Chapter 20 Callum #3
We were married and she was in my lap with no panties and no shame, warm and wet and settled right over the thick, aching length of me, and I hadn’t even touched her yet.
She was my wife. Sitting in my lap. In public. Like this was normal.
It made something primal tear loose in my chest. Made me want to pull her closer, press my mouth to her neck, forget the table, the room, the world beyond her breath and heat.
I stayed still by sheer force of will. Barely.
She hadn’t worn a bra. I hadn’t let her. And now her nipples were visible through the thin fabric every time the ocean breeze slipped through the archways. Tight. Tempting. Teasing.
Her hair brushed my jaw, soft as silk, smelling like that lavender shampoo that wrecked me. All clean and floral and far too innocent for what she was doing to me under this table.
My cock stirred before I could stop it, responding to her weight, her warmth, the familiar way she fit against me.
She shifted slightly, like she was just getting comfortable.
But I knew better.
She knew better.
Because I felt it. That exact moment her slickness dragged across the front of my pants. That exact moment her breath hitched and her body went still. And I swear to God, I nearly came just from the pressure of her heat against my cock.
“I swear to Christ,” I muttered against her ear, one hand resting on her thigh while the other lazily swirled my drink, “you’re going to be the end of me.”
She hummed, smug and pleased, and leaned back into my chest, dragging my arm fully around her waist like she was anchoring us together. To anyone watching, we looked like affectionate newlyweds—content, close, harmless.
Under the table, I was fighting for my life.
Conversation carried on around us. Laughter. Plates being passed. Marco raising a toast to absolutely nothing. Ivy stealing food off his plate and daring him to complain. Lucy laughing a little too loudly at something Kimi said, her knee brushing his this time—and staying there.
Auri shifted.
Just a little.
My hips reacted before my brain could intervene, flexing up into her instinctively. She sucked in a quiet breath and locked her ankles around my legs beneath the table, keeping her thighs open in a way that felt deliberate. Responsive. Encouraging.
Fuck.
I gripped her thigh harder than necessary.
She didn’t stop smiling.
Applause broke out at the table—someone had made a joke, something about tattoos or terrible decisions. Aurélie laughed with them, bright and effortless, while subtly rocking once more against me like she was intentionally testing my limits.
I was done.
Her body vibrated with a tension I recognized now as anticipation, coiled and sharp. And then her hand slipped into her purse.
She pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?” I murmured, low and careful, my lips brushing her temple.
She didn’t look at me when she answered. Just smiled faintly and kept scrolling, thumb slow and unhurried, as if she wasn’t currently sitting in my lap with my cock pressed hot and aching against her.
“Lucy asked for proof earlier. Monaco bruises,” she said lightly. “She said she doesn’t remember seeing them when we met at that club after the race.”
I barely heard her. I was too busy fading slowly as she shifted, the friction enough to make my pulse jackhammer. I glanced around the table. Everyone was deep in their own drinks and conversations, too loud and distracted to notice the obscene tension coiled between my legs.
Then she stilled.
My eyes trailed down the side of her face, her throat to watch her swallow, her chest to see the swell of her breasts as she inhaled sharply, then down to her phone.
She wasn’t staring at the Monaco bruises.
She was staring at a video. I blinked once, leaned in without thinking, then blinked again. I realized what she’d opened, and the room vanished.
Mirrored walls. Harsh white light. The unmistakable stretch of a hotel gym. Her body was mid-motion on the screen, strong, fluid, sweat-sheened. Familiar in a way that made something deep in my chest twist.
And then—me. Not the version of me sitting here now with a wedding ring biting into my finger.
The other one.
The one who ran.
I saw myself step into frame, breathless, determined, hair damp with sweat, shoulders heaving like I’d just finished a race instead of sprinting across Monte Carlo because I couldn’t stand not touching her for another second.
The video had no sound, but my body remembered it anyway.
The burn in my legs. The snap inside my chest when I saw her. The moment my mind shut off and something more dangerous took the wheel.
I’d known then. Not clearly, but I’d known. I was already lost in her orbit.
