Chapter 143 Aurélie #2
I propped my cheek against my fist and just…
watched him. His lips moving, the way he bit the inside of his cheek when something didn’t make sense, the little furrow between his brows when he compared my photos against the notes in his hands.
He had a single grey hair near his temple that caught the light when he tilted his head to the side, and he’d let his facial hair stay a little longer because he “loved how it made me squirm and left marks on my skin”. Possessive fuck.
He was beautiful when he was angry. Beautiful when he was obsessive. Beautiful when he was mine.
“See? The migration curve’s logged flat again here—” He looked up, catching me staring. “What?”
I blinked, heat rushing to my cheeks, but I didn’t even try to hide it. “Nothing,” I said softly, my lips curling. “You’re just… devastatingly hot when you’re being a genius.”
His grin cracked wide, wolfish, and my mouth ran away from me before my brain caught up. “So hot it makes me… how do you say… drool from the heart?”
His brows shot up, then his shoulders shook with a laugh, the sound dragging heat straight between my thighs. “Drool from the heart? Christ, baby. Leave it to you to invent poetry when you’re flustered.”
I slapped a hand over my face, groaning, but he just caught my wrist and tugged it down, eyes gleaming.
“No, don’t hide. I love when you fuck it up.
It kills me.” His free hand squeezed my thigh under the table, and he bent back over the papers like nothing had happened, except the smirk tugging at his mouth betrayed him.
“Distracting me won’t change this,” he continued, voice low but amused. He shoved one sheet closer to me. “These numbers prove it wasn’t incompetence. They’re too neat, too deliberate. Someone wanted you fighting the car.”
I skimmed the sheet, though my mind was still stuck on the way his locks poked through his cap. “Mm,” I hummed, trying not to look completely lovesick, “and yet all I hear is ‘you were right, Aurélie, you’re brilliant and resilient and I worship the ground you walk on.’”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head, curls bouncing. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.”
His hand slid higher on my thigh, grounding me. “Yeah,” he murmured, eyes on the paper but voice thick with certainty. “I do.”
And there, with sabotage spread between us like crime scene evidence, food on the way, caffeine sweating down the glass, I realized something that made my eyes well with tears.
We weren’t just fighting this sport anymore. We were fighting for each other.
Itried. I really did. But the more Callum explained, the less I could focus on numbers and curves and columns of data, and the more I could only see him.
The way his jaw flexed when he bit down on his pen. The little furrow in his brow as he scribbled notes in the margin. The flex of his muscles under his polo every time he shifted.
For a moment, I pictured what it would be like to be his teammate, and I could hear him talk like this all the time.
Sitting side by side in engineering briefings, his knee brushing mine under the table as he explained telemetry in that low, lethal voice.
The two of us walking track together, trading strategies, sharing every secret of speed and defense and overtake methods until the rest of the world never stood a chance.
I thought of the fanfiction—the infamous Red Flagged and Red Lace, the newer fics where readers had written him fucking me against the cockpit of my car or pressed against a wall in full view of the paddock—and the ideas they gave me for public sex had desire racing through me so fast I got lightheaded.
Calm down. Focus. Look at the numbers.
Don’t imagine him tying you up by your wrists again. Don’t imagine him pressing you down into the mattress, spanking you raw until you can’t sit the next day. Don’t imagine him blindfolding you, spreading your legs, and making you count each stroke of his belt until you broke and begged for mercy.
Jesus Christ. Focus, Aurélie. Focus on the fucking sheets.
I shifted in my chair and pressed my thighs together. The friction made me bite my lip, and a gush of arousal soaked my panties. I shouldn’t be this wet. Not here. Not when we were talking about a very serious, life-threatening manner.
But God help me—I was.
Damn him. He made me this way. I had never been overcome with lust like this before. My body had never been this responsive, this trained and in tune with someone. I knew, wholeheartedly, I belonged to him, that I was made for him, that I was created to be loved by him.
Callum’s head lifted, eyes narrowing. He caught me. Again. I didn’t bother looking away. I couldn’t, not when the blue of his eyes flared with heat and his dimple made an appearance and—
“Focus, mon c?ur.”
He set the pen down, and one second I was staring at the neat black ink across the setup sheet, and the next, he was tugging me into his lap, back against his chest, trapping me there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Before I make you drool from the heart for real,” he murmured, his voice dark velvet against my ear.
His knees wedged between my thighs, solid and unyielding, so my legs were forced apart, reducing the friction on my clit. His arm circled my waist, the other dragging a sheet closer on the table. “You need to understand exactly what they’ve done to your car.”
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look at the paper. “I am focused,” I whispered, even though my pulse said otherwise. It was a lie, and we both knew it as my hips betrayed me with the faintest roll against him.
He hummed, skeptical, the sound vibrating against my spine.
“Liar.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my jaw.
Then his stubble brushed my bare shoulder—exposed from removing my hoodie earlier—scraping lightly across the sensitive skin near my collarbone as he leaned closer to point something out on the sheet.
The sensation went straight to my clit. A zap, sharp and unbearable, coiling low in my belly. My toes curled inside my trainers, a whimper nearly escaping before I bit it back.
Don’t think about his belt. Don’t think about how good it felt when he spanked you last night after you mouthed off about the ice packs.
Don’t think about the riding crop you Googled at two in the morning, wondering if you’d like the sting of leather cracking across your thighs.
Don’t think about how right now, the weight of his body holding you still feels better than any restraint you’ve ever imagined.
His breath ghosted over my neck, calm and in control. The ridge of his cock pressed hard beneath his jeans, snug against the curve of my ass, and the contact nearly undid me. Heat bolted through my veins, deep and consuming, because my body remembered.
Every time he’d pressed slick fingers inside my asshole, patient but relentless. The way he stretched me, slow and careful, whispering how good I was for him, how he’d open me up, readying me for the day I could take him back there.
And then—God, my blood went molten—I pictured it.
Him forcing me onto all fours, his tongue fucking my tight little hole until I was crying for it, until I was begging for him to split me open with that pierced cock, until I didn’t know if I could survive it but needed it anyway.
The only thing I hadn’t given to anyone else, that would be all his, only his, forever.
The image slammed into me so hard my thighs clenched around his, my back arched, my breath came ragged. It was violent, visceral, a need so fierce it frightened me.
I bit back a whimper, pressing my lips together hard, but he felt it—the way I shuddered, the way my muscles trembled against him.
His free hand abandoned the papers, slipping under my top to flatten against my stomach, holding me still while his thumb stroked lazy circles just above the waistband of my leggings.
Butterflies erupted deep in my belly, and this time I didn’t stop the quiet moan.
“Mm,” he hummed knowingly against my ear, his stubble scraping my skin. A shiver rolled through me, my nipples tightening. “Thinking filthy little thoughts, aren’t you?”
My head tipped back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, the papers in front of me blurring. “Cal…”
He kissed just beneath my jaw, maddeningly gentle. “You want me to ruin you right here, baby? In this little cabana where anyone could walk in?” His hand slid lower, palm cupping my mound through the thin fabric, the heel of his hand pressing exactly where I needed it most.
“Please,” I gasped, hips jerking despite myself. He didn’t move fast, didn’t give me enough friction to tip me over. Just enough pressure, just enough teasing to make me spiral, to make my arousal leak more.
Every nerve ending in my body was begging. I writhed against his palm, my clit throbbing, soaking through my leggings all over his hand, but he never sped up. Never let me take what I wanted.
“You’ll come when I say,” he murmured, voice raspy and merciless. His cock flexed against my ass. “Not before.”
It was unbearable, exquisite, utterly sinful.
I braced my hands on his thighs, clawing at them, my chest heaving, my entire body arching into the pleasure.
Hips rocking brazenly, eager for relief.
My orgasm hovered, building desperately in its intensity, but he held me there—edging me, denying me, forcing me to tremble in his arms while his voice anchored me with filth and control.
And God help me, I loved it.
I wanted him to hold me here, to keep me pinned until I broke, to wait until the orgasm was so powerful that blackness crept in on the corners of my vision.
“See this?” he murmured, dragging a fingertip across one of the sheets.
“Your dampers in Sector 2 are set too stiff. No wonder it’s bucking under you.
” He paused, head tilting, voice softening as his lips brushed the shell of my ear.
The palm on my belly flexed, and my pussy clenched around nothing but need, desperate and humiliating in its honesty.
Fuck, why did he make dampers sound so sexy?
“Tell me what you want, mon c?ur.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, raw and wrecked, barely sounding like me. “I want you to take me there,” I gasped. “My last virginity. I want your cock in my ass, Cal. I think about it all the time. You making me yours completely. Forever.”
He groaned, a sound torn from his chest, hips pressing upward into me so the thick ridge of him ground hard against my ass. Dry humping me, shameless, like he’d been starving for it. His hand pushed my damp hair over my shoulder so his teeth could sink into my neck.
“Putain,” I swore. Fuck. “S’il te pla?t, ne t'arrête pas.” Please, don’t stop.
“Christ, Aurélie,” he rasped against my skin