12. Aurélie #3
My whole body spasmed. The words alone had me shaking, soaked, undone. And when he let go, I dropped—without thinking, without blinking—to my knees as if it was my only reason for living.
But he didn’t touch me. Not yet. Instead, he took a languid step back and just looked down at me like I was some beautiful, broken thing.
And there he was, the champion of the grid that belonged to me.
Dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled from my fingers, towering over me.
Ferocity and fragility warring in his gaze, like I was the only thing keeping him upright even as he planned to wreck me. Perfectly sinful. Perfectly mine.
“Spread,” he said.
I obeyed so fast it was like I was meant to be submissive for him, hands flattening over my thighs as my knees pressed into the plush cream colored carpet.
I knew this wasn’t practice, that he wasn’t training me to kneel for him, but fuck if it didn’t feel like I was already conditioned for him.
My body knew who I belonged to before my mind could catch up.
Heat rushed to my face and my breath came in short, shallow gasps. I felt bare. Owned. His.
And still, he didn’t move.
He cocked his head to the side and studied me like art—or prey. I wasn't sure which, just that I panted under his perusal. "Look down, Aurélie. Look at the mess you're making all over the fucking floor."
My heart stuttered when I dropped my gaze. My panties clung to my pussy like a second skin, doing nothing to stop the steady trail of arousal dripping down the inside of my thighs. There, dark and glistening, was a wet spot soaking into the carpet beneath me.
Holy fuck. That hadn’t just happened. That had… welled up, leaked, and spilled out of me—hot and wet and humiliating, like I was designed to ache for him. And he hadn't even touched me. The overflow wasn't from an orgasm, but from his voice .
My stomach bottomed out and my pussy pulsed, releasing a whole new wave of arousal down my thighs, absolute shameless betrayal. My cheeks flamed. What the fuck was happening to me?
I shifted my knees slightly and felt it everywhere—the obscene stickiness between my legs.
I choked on a breath. My body was betraying me in real time, already deciding to surrender to him.
He could make me kneel in this puddle every night, could make me lick the floor clean, until I understood exactly what I was to him: his desperate, dirty little prize.
And then, as if I’d lost control of my own limbs, my trembling hands moved. Down, down, down, fingertips grazing the wet trail, needing to feel the inarguable evidence of what he was doing to me.
I dragged them higher and touched the ruined lace of my panties. Felt the drop that wouldn't stop.
I’m fighting for women, I thought. I’m trying to change this goddamn sport, and I’m sitting here, on my knees, more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire fucking life.
Callum's dress boots appeared in my vision again. Then a hand curled under my chin, forcing my face up. He crouched in front of me, that smug, devastating mouth close enough to ruin my next breath.
“All that bite, all that fire, and here you are, on your knees, pretty little cunt begging louder than your mouth ever has.”
I moaned like a god damn pornstar. My whole body shivered.
It was cruel. It was condescending. It was goddamn disrespectful .
It was so fucking hot I almost cried.
He leaned in. Our foreheads touched. “You’re not real,” he murmured reverently, rising to his full height but keeping my jaw in his hand. “You can’t be.”
I blinked. My hands curled around the hem of my tweed skirt, inching it higher so he had a better view.
He unbuckled his belt with one hand. Slow, lazy, deliberate. Tugged it through the loops so it made a soft hissing sound, and then he dropped it on the floor at his feet.
“You think you’re in control, mon c?ur?” His thumb dragged over my lower lip.
“You drop before me like this, spread and obedient, and think I’m the one who’s ruined?
You’re fucking melting again, love. I haven’t even touched you.
” I whimpered. I couldn’t help it. “You like this? Like being on your knees? Like being treated like the filthy little slut you are?”
Then his hand dropped to my chest, fingers catching the front of my bralette. He tugged it up, rough and demanding.
“Take this off, baby.” I slipped it over my head with shaking hands and let it fall to the floor behind me. He stared. Standing in front of the tall windows, he was a formidable force.
I was completely and utterly his.
Callum growled low and deep, as if it came from somewhere feral. “That’s much better,” he murmured, his eyes dragging over my bare chest, then lower. “Tits out. Cunt soaked. You really are my pathetic little mess, aren’t you?”
There was a sound. A soft, humiliating squelch between my thighs.
We both heard it.
