Chapter 214 Aurélie
aurélie
I never believed in a higher power until she looked at me like I was worth loving. And suddenly, I believed in everything. She was Heaven on earth, and my soul had just bound myself to the only proof I’ll ever need. –Callum
The tasting bar glowed gold, warm light reflecting off the wine glasses and the six empty bottles Colette had opened to celebrate mine and Callum’s nuptials.
A dizzying lineup of rich, complex blends—deep ruby reds, buttery whites, an experimental orange—all poured without hesitation, all chosen with purpose.
Each vintage had a story, she’d told us with a wink. Aged in old oak, in steel, in grief, in triumph. It felt like a metaphor in a bottle. As if she’d paired the wines to match the wild alchemy of love and war that brought us here.
Marco and Ivy were perched at a high-top cocktail table near the window, Kimi and Lucy sitting side by side at the tasting bar, and me and Callum tucked into a half-moon booth just behind them. Almost like we’d unintentionally split into three couples.
Two of which we were all pretending didn’t exist.
Marco toasted with his whole chest, hollering, “To Mr. and Mrs. Sexcation!” before Ivy elbowed him so hard he sloshed white wine across his own shirt.
It turned the white linen nearly transparent, plastering to his chest and revealing the edge of one of his tattoos—something script and faded and unfairly hot.
“Are all your tattoos that slutty?” I asked, raising a brow.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Only the ones you haven’t seen,” he retorted, grinning like a menace.
I rolled my eyes and leaned farther into Callum’s lap, smug and warm and full of wine and wifey energy. His arm tightened instinctively around my waist as I nestled against his chest, one hand finding its way under the edge of his linen dress shirt to splay across his ribs.
His fingers slowly hitched the side of my dress up, up, up, until his hand slipped beneath the hem. The heat of his skin branded me as he slid his hand over my hip, just enough to drag against my bare thigh and remind me what I was in for later.
Deliberately loud, just to cause the comforting chaos that only they could, I said, “Well, my husband has a slutty thigh tattoo.”
Husband. The title made my heart accelerate.
That got everyone’s attention.
“WHAT?” Ivy gasped.
“Excuse me?” Marco said, eyes lighting up.
“Is it a quote?” Lucy called out.
“Is it a snake?” Kimi asked, completely serious.
Callum groaned against my shoulder as all of them started talking over each other, voices climbing into chaos while we just sat there snickering and sipping wine like the world’s smuggest couple.
In reality, his hand crept a little higher, fingertips grazing slowly up the inside of my thigh, all possessive and promising.
“Oh my God, Fraser, you have to show us,” Marco demanded, leaping from his chair and already reaching to unbutton his own shirt in solidarity. “Right now.”
“Absolutely not,” Callum muttered, already halfway to beet red—surprising, really, given how casually depraved we were in public.
I tilted my head and kissed his cheek, pretending innocence. His palm rested on me with maddening confidence, thumb tracing the spot where my garter sat. My body responded instantly.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “You could ask about his piercing instead.”
The room went dead silent.
Callum froze under me, which I did not like one bit, so I squirmed purposefully in his lap, just to bring him back to me.
“Auri—” he warned.
“I’m just saying,” I hiccupped, giggling. “The—how you say—the spice stick is also decorated.”
Lucy made a soft strangled sound, immediately burying her face in Kimi’s arm. He patted her head affectionately.
“The—the what?” Ivy wheezed, doubling over.
“The, uh, jewelry of the penis,” I clarified, proud and slightly slurring.
Callum groaned and dragged a hand over his face, then swiped his glass off the table to tip it back. “Fucking Christ, love, what have you done?”
Marco looked like he was seconds away from passing out. “No. No. We are not skipping over this. A piercing? There is no way—”
“Oh, there is a way,” I said sweetly. “A dick piercing, a slutty thigh tattoo, and a wife who said yes.”
“Wife,” Callum whimpered under his breath. My pussy spasmed at the sound of it coming from that perfect Scottish brogue, all rough and sensual.
Kimi, bless him, just grabbed the last wine bottle and refilled everyone’s glasses with quiet dignity while Lucy clutched his arm in horror and delight, still blushing so hard she could’ve powered the lights in the whole vineyard.
She wasn’t even trying to play it cool. She perched on a barstool as Kimi moved to stand behind her, one hand resting on her hip, the other casually braced on the counter beside her glass.
Then he leaned in and smiled into her neck, whispering something to her.
