Chapter 215 Callum #4
My head dropped back against the booth as my cock split her open, inch by agonizing inch, until I was buried to the hilt in the tightest, hottest, most perfect cunt I’d ever felt. And I’d felt it. God, I knew it by heart.
But never like this.
Never so publicly. Never while our friends sat two feet away. Never while I was supposed to be calm.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
And no one at this table had a single fucking clue.
Not Ivy, whose wine glass now sloshed as she gestured wildly mid-story. Not Marco, who kept muttering in Italian about “a proper fucking scandal.” Not Kimi or Lucy, whose hands were slowly but definitely inching closer on the table between them.
Not one of them knew that my wife was cockwarming me in the middle of a five-star restaurant like it was second nature.
As for Auri? She didn’t even flinch. She sipped her wine like she was sipping holy water instead of soaked to the thighs, sitting flushed to the hilt, fluttering around me with every slow pulse of her body.
My hand curled possessively around her waist beneath the table.
And I swore to God, if she moved again—I’d come right here in front of everyone.
I kissed her shoulder gently, and whispered, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
She smiled and rocked her hips anyway. I wrapped an arm around her middle and held her there, my palm splayed wide across her stomach, anchoring her down because I didn’t trust myself not to move.
Not when she was this warm and wet and this fucking perfect.
Not when I could still feel the ghost of that gym video in my bloodstream.
Her writhing against my hand, fucking it as I dry-humped her to completion.
My past self crawled toward her like he already knew we wouldn’t survive apart.
And now she was here. Around me. Wearing my ring.
Taking me into her like it was a privilege for both of us.
No thrusts.
No friction.
Just heat and pressure and possession and a pulse inside her that matched the one hammering in my chest.
She held herself still on top of me like she knew I was one movement away from coming like a fucking teenager. Like she could already feel how deep this went for me—what this meant.
I wasn’t just inside her. She had me, fully and completely.
And I think she knew it.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. So I leaned forward, buried my nose in her hair, and whispered like a man being punished.
“I’ll never get over this. You know that, right?”
She didn’t answer. She just sat there like a fucking goddess while Ivy and Marco bickered like schoolchildren with crushes, and I sat balls-deep in my wife, ruined.
Worshipping. Worshipped. Undone.
A server appeared at the edge of the booth then, notepad tucked to her chest like this wasn’t the single most unhinged moment of my fucking life.
“We’ve just opened a beautiful Barolo,” she said, smiling like this was a normal table, “and the chef recommends the fig tart tonight if you’re in the mood for dessert.”
Auri stayed perfectly poised. Serene, polite, almost angelic. Still seated on me like she wasn’t soaking my cock with every slow breath. Like she wasn’t the most dangerously controlled submissive, an expert in weaponizing stillness.
And all I could do was sit there, choking on the truth that she held more power in this moment than I did.
“Fig tart sounds fucking elite,” Marco agreed, already nodding. “Wait, do we want to share a few?”
“I want chocolate,” Ivy announced, dead serious. “I’m not eating olives and ending on figs. No. That’s a hate crime.”
“Seconded,” Lucy said, giggling as Kimi popped another olive in her mouth.
Marco turned to Ivy with a warm little smirk, eyes fond and teasing. “You’re such a chocolate snob. What kind of desserts do you have with chocolate?”
The server smiled, flipping her notepad. “Tonight we have a dark chocolate torte with espresso ganache and a hazelnut crisp.”
Ivy gasped dramatically. “Oh yeah. That. That one. Immediately.”
Kimi shrugged. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t finish, just get both.”
Auri tilted her head.
Just the tiniest bit.
Then her lips parted, soft and innocent, like she was about to offer a helpful suggestion, except her voice was fucking weaponized.
“I thought I saw baklava on the dessert menu,” she said casually. “Flaky pastry, warm honey, crushed pistachio… Ouais, I think sticky and sweet is what I’m in the mood for tonight.”
My cock twitched so violently inside her I almost dropped my wine glass.
She didn’t even look at me, simply said it like she was musing over the idea of it—dripping syrup, soft layers, crushed nuts—like she wasn’t already stuffed full of me under the table.
I blacked out for a second. That’s the only explanation. My body went rigid, blood surging south so hard I forgot how to form a single fucking thought.
Marco groaned. “Baklava too? Jesus. We’re gonna need to be rolled out of here.”
Auri hummed. Hummed. The same soft, syrupy sound she made when she swallowed me whole in bed. The vibrations of it resonated through my cock, and my hips bucked completely involuntarily.
I masked it with a low laugh, like Marco had said something funny, but under the table, I was trying to stop myself from erupting.
I tried to contribute. I really did. But she pulsed around me once—just once—and my mouth snapped shut. I gripped her thigh like it was the only thing anchoring me to this reality. Her thighs clenched in response, locking me in place.
That was all it took. My whole body tensed, jaw tight, eyes closed like I was trying to pray. Like maybe if I begged hard enough, I wouldn’t finish right now.
“Baby,” I pleaded. “Don’t.”
“Let’s get all three,” she said sweetly, ignoring me completely. “Fig tart, chocolate torte, baklava. Something for everyone.”
The server nodded. “Perfect. I’ll put that in for you.” And then she walked away.