He chuckled, the sound dark and sadistic.
That sound would haunt me. I knew it. He’d make me remember it, maybe even punish me for it, make me kneel in the mess I couldn’t stop making until I begged for him to show me mercy. And the worst part? I’d fucking love it.
I made a sound—half cry, half moan—and another gush followed. I whimpered again, the sound pitiful and raw as tears formed in my eyes and spilled over. “I can’t stop,” I whispered, horrified. “It won’t stop.”
He crouched to eye level again, his expression sharp with desire. “That’s because you don’t want it to. You want to drown in it. You want me to see it. You want to be ruined in a puddle of your own desire so there’s no going back.”
A sob caught in my throat. It was true.
“And you know what?” he murmured, brushing his thumb over my tear-soaked cheek. “I think it’s beautiful.”
He didn’t just say it. He meant it. My shame, my need—it wasn’t too much for him. It was a gift.
He stood. I couldn't take it anymore and pitched forward, bracing myself on my hands so I was on all fours. "Callum," I cried, more tears leaking from my eyes as my head dropped.
He stroked my head, and it was so humiliating, so fucking humbling, but I couldn't stop. I deserved it. I wanted it. I asked for it.
"Love hearing you say my name, baby." He retreated, and when I raised my head, I saw him pause by the bed, bend down to grab his bag, and rifle through it. "You're being so good, Aurélie. You have been all night. But you still owe me."
A broken noise rattled through me. My pussy leaked more. Tears and snot mingled on my skin. "Please. Please, Callum. I need you."
This physical, visceral reaction didn’t feel like a betrayal anymore. It felt like inevitability, as though my body had decided on its own to give him every last piece of me, to offer up proof of how completely he owned me, drop by humiliating drop.
He tilted his head, mock sympathy in his eyes.
A glint of silver in his hands caught my eye, but I couldn't make out what it was before he tucked it into the back of his pants. My stomach flipped. It could’ve been anything—a toy, a clamp, a cuff.
My mind spun through every filthy possibility, every punishment he’d threatened, every unspoken promise in his eyes.
Whatever it was, I knew I’d take it. I’d take it all, gladly and desperately, like his own personal whore.
“God, you’re such a wreck, but you beg prettier than I remembered.”
Heat crawled down my neck. My thighs trembled from holding the position.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re desperate.”
“I’m—” My voice cracked. “I’m desperate.”
“For what?”
“You.”
“Be fucking specific.”
"Je veux ta bite," I whispered.
His brow lifted and he demanded, "In English. "
“I want your cock. I want it in my mouth. I want you to use me. Ruin me.”
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Still too pretty with your words.” Then he let out a low, dangerous laugh. "There's a time and a place for your language. But right now, my love, I'm in charge. You'll beg in my tongue. You'll come on it, too."
Jesus. "You can have me, Cal. Fuck me like you hate me, kiss me like you miss me, mark me like you're branding me. I don't care. Just take me as I am." Another sob tore out of me, and my head dropped as the tears fell in earnest. "I'm yours ."
"Look at me." I did. He was blurry through my tears. He glanced at the mess I was kneeling in, then back at me as if I was nothing but hunger incarnate—a woman undone and drenched in her own desire. This wasn’t about sex anymore.
This was ritual. Discipline. Worship. My surrender was his gift, and his control was my salvation.
I wanted to give him every ounce of it until there was nothing left of me but obedience and his name on my lips.
“Crawl to me, Aurélie.”
My mouth went dry, but I reacted instantly, crawling toward him through the mess and the shame soaking the floor, arms trembling as I moved on all fours.
Breasts heavy and swaying, clothing ruined, every inch of me aching for him.
I could feel my arousal trailing behind me.
I was crawling through my own mess. On purpose.
And I’d do it again, as many times as he asked me to.
When I reached him, I returned to my position of kneeling at his feet, legs spread. I tilted my head back. He towered over me with his cock straining against his pants and smiled. A dark, feral smile.
“You were made for this,” he murmured, almost awed. “Made for me. You're so fucking perfect like this."
"Please. Please let me taste you."
Callum cupped my chin. The touch was gentle in comparison to our filthy exchange. “Open your mouth.” I obeyed, and he pressed a thumb to my bottom lip. "Good. Now let's see how much shame this mouth can swallow."