Chapter 94 Callum
callum
He looked at me like I was his religion—but all I could think about was how many other girls he’d prayed to the same way. -Aurelie
Before I left the room, her dark purple duffel bag caught my eye, half-unzipped on the bed.
I knew I shouldn’t. I really did, but I was a man hanging on by a thread and desperate for anything that reminded me of her. Of earlier. Of always. I moved closer, heart still thudding like I’d taken a jump start to the chest, and gently parted the bag’s opening.
Inside were a few things—makeup, a book, a set of pajamas, a handful of pink underwear that would be the death of me. But nestled at the bottom, tucked just between a silk sleep mask and her passport, were two discreet black bottles.
I picked one up, turning it over. No label, just an ornate golden logo engraved on the side that I didn’t recognize. I uncapped it carefully. One whiff and my knees buckled.
Her.
Lavender, citrus, something soft and warm and dizzying. The scent I’d buried my face into during every kiss, every fuck, every time she curled up against me. I inhaled again, deeper this time, and it hit me like a goddamn freight train. My brain short-circuited. My body went hot all over.
Fuck.
I pressed the bottle to my nose like a man starved, lightheaded from the way it triggered every feral, possessive part of me.
This was her. This was ours.
I’d been obsessed with it before I knew what obsession really meant. Before I knew what she meant.
Now it was branded into my bloodstream.
I tucked it carefully back where I found it, closed the bag, and stood still for a second, just breathing.
I definitely wasn’t surviving this night.
Ipaused in the doorway of the guest room, towel slung around my neck from the cold shower Aurélie had blue-balled me into that did absolute fuck-all to my lower extremity that simply refused to behave. Two showers in an hour thanks to her.
She was still getting ready in the bathroom. And goddammit. There, laid out like some kind of delicate execution, was the dress.
If you could even call it that.
It was tiny. Barely there. A soft, shimmery light pink that made my dick twitch on sight—because it was the exact same color as her cheeks when she came. That flushed, desperate glow when she was close. When she fell apart under me.
And beside the dress? Lace panties. Same color. Same damn shade as the pair still on my bedroom floor.
“What the fuck is this,” I muttered, reaching out and lifting the dress between two fingers. It weighed less than my restraint. And then I realized… it was the same fucking dress that she wore in Miami.
My heart pounded. Blood surged to my cock like it was answering a call to arms. My brain buffered under the memory of her wearing this—tight over her hips, hugging her ass, her tits barely contained. Her lavender-scented whatever clinging to her skin and her hair.
Jesus Christ.
I might blow a load in my pants.
I was still holding the dress—probably staring at it like it held the secrets to the universe—when I heard the bathroom door open behind me. I turned… and nearly dropped to my knees.
She was… holy shit. She was unreal. Hair styled straight, makeup glowing, that signature French softness meeting savage sensuality in a way that should’ve been illegal.
My mouth went dry. My cock pressed even tighter against the front of my joggers. It needed her right now. I needed her. And still—still—I was standing there like a goddamn idiot, holding the barely-there dress she’d laid out like I’d just caught feelings and fire at the same time.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I blinked. “Trying to survive?”
She strode forward and snatched the dress from my hands with a scandalized huff. “Put. Your. Clothes. On.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out except a strangled groan. She breezed past me toward the bed and I just stood there, still shirtless, still semi-damp, still rock fucking hard and dangerously close to losing my mind.
“Jesus, Aurélie,” I muttered. “You’re going to kill me.”
She didn’t even turn around. “Good. Then I’ll have champagne and fries to celebrate your funeral.”
Damn. She was brutal.
I forced myself to throw on black jeans and a black button-down, rolling the sleeves halfway up my forearms as if it would give me even a shred of self-control.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Not when I was already hard from just thinking about that goddamn dress. And the matching panties. And the way she’d told me she never planned to let me go.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows to my knees, trying to settle the ache low in my stomach and the pounding in my cock.
Then I heard it—the soft click of the bathroom door. She came into view like some kind of fucking mirage, except there was nothing delicate about the way my jaw dropped.
That dress. That dress.
Sinfully tight, as if it had been vacuum-sealed to every perfect curve.
The neckline dipped low enough that I could see the swell of her tits, and the hem barely brushed the tops of her thighs.
There was a playful little ruffle that flounced with each step, right over that heart-shaped ass I’d had my hands on less than two hours ago.
Her skin glowed. Her lips were glossy. Her hair was styled as if I’d already had my hands in it. I wished they had been.
And those white heels?
Game. Over.
My cock throbbed, but I clenched my jaw and exhaled through my nose, fists curling at my sides as I dragged my eyes over every inch of her, pausing on the heels again that made her legs look more tan. I smirked. “You wear those heels like they were made to make you a wee bit taller.”
She snorted. “Did you just say ‘wee bit taller’?”
“Yeah?”
She burst out laughing, walking toward me with that ruffle flouncing like it had a fucking vendetta. “That’s the most Scottish you’ve ever sounded.”
I tried not to grin but failed spectacularly. “It slipped out.”
Her fingers curled around my jaw as she tipped my face toward hers. “It’s soft,” she said quietly, like it mattered. “Your accent. Like it’s been away from home too long.” Okay, so that lodged itself in my chest. And then she smiled. “Still sexy though.”
My dick twitched. Again. I was two seconds from dragging her to the bed. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
She gave me a mock-innocent look that only made it worse. “Doing what?”
“Aurélie…” My voice came out gravelly. “You step out knowing what you look like and you expect me to keep my hands to myself?”
Her lashes fluttered, like a fucking siren. “Poor baby. Is that hard for you?”
