23. Callum
The hotel room was too quiet.
I’d drawn the curtains, stripped down to my briefs, and stretched out on the bed with an ice pack balanced over my ribs like a fucking patient.
I told myself I’d nap while she finished debriefs.
She’d be hours yet, while stuck in team meetings, press vultures, media scrums. Plenty of time for me to rest before she came back to fill me in, to plot our next moves.
Except when I closed my eyes, sleep didn’t find me.
I was in pain, sure. My neck was stiff and my head throbbed consistently, but it was lessening each day.
The bruises on my chest and shoulders were finally fading, yet my ribs hurt like a bitch, and if I twisted too hard, the laceration pulled and it fucking hurt .
What got me through it, though, was hearing her voice in my head. Even alone, her spirit was still here with me, reminding me that no matter what, we’d always find our way back to each other.
I want you to take me there. My last virginity. I want your cock in my ass, Cal.
The words replayed, raw and wrecked, until my cock throbbed against the waistband of my briefs. Every nerve in my body went taut. Christ, I was hard enough to hurt.
I pressed my palm over the bulge, hissing as the pressure spiked. It would’ve been so easy to jerk off. To close my eyes, fist myself to the thought of her bent over the table in that cabana, whimpering in French as I shoved inside her.
But no. Not this. Not now.
If she was going to give me that last untouched piece of her, if she was going to let me make her mine in every sense of the word, then my orgasm belonged to her. She deserved it, earned it, owned it. I wouldn’t waste it into my own goddamn hand.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, teeth clenched, chest rising and falling as though I’d run a sprint.
My head spun with images I’d only ever craved before she whispered it into existence and gave life to something that would be sacred between us—her ass spread wide for me, her cries muffled into the sheets, my cock glistening with lube as I eased deeper into her tight little hole.
Mine. All fucking mine .
I lasted ten minutes like that before I snapped. I couldn’t lie here any longer, couldn’t keep pacing the cage in my own head, couldn’t keep myself from thrusting into the covers out of desperation.
I needed to be ready for her. I needed to make this more than a dirty fantasy.
The city was still buzzing when I stepped out, a worn black cap tugged low, hoodie zipped despite the heat. I didn’t care if anyone recognized me, but I did care about shielding my eyes from the blinding sun.
That didn’t matter, though. I was on a mission, driven by my own desire.
The sex shop wasn’t far. It was a dingy storefront tucked between a pharmacy and a tourist market, complete with neon lights glowing pink in the window. I walked in like I belonged there, my eyes scanning the shelves until they spotted what I was looking for.
Lube.
I grabbed two bottles of silicone and two water-based. Then a box of condoms, not because I needed them but because I knew she’d worry if I didn’t have them. Just in case .
Pausing in front of the toys, I slowly reached for a small, curved plug that would let me warm her up slow, and—fuck it—a slim black vibrator, because if she hadn’t packed one, she’d thank me later when I teased her clit until she begged for mercy.
It would help her relax as she settled into me, taking my pierced dick all the way to the hilt, squeezing me until I could barely breathe.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I found my hands lingering over the racks of bondage gear.
Leather cuffs, crops, ropes. The image of her bratty little smirk flashed in my head—her rolling her eyes, mouthing off, daring me while she crossed her arms and popped her hip in that way I loved so goddamn much.
Christ, I wanted to bend her over and leave stripes on her thighs until she cried.
I almost groaned, my cock pulsing so hard I was certain I had very little blood left in my brain.
God, I wanted her bound. Forced to take every inch of me while I broke her down into whimpers and pleas. The thought of controlling every gasp, every twitch, every orgasm until she was nothing but wrecked and pliant for me made my spine shiver.
I wanted her bratty too. Wanted her mouthy and smug, pushing me until I had to punish her, until I could flip her over my lap and spank her just to hear her cry out my name.
Red skin welting under my palms, pussy leaking down her thighs, hair swinging as she pushed back into me like the desperate little slut she was for me.
