Chapter 5 #3
They saw their son. A man who was hellbent on living a private life and somehow came out of it with a girl who loved him anyway.
I reached for her hand again, pulled her knuckles to my lips, and murmured against them, “Still with me, love?”
She smiled, soft and sure. “Toujours.”
We sat there until the sun started to shift in the sky. Then we stood, stretched, and started the hike back down. She pointed out flowers blooming along the path. I teased her about how hangry she’d be in an hour if we didn’t eat soon.
She grinned. “I’m already starving. You ready to go?”
I nodded. "Did you pack snacks or are you just hoping my love will sustain you?"
"Love and protein bars. God forbid you go more than two hours without eating."
“It’s not my fault you wear me out, you wee succubus. I’m an emotionally growing lad. I require lots of food to survive your wrath and recover from the things you do to me.”
“That’s what you get for passing up mon panini this morning,” she shot at me, winking and flouncing ahead like she hadn’t just detonated my brain for the second time today.
I caught her wrist and pulled her back in, dipping her low with a hand firm at her lower back under her pack.
She gasped, the motion stealing her balance and her breath, and I kissed her hard and slow, tongue deep, sweat-slick, filthy and sinful.
Her fingers curled in my shirt as I devoured her, teeth grazing, lips dragging, all tongue and promise.
When I finally broke the kiss and pulled her upright, she was flushed and panting, dazed in the best possible way.
“Careful what you offer up, mon coeur,” I murmured in her ear, voice low and commanding. “Next time I won’t stop until you forget your own fucking name.”
She whimpered. Actually whimpered.
And I fucking beamed.
She shoved at my chest, flustered and pink. “You’re feral.”
“You love it,” I said, swatting her perfect heart-shaped ass as she started down the trail.
She did love it. And me.
We fell into step again, her fingers brushing mine.
I glanced over at her and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “How about this one—F1 Legend Retires, Makes Best Investment of His Life. Marries the Girl Who Made Him Want to Stop Running.”
Aurélie scowled up at me, eyes flashing. “Callum, you say shit like that again and we’re flying home right now to elope so it can happen faster.”
I grinned wickedly. Leaned in closer as we bounded downhill. “Fastest Man on the Grid Slowed Down for Her.” I paused, just long enough for her to melt. “And Never Looked Back.”
She made a wounded sound, like I’d hit her right in the chest. “There’s not even a tree for you to push me up against,” she whined.
“Deal with it, princess,” I said, smug and helplessly in love. “I plan to tie you up later, but only after we finish applying for a marriage license.”
The villa was serene when we returned. Warm and filled with the sound of waves crashing against the shore, the sliding doors still cracked open to let in the sea breeze. Our shoes hit the tile with soft thuds, breaths ragged and skin slick with sweat. She made a beeline for the kitchen.
I followed behind, palms braced on the counter as I drank, still catching my breath from the hike and the kiss and the way her legs looked in those tiny fucking shorts.
Neither of us spoke—we didn’t need to.
I grabbed two glasses. She watched me, her cheeks flushed and her thighs pink from the sun. She looked like a goddess who’d just climbed out of Olympus and decided to shack up with a mortal. She looked like mine.
“You good?” I asked, voice low.
She nodded, eyes soft. “Yeah. You?”
“Never better.” My heart did something stupid and massive in my chest.
The air between us was thick with heat and the heady scent of sweat, citrus, and something dangerously close to forever.
She poured water. I stepped behind her and grabbed her by the hips, just to feel her pressed to me again. Her head dropped back against my shoulder, a soft hum slipping from her throat as I pressed a lazy kiss to her neck, then licked a drop of sweat from her skin.
“Stop,” she said with a grin, nudging me off. “We have paperwork to fill out, husband-to-be.”
“I’m just making sure you’re hydrated, wife-in-training.”
We changed and sprawled out on the massive fur rug in the living room, legal documents and snacks fanned around us like a map of our future. Two laptops open, a protein bar wrapper crinkled somewhere under my knee. Her feet tangled in mine. Her hair was still twisted up.
She wore a snug crop top with no bra. Bare thighs, nothing but those tiny underwear that should’ve been illegal. I wore just a pair of boxer briefs.