Beneath the table?
Nothing. No movement, and somehow that felt like no mercy.
My wife ground her hips back just enough to test my resolve and laughed at something Ivy said, like she wasn’t systematically dismantling me in a public place. I sucked in a breath through my nose. Tried to focus on the wine in my other hand. Failed spectacularly.
My free hand tightened where it rested across her stomach. “You’re playing with fire.”
She didn’t stop smiling.
Didn’t stop moving. Not even a little.
Just the barest, cruelest roll of her hips. A lazy, taunting rhythm that pulsed through every nerve ending like she knew exactly where my breaking point lived and wanted to dance along the edge of it.
Her voice was breathy when she twisted, smirking wickedly, somehow grinding again without anyone noticing. “You said to sit all the way down, mon c?ur,” she whispered, almost coy. “I’m just being obedient, sir.”
Then she winked, turned back around, and leaned in to say something to Lucy, almost pulling off me entirely.
I could’ve died right then and ascended.
Instead, I dipped my head to her shoulder, pressing my mouth against the warm skin there as a man desperate for mercy.
When she sat back down, it was a full, maddening slide.
The kind that made my vision spark white behind my eyes.
My cock bottomed out inside her, squeezed tight in velvet heat, and she fucking stayed there, flushed and pulsing, every inch of me buried where she wanted it.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to fill you again,” I muttered. “Right here. Right now. And you’re going to feel it drip out of you all night.”
Her thighs flinched around me. Her whole body fluttered.
And fuck, so did mine.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I rasped. “Me coming inside you again. Our friends sitting right here. You pretending nothing’s happening while you leak down your thighs.”
She whimpered. Quietly. So quiet only I could hear it.
I’d never been harder in my fucking life.
My hips jerked instinctively, chasing more of her heat, and she rewarded me by clenching again, tight and pulsing, like her body already missed what I hadn’t even given her yet.
I growled under my breath. “Greedy fucking thing.”
Auri shifted again, deeper and slower, and I was fraying at the edges.
This time I groaned for real, just barely catching it behind my teeth. My fingers dug into her, and she laced our hands together again, anchoring me as she rocked once more.
“I didn’t want to wait,” she whispered. “I don’t care where we are.”
“I do,” I hissed, even though I was already gone and I wouldn’t change for anything. “But God, baby—fuck, I love you for this.”
She exhaled against my throat like a kiss. “Then prove it.”
My world narrowed to heat. To her. To the obscene way we were joined and no one knew.
Not Ivy, still talking. Not Marco, laughing like a jackass. Not Kimi and Lucy, still playing with fire on their side of the table.
Only us. Only her. My wife.
Sitting on my cock like it was her throne.
And me, falling apart beneath her like I was built for it.
And then—without warning—my hand slid higher under her dress, past the slick mess between us. I found her clit with my thumb and pressed down gently. She gasped so softly I felt it more than heard it, her hips jerking forward, burying me deeper inside her.
I didn’t move again. Just held her there and pressed—circling slow, steady, relentless, until her breath hitched and her body tightened like a bow pulled taut.
She squeezed hard around me. But that tiny, involuntary twitch wasn’t just a reaction. It was the start of something.
I felt it. Felt the way her breathing caught. Felt the slick pull around me tighten. Felt her hips stutter as her muscles flexed in that soft, trembling ripple I knew by heart.
“You’re close,” I breathed, stunned. Wrecked. “You’re—fuck, you’re my wife, Auri. I love you.”
She reached for her wine like she wasn’t about to come in front of everyone we loved. Took a slow sip and swallowed, then clenched around me again.
It was all I could take. One more second. One more twitch. One more breath held between our bodies like a prayer.
She managed to bite out, “I love you, too, Cal,” before she tilted her hips slightly, her thighs pressed inward, high and tight.
She shattered in my lap, silent and perfect, trembling so faintly I could feel it only because I was inside her. Her hand gripped mine under the table. Our rings collided. Her pussy spasmed, and I followed, squeezing the life out of me while I came hard.
I fucking lost it, burying myself as deep as I could. Jaw locked, eyes shut, spilling inside her like it was a sacrament.
Right there in the booth.
While Kimi made a joke about goat cheese and Marco asked if we should do an espresso round after dessert.
Hot. Endless. Ruinous.
Her face turned toward mine, kissing me softly to play it off as us just being stupidly in love and freshly married.
She grazed her lips over mine like nothing had happened and she hadn’t just come on my cock at a table full of our closest friends.
Her eyes were glassy with aftershock, mouth parted, breath sweet with wine.
She let out a faint, contented sigh against my lips and smiled like I’d just told her something romantic and we were simply newlyweds basking in post-wedding bliss.
And then she laughed at something Ivy said, but I was still thinking about how she’d just come undone in my lap.
I could barely hear a fucking thing. All I knew was her. Her thighs still trembling. Her hand still gripping mine. Her pulse still thundering beneath her skin. And the hot, sticky evidence of everything we’d just done, hidden beneath fabric and sweat and sin.
I nuzzled into her hair, whispering reverently, “My love. My wife. My always.”
She kissed the edge of my jaw quickly, and just like that—we went back to pretending.