Chapter 52 Aurélie
aurélie
Aurélie Dubois is the problem. I used to celebrate. But now all I can think about is the way her eyes burned when she looked at me—furious, frustrated. Mine. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. But I know I want to ruin her. And I know she’d let me. -Callum
Callum’s grip on my waist anchored me to the now—naughty and magnetic, like he could unravel me if I let him.
My heart slammed against my ribs, echoing the frantic energy of the race I couldn’t finish earlier. Only this wasn’t frustration—it was heat and desire, pure and unrelenting, pooling in my chest, my clit, my belly, my fingertips until it was all I felt.
I should climb off him. I should put distance between us before this went too far. But the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world worth touching—made my head spin.
And I wanted it. I wanted it so fucking bad. I’d been thinking about this since Miami.
Who was I kidding?
I’d been thinking about it for years. Wondering what it would be like to be fucked, to be wanted by the revered Callum Fraser. So hell no, I wasn’t walking away tonight.
His hands moved to my thighs, fingers flexing like he was barely holding himself back. His cock pressed hard against where I ached for him, thick and unforgiving—and I knew, if I rolled my hips just once—
No.
Fuck.
I might come.
I physically stopped myself. I couldn’t lose it in the middle of a fucking bar.
The shadows blurred the world around us, softening his sharp jaw and kiss-bitten mouth—still swollen from where I’d devoured him like no one else existed.
It felt like we were in our own universe, one where nothing else mattered but this moment.
I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to watch his hands slide up to rest on my hips. His thumbs brushed slow circles over my skirt, a gesture so subtle it felt like a secret, like he was just testing how much I could take.
He knew exactly what I wanted but was making me beg for it.
I could still feel the last time. Miami. He’d fucked me like a man possessed, like he had to, like it was inevitable. Then he’d collapsed after, laughing like no matter what I did, I couldn’t escape him.
I’d kicked him out then because I ran like I always did. But not tonight. Tonight, I was taking what I wanted.
I burned for him, heat spreading through me like wildfire. I wanted his hands under my clothes, caressing me, worshipping me, making me come until I couldn’t walk straight.
Most of all, I wanted skin to skin, to just let all of our inhibitions go and forget about all the complications this could create, the rumors, the stupid social media edits and posts.
I forced myself to breathe, to find a sliver of control in the chaos of my thoughts. But time felt distorted, the world around us ceasing to exist, and that made it feel impossible to be rational. “Callum,” I whispered, my voice catching, barely sounding like mine.
Instead of speaking, he just waited, his gaze searching mine for something—permission, maybe, or the answer to a question neither of us had voiced yet.
I pushed back gently, climbing off his lap, the loss of his warmth immediate and jarring. My knees felt shaky as I sat back down beside him, my body still pressed against him as I tried to reign myself back in. His hand landed on my bare thigh, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t pulling away.
It was also a reminder that no matter how many deep breaths I took, that arousal wasn’t going away.
Shit.
I had never reacted to a man this way, and I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that he gave my pussy its own pulse.
“I…” I trailed off, unsure of how to explain the mess of emotions tangled in my chest. My walls felt paper-thin, the armor I’d spent years building barely holding together under the weight of his attention.
His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, and my stomach flipped.
“Don’t overthink it,” he said softly, his voice like velvet against my frayed nerves.
That Scottish accent of his would be the death of me.
It was whiskey-smooth and somehow still rough-edged, capable of dismantling every goddamn defense I had in place.
I gave a shaky laugh, leaning back in my seat. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one trying to recover from whatever the fuck that just was.”
“Oh, I know exactly what just happened,” he replied, his smirk turning into a beautiful full-blown grin. “But if you need time to catch up, I’m happy to wait. Or would you rather tell me in your native tongue?”
The bastard. He was enjoying this, the way I was completely unraveled for him. And yet, I couldn’t be mad.
I narrowed my eyes, pretending to be offended. “Is my English that bad? Is that why you keep making comments?”
He blinked, caught. “No—no, it’s fucking perfect.” His voice dropped, softer now. “It’s you in French that does me in.”
Oh.