Not a teasing smile or his usual grin that was reserved for podiums and pranks and grid gremlins chaos. No, this one was softer, like he'd already decided she was his and didn’t feel the need to announce it.
It was the kind of smile that meant he was ruined for anyone else. I knew that smile, probably better than anyone.
And when Lucy tilted her head to the side and leaned back into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world?
Yeah. They knew. They both knew.
We all did.
I arched a brow at them but let it slide. They were going to have their own shitstorm blow their way if that relationship ever went anywhere. There were enough secrets tangled between the six of us to weave a whole new tartan.
Callum’s fingers shifted further under my dress, trailing lightly along the edge of my lace panties beneath the table.
High enough to make me bite my lip, but not quite high enough to satisfy.
His wedding ring brushed against the inside of my thigh.
A reminder that I was his now, bound in every capacity.
“You’re lucky you’re such a good girl, Mrs. Fraser,” he murmured in that gravelly hushed tone that had me melting. Reserved just for me, quiet enough no one else could hear. My name in his mouth. My name.
No, not mine. His. Ours.
I almost blacked out.
“And if you’re not,” he went on, wicked and unhurried, “I have a spreader bar with your name on it the second we get back. One punishment for every time you disobey your husband tonight.”
Heat roared up my spine. I blinked slowly, mouth parted, breath hitching as I curled deeper into his lap, legs shifting under the table. That word—husband—rattled something loose inside me. Something primal.
Submission settled into my bones like marrow.
The spreader bar.
We used it two nights ago. Not for punishment, but for pleasure. For worship. For the way he’d knelt at the edge of the bed and kept me open for his mouth, his hands, his filthy praise. For the way he made me weep with how tender he could be—while still wrecking me completely.
And now he wanted to use it to punish me?
Putain.
Yes please. Immediately, sir.
“Bloody hell,” Ivy muttered. “Can you two at least try to look like newlyweds and not…” She gestured at us, lips curling in mock disgust, “whatever the fuck that was?”
“What even was that look?” Lucy whispered. “I feel like I need a holy water spritz.”
Kimi took a sip of wine. “I feel like I need a cigarette.”
Marco smirked. “I feel like I need a pen and notebook. Some of us are trying to study greatness.”
Callum let out a dark, amused breath. I tried not to shiver as it fanned over my skin, but it just made my clit pulse instead.
“You need Jesus,” Ivy told Marco, plucking a cork off their table and tossing it at him.
“I need a tutorial,” Marco countered. “With diagrams and possibly a harness.”
That earned a choking noise from Lucy and a snort from me. “A harness?” she squeaked.
“I just feel like there are knots involved. And like… methods. You guys are always tangled up and—”
“Nah, nah, this is their final form. Tied up and twisted,” Kimi insisted.
“Oh!” I perked up, lifting my head from Callum’s shoulder. “Les twisty-est, non?”
He laughed into his glass, then dragged his hand up Lucy’s side to toy with a long strand of her hair. She looked like she was going to keel over. Poor girl. “Still my favorite Frenglish fuck-up of yours.”
“It was accurate,” I defended. “The corners in Monaco are twisty. And I was bruised.”
Kimi gave me a pointed look. “Correct, yes, you were bruised. But not from les twisty-est virages. Those were from your husband’s mouth.”
Callum didn’t even blink. Just pressed a kiss behind my ear like he agreed with the assessment.
I gave a slow, lazy grin, sipping my wine without shame. “I crossed the finish line first both times in Monaco. Quite literally in the streets and in the sheets.”
Marco let out a strangled noise. “Okay, that’s it. I’m filing a formal request for intel. For research purposes. Academic. Curious minds. All that.” He lifted his glass like a toast. “You owe it to the group to share your methods.”
Callum let out a low, amused breath. “The correct term is BDSM, Bianchi. Might wanna do some research if you’re interested in the bondage side of things.”
Ivy choked on her wine.
Marco, unfazed, reached across the cocktail table and patted her back with faux sympathy. “You okay, hellcat? You seem tense. Want me to help you unwind?”
“Do not make that a pun,” she warned.
He just grinned wider.
“Okay, but you guys did technically tie the knot,” Marco added with a proud grin, spreading his hands wide like a child showing off a prize.
His shirt was still half undone, and Ivy was shamelessly ogling the light smattering of hair on his chest and the faded ink peeking from beneath the linen.
“Get it? Tartan? Ribbon? You guys were literally—”
“BOOOOOO,” Kimi groaned, reaching across the tasting bar to steal another cork just as Lucy beat him to it and chucked it directly at Marco’s shit-eating grin.