But then—fuck—I thought about Monaco. The shower.
Her standing over me, steam curling around her body like smoke, my lips on her thighs, my tongue worshiping her cunt while she tangled her fingers in my hair and let me drown in her.
Yes, she was my good girl, but she was also my queen, my goddess, my forever.
And Christ help me, I’d have gotten on my knees and stayed there for eternity if she asked.
I realized I was just standing there, staring at the display like a creep, breathing too hard, a fucking weirdo in the middle of a shop. My knuckles whitened on the edge of the shelf, and I knew I needed to get the fuck out before I embarrassed myself.
Not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about punishment. Tonight was about worship. About salvation. About new beginnings together .
Still… I bought the crop. For later. For when she wanted it..
On the way back, I ducked into the pharmacy and loaded up a basket with Epsom salts, muscle rub, and packets of electrolyte drink mix.
Then I stopped at a corner shop for chocolate and biscuits, because aftercare meant more than cuddles and water.
It meant making her feel safe, seen, cherished in every sense of the word.
And I wouldn’t stop until she came to expect this from me.
She deserved to be treated like the only religion I’d ever bow to.
Her body would be my altar, her skin the scripture I’d memorize with my mouth, her moans my gospel.
She deserved to know I’d kneel and confess every filthy thought at the temple between her thighs, that I’d seek salvation in the way she broke for me, again and again.
But worship wasn’t enough. I wanted to be everything for her—the worshipper and the executioner, the sinner and the saint, the prayer on her lips and the punishment in her veins.
My breath hitched just thinking it, panic pressing in at the edges, because who the fuck even thought like that? Who wanted to crawl to their knees and also hold the blade? Who wanted to sanctify and destroy in the same breath?
Me.
Holy and unholy. Sinful and sacred. Romantic and rebellious. Because if the world called us blasphemy, then let them burn. We’d already made each other divine. She was my absolution. My only absolution. And I would ruin myself a thousand times over just to keep her my seraphic little angel.
Even if every time I touched her, it was with the intent to break her apart and put her back together.
By the time I returned to the hotel, the day had faded to twilight, and the color of the sky looked like the bruises that had covered my chest in the wake of Montreal.
I moved almost robotically as I laid everything out with military precision.
The bathroom was first. Salts by the tub, fresh towels folded, candles and matches placed throughout the space.
The room came next. Lube bottles neatly lined on the nightstand, condoms beside them, vibrator charging on the desk. Massage oil on the dresser and chocolate within arm’s reach.
I smoothed the sheets, tugged the duvet back, and made a nest for her. Made a shrine, more like, as I spritzed that addictive lavender shit over the linens..
Then I sat on the edge of the bed, cock still aching, and waited.
My leg bounced and my pulse hammered. My mind replayed every second of the cabana. Her soft whimpers, her whispered plea. The way she said forever had me picturing my cum dripping from her pretty pink pussy and imagining us at the end of all of this with a baby girl in tow.
I imagined her walking in, eyes widening when she saw the setup. Imagined her body softening when she realized what I’d done, every detail chosen for her. Imagined her curling into me, trusting me to take her pain, to give her release, to split her open and keep her safe in the same breath.
And underneath all that—dark and raw and mine—I thought about the truth.
No one else would ever get this. Her last first time. Her last untouched place. She was mine in every way that mattered already. But this? This would be the seal. This made me a permanent part of her story, and fuck if that didn’t melt my insides a little.
Her body had been ravaged before, sure. But her ass—her sweet, untouched, perfectly heart-shaped ass—would only ever know me. My hands. My tongue. My cock.
The thought had me groaning into my palms, fighting the urge to stroke myself, to come undone before she even crossed the threshold.
Fuck. Not yet. Not until she was here. Not until she gave herself to me.
Because when she did? I’d fuck her like prayer, ruin her like sacrament, and mark her so deep she’d never doubt it again. Her body–my altar, my sin, my salvation. Forever mine.
And I’d make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.