My pulse skipped, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
“Then maybe you should stop pretending you don’t understand me,” I purred, leaning toward him, almost daringly. “Because I’m starting to think you do.”
His hand slid higher, fingers curling tighter around my thigh. “Je comprends beaucoup plus de choses que tu ne crois, Auri.” I understand a lot more than you think.
I shivered.
I was so, so fucked. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t speaking French to me. Couldn’t he have one fucking thing wrong with him?
His hand had slid up my thigh, and I squirmed, trying to move so his fingers could graze my clit. I just needed… a little bit… higher…
I reached for my glass, taking a slow sip of the remaining smoky bourbon that warmed my throat. It didn’t steady me, not with the way his eyes followed the movement of my lips. “What do you want?” It escaped before I could swallow it—bare, reckless, the kind of question that could wreck us both.
“Tonight? I want you to stop fighting whatever this is between us. Just for one night.”
My heart stuttered, and I set the glass down carefully, my fingers trembling against the cool surface. His hand was under the short hem of my skirt again, and I could feel the back of my neck start to sweat as my body reached feverish temperatures. “And tomorrow?”
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly challenging corner on the track. “Tomorrow’s a different story. Let’s not ruin tonight by worrying about it.”
I hated how easily he disarmed me, how his words melted the stress and replaced it with something softer, something reckless.
I licked my lips, the room feeling too warm, the bourbon and tequila a slow, heady fire in my bloodstream. “Alright,” I said, my voice lower now, almost daring. “But let’s make it interesting.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I’m listening.”
“Back to the question game. And the first one to get uncomfortable loses,” I said, a sly smile tugging at my lips.
“What happens to the loser?”
I considered his question for a moment, my eyes locked on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he waited. “The loser has to admit they’re wrong about…us,” I said cautiously, testing the waters.
He chuckled, a deep rumble that sent shivers down my spine. “You think there’s anything between us other than fierce competition and unbridled lust?”
Jesus, does his accent always sound like that?
I hesitated, my cheeks heating at the bluntness of his words. But there was a challenge in them, a dare hidden beneath his careless tone. “You haven’t seen me at my best, Callum. Not yet.”
My hips shifted against the leather seat beneath me, and his fingertips finally brushed my clit. I fought every urge to moan, but couldn’t stop my labored breathing as wetness pooled between my thighs.
I knew he could feel it when his lips twisted into a grin.
“And you think I only want you at your best? I like you just the way you are—firecracker-tongued and beautiful.” He leaned in closer, so that his breath ghosted against my ear, setting off a storm of goosebumps.
“And I’ve only seen you on the edge, love.
Just wait until I push you off it entirely. ”
Oh God, his confidence was heady, but also terrifying. I took another sip of my drink, the bourbon warming my throat and my nerves.
Fuck, and he’d said it again. Love.
Okay, I was completely prepared to lose this bet as long as he could drag me to his room and fuck these feelings out of me. “You don’t scare me, Callum.”
“That’s good to know. Because if anything, I’m more afraid of you than you are of me.”
My stomach bottomed out. “Afraid of what? That I might outdrive you on the track?”
His grin widened at my challenge, his eyes darkening with hunger.
“Cute. But no,” he said softly, leaning in even closer so our noses almost touched.
“I’m afraid that once we get another taste of each other, letting go won’t be an option for either of us.
That we will become the one thing we can’t live with and can’t live without. ”
I swallowed hard, and there went my pussy again, pulsing against nothing and reminding me how badly I needed him. “And what makes you think that’s something I’d want?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“Because I know how much you love to win, Auri. And me?” He leaned in, voice sinful and dark. “I’m your final boss, baby.”
I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You really think so?”
“No question,” he said, and it wasn’t cocky—it was gospel.
I was definitely going to lose this bet, but fuck it.
I wasn’t escaping this without getting laid.
Not with those fuck-me-sideways eyes and panty-melting megawatt grins.
Seriously, how was it even legal to look like him?
But paired with that ridiculously sexy accent, the heat and admiration in his eyes whenever he looked at me, and the way he made me feel inherently feminine had me feeling like tonight wouldn’t be enough for me.