My jaw locked. I could feel my pulse between my legs.
“You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me,” I rasped.
Her smile was wicked. “I think I do. So, you like the dress?”
“Like it?” I stepped closer. “I remember the last time you wore it. And I feel now how I did then—I want to rip it off you with my teeth and fuck you over the kitchen counter.”
She let out a soft hum, then turned back toward the mirror, adjusting an earring. “That’s not very romantic of you.”
“You’ve turned me into a fucking animal.”
“I’m not wearing a bra,” she added casually, out of the fucking blue, and I actually groaned. She arched her back as she checked her lipstick, just enough for the fabric to stretch tighter across her tits and her ass to stick out more, and I damn near blacked out.
I moved behind her, caging her in with my arms on either side of the dresser.
“Let me eat you out right now and we’ll call it even.”
She met my eyes in the mirror, lips twitching. “No.”
“Fine. How about I’ll behave for the rest of the night. Scout’s honor.”
“You said you were proud of me.”
“I am,” I said through gritted teeth. “Proud. And painfully hard.”
She turned, pressing her finger to my chest. “Then you’ll be a good boy for me.”
I looked down at where her tits brushed my shirt, at her thighs, those goddamn shoes, the swishy hem of that dress, and barely held myself back.
“You keep teasing me like this, mon c?ur, and I swear I’ll drag you into the coat closet at the club and make you scream my name loud enough to blow the speakers.”
“You could try,” she whispered, then stepping back and reaching for a bottle of perfume I hadn’t noticed earlier. A black bottle with that same gold logo, and I fucking knew as soon as she sprayed it what it would be. As if I needed another reason to feel feral around her tonight.
She dragged her hand down the side of her thigh, smoothing out the dress as if it wasn’t already criminal, her fingers grazing the hem. She didn’t know what it did to me.
I swear to fucking God I saw actual stars. Not from love. From blood loss. Every ounce of it was in my dick.
“Baby,” I ground out, voice guttural, “I am this close to getting on my knees and begging.”
“For what?”
“You. In this dress. Out of this dress. Bent over this dresser. I don’t give a fuck.”
She smirked over her shoulder. “Too bad.”
I took a shaky breath, trying to pull it together, trying to remember my name—until she fucking bounced once on the balls of her heels like she was testing them.
I saw heaven. I saw hell. I saw the edge of sanity and waved to it.
My soul briefly left my body. Went to the club without me.
Ordered a drink. Prayed for my survival.
And when she turned back around, smug as ever, and whispered, “Let’s go, Fraser,” I just stood there half dead and hard as a rock.
She grabbed her purse as if she hadn’t just lit my entire nervous system on fire.
I had to adjust myself before following her out of the room. If I didn’t, I was going to lose it in the fucking hallway.
I caught up to her at the door, still trying to adjust myself without making it obvious, when she tossed a look over her shoulder.
“Guess I must fuck like a pornstar, huh?” she said, voice light. Too light. “Given how poetic you get about it.”
I tilted my head, thrown. “What?”
She shrugged, all blasé and glossy lips. “Nothing. Just… good to know what you’re here for.”
My jaw ticked, but she was already turning away, strutting toward the elevator as if she hadn’t just tossed something oddly familiar into the air, but I couldn’t place it. I didn’t know what to do with that.
So I let it go… for now.
Ikept my hands to myself.
Barely.
She sat beside me in the car like temptation incarnate, legs crossed and bouncing subtly—either from nerves or just to fuck with me.
Probably both. This fucking dress that barely qualified as fabric?
It was a sin against me personally. The ruffle skimmed the tops of her thighs every time we turned a corner.
With the hand not on the steering wheel, I gripped my knee, my jaw, anything that would keep me from dragging her into my lap and making us unforgivably late.
Then she tucked her hair behind her ear and I saw it. That bite mark. My bite mark. The one that got me in this predicament to begin with.
It was faint, barely visible under the layer of make up she’d applied. But under the overhead streetlights filtering through the window? It stood out clear as fucking day, but it drew attention to the fading ones peeking out from the hems of her dress.
I smirked. “You’re going to out yourself.”
“What?” She blinked, then pulled the visor down to check her reflection. She paled. “Mon Dieu.”
I bit back a laugh. “You really thought you were getting away with this?”
“I tried! I packed one dress. One. It was Monaco, I didn’t think I’d actually win, let alone need to”—she gestured to herself with a huff—“plan for this. I did my best to cover them.”
“My best,” I echoed, leaning closer, letting my lips brush the shell of her ear before returning my attention to the road. “You can’t hide me, baby. Why do you think I mark you?”
She turned to face me, horrified. “Callum.”
“What?”
“You’re worse than I thought.”
“Oh, no, love. I’m exactly as bad as you thought.” I licked my lips. “Because now I know you were trying to cover me up all night. Which only makes me want to leave more marks.”
She swore in French, tipping her head back against the headrest. It was the first time all night she seemed fazed.
I chuckled, but it was short-lived—because then she turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowed. “You know what? I was almost ready to let it go. Let you off the hook. But now? You’re not touching me again for another 24 hours.”
My blood ran cold. “Baby—”
“Nope.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She picked up her phone, taking her attention off me. I hated it. “You’re going to stand next to me in this dress at the club, watch every man in there try to flirt with me—and you’re not going to be able to do a damn thing about it.”
Fuck.
My heart pounded like I was halfway through qualifying.
And when she crossed her legs again, that little ruffle bouncing against her thigh? I caught sight of those panties and I about died. Almost crashed the goddamn car.
“I’ve made a huge mistake,” I muttered.