out of sight, getting off from me, fucking his hand when I should be walking down the aisle to marry him. “On our wedding day. Before you ever say I do.”
I was a whimpering mess, the warm air turning humid between my legs. And then, his voice broke into a different rhythm. A different language. Scottish Gaelic.
Words I didn’t know and couldn’t translate, but my soul did.
“Mo leannan. Mo bhean. Mo chion. Mo nighean fionn.”
My head dropped forward, sweat clinging to my temples. My hips moved on instinct, riding the rhythm of his fingers, guided by devotion.
“God, you feel so good,” he whispered, like it wrecked him to admit it.
I could feel the tight coil of his restraint in every muscle of his arm—held taut, trembling with the effort of staying right where he was.
Of giving me everything, even when he couldn’t take.
The thought of him holding back, just to make sure I came apart in his hand before I walked toward forever—fuck, it made it hotter. Sexier. More sacred.
“So soft. So mine.” His voice cracked. “I wish I was buried in you, but the next time I am, we’ll be married.”
“Married.” The word splintered in my throat. “Fuck, Cal, I’m gonna—”
“That’s my girl,” he growled, filthy and proud. “You’re going to say yes with that soaked little pussy still throbbing around the memory of my fingers. And when I push inside you later, it’ll feel like coming home.”
I gasped, and then I was gone. His thumb circled one last time, and pressure rushed to the surface.
Cal chuckled darkly. “That’s it, baby. Give it to me. Let me have it. Let me take you apart one last time before you become my wife.”