My fingers tightened reflexively where they rested on her waist. My pulse roared in my ears. God, I could feel it all over again. The hunger, the recklessness, the way my entire life had pivoted on the simple truth that she existed and I would cross cities by foot to reach her.
Her phone dipped slightly, just enough that the angle changed. Just enough that I caught a glimpse of her face in the reflection—flushed, eyes dark, lips parted like she was reliving it too.
She locked her screen, and just like that, the restaurant rushed back in.
Laughter, glasses clinking, the quiet hum of a restaurant full of conversation.
Marco said something loud and ridiculous.
Ivy swore at him fondly. Life continued on, completely unaware that I’d just been emotionally eviscerated in the middle of a booth.
Aurélie leaned all the way back into me, warm and soft and lethal, her shoulder brushing my chest.
“That was before,” she murmured, so quietly only I could hear. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just a statement.
Before we were public. Before we were safe. Before we were married.
My hand slid from her waist to her thigh, grip tightening as if it was the only thing anchoring me to the present. My cock throbbed hard against her, unashamed, furious with memory.
“Christ,” I breathed, my mouth hovering near her ear. “You’re trying to kill me.”
She smiled. I felt it more than I saw it.
“No,” she whispered back. “I’m reminding you that it was always going to be us against the world.”
She was also reminding me of who I was when I chose her. Of how fast I ran. Of how little it took to undo me.
Her fingers laced through mine again, rings knocking softly together. Promise against promise.
She ground her hips back into me, and the ghost of that night collided violently with the reality of this one: her panties in my pocket, her body in my lap, her name legally bound to mine.
I swallowed hard, jaw clenched, and lifted my glass with my free hand like nothing was wrong and I wasn’t hanging on by a thread. Like the man who once ran across Monaco just to touch her was still alive in me. Only now he had permission.
And God help me, that made it so much worse.
I nipped at her earlobe. “You need something, baby?”
Her breath hitched. I watched the goosebumps ripple down her arm.
She didn’t answer at first. Just tilted her head slightly like she was thinking—considering the question, tasting it. Then she shook her head once, small and slow. “No,” she murmured, calm and composed. “I’m fine.”
A lie. A pretty, deadly lie.
I glanced around the table, every inch of me buzzing. Kimi was half-smiling at Lucy, his wine glass raised like he’d forgotten how to be subtle. Marco was busy fake-arguing with Ivy over her stealing his food. No one was looking at us. No one had any idea.
My lips brushed her ear again, my voice low and reverent. “You’re not wearing anything under this dress,” I murmured. “You’re still full of me from earlier, and I can feel how soaked you are again.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around mine, our rings clicking together like punctuation.
“Do you need something?” I asked again.
She hesitated, turning her face to look at me, noses brushing. Our eyes locked, and I think I fell a little harder. “I need you,” she whispered.
My hand slid slowly up her inner thigh beneath the table, pushing the skirt of her dress higher until I reached the arousal smeared all over the inside of her thighs. I exhaled sharply, letting out a sound that was more of a groan than a breath.
“Then be a good little wife,” I rasped, barely audible, “and sit all the way down.”
Eyes never leaving mine, she moved. Not urgently or dramatically, but a subtle shift of her hips, one hand adjusting the hem of her dress like she was smoothing it over her lap, her spine straightening against me with practiced ease.
I moved too, slow and careful, fingers working my zipper beneath the table as Ivy launched into some chaotic story about nearly getting arrested in Mykonos. The timing was absurd. Her voice rose just enough to mask the sound of fabric rustling and breaths mingling.
I flexed my hips, freeing myself, and then she lowered herself. Not fully at first, the tip of my cock already leaking, already desperate, letting me throb against her entrance, the metal of my piercing dragging through her folds like it belonged there.
The second she pressed down, I felt the heat of her slick lips parting around me like a secret. I saw stars as she settled there, teasing. Only rewarding me with the outline of her soaked, needy, velvet-soft, devastating pussy.
She stayed like that for a minute, rocking gently—barely. It was maddening. My jaw was locked so tight I thought I might break it.
Then she sat back all the way, sinking down, slow and sinful. The head of my cock breached her with a wet, impossible glide. She bit down on her lip. My hand gripped hers like a goddamn vice.
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.