Without a word, we listed the country house as our primary address—six consecutive months—and mine as the other. No discussion. No hesitation.
Passport forms followed. I typed while she spelled things out in French and teased me about taking her last name. We kissed between questions, fingers brushing and breaths hitching, laughing like the whole world had finally gone still.
When I clicked submit, she kissed my cheek.
I turned and caught her mouth instead. Held it, deepened it. Reached up to release the clip in her hair, tossing it aside, then rolled her underneath me and kissed her like I owned her.
Her hands clutched at my shoulders, pulling me closer, her legs hooking around my hips. She arched into me with a whimper, and I growled against her lips.
“You keep making those noises, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”
“Then don’t,” she breathed.
I rocked into her slowly through the paper-thin fabric of our clothes, enough for both of us to feel how ready she was. How soaked, how badly she needed it.
“How are you always this wet for me, mon c?ur?” I rasped, grinding deeper, letting her feel every thick, deliberate roll of my hips. “You fuckin’ ache for it, don’t you?”
She moaned, helpless beneath me, lips parted and kiss-bitten red.
“I can feel it, baby. Every time. You beg for me without saying a word. My pretty little panini, dripping and needy, just waiting for Daddy to make a mess of her.”
“Callum—fuck—”
“You think I won’t fuck you right here and with one hand on your throat and the other holding your legs open? Hm?”
Her hips bucked, nails dragging down my back. “Please.”
“Mmm, so sweet using your manners,” I murmured, nipping at her earlobe and rocking into her again. “Christ. You’re shaking already. One touch and I could have you crying. You want that? Want me to make you sob before dinner?”
“God, yes—please—”
I kissed her hard, devouring the sound, and reached between us to press my palm flat over her center. She gasped. Her whole body arched.
“Fucking hell, you’re gonna make me ruin my briefs, baby.”
She writhed under me. I was two seconds from losing every shred of control.
I shifted up on one elbow, just to look at her.
Her crop top bunched high, and I could see the way her nipples peaked against the fabric, practically begging to be touched.
Her arms were splayed wide on the rug, fingers clawing at the fur like she was holding on for dear life, legs parted with nothing but a thin slip of lace between her cunt and the way I ached to ruin her.
I groaned as I slid my hand between her thighs, pushing her panties aside. The heat of her made me dizzy. Wet and swollen, and when I pressed the heel of my palm against her clit and dragged two fingers through her, I swore I saw stars.
Her back arched off the floor. “Fuck, Callum—”
“I know, baby,” I rasped, curling deep inside her and grinding my hand into her. “You feel that? Fuck, you feel like heaven.”
Her hips rolled, fucking herself against my fingers with abandon, and I nearly lost it. The friction against my hand, how my cock flexed into my forearm, the way her body fluttered around my fingers—fuck, I’d never get enough.
“My wife,” I growled. “Mo chridhe. Mine.”
She whimpered, shuddering and grinding. “What—what does that mean?”
I kissed her jaw, then her throat, never stopping my rhythm. “My heart,” I said, voice gone ragged. “But in my language. The one I’d never used for anyone else.”
She choked on a breath, eyes blown wide, fingers scrabbling at the rug as she chased it, desperate and needy, right there on the edge. I felt her tighten, walls fluttering, whole body drawing taut.
And then both of our phones blared to life. I froze. Aurélie made a noise of annoyance. We both turned our heads to look at our phones lying face-up a few feet away.
We sighed simultaneously when we saw Marco’s name on mine and Ivy’s flash across hers. It was emergency protocol—the only instance where they knew it was okay to bother us.
A phone call. And the fact that it was both of us? That was a warning sign.
Aurélie blinked, dazed and breathless. “That’s… probably not good.”
I groaned, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “They’ve got the worst fucking timing.”
“You think they’re okay?” she panted.
“Perhaps for now,” I muttered. “But if this isn’t an emergency, they’re gonna wish they weren’t.”
She whimpered again as I finally—reluctantly—peeled myself off her, my hand withdrawing with disappointed curses from the both of us.
I kissed her one last time, slow and filthy and filled with all the promises I fully intended to keep.
Then I reached for my phone. “Let’s see what fresh hell they’ve dragged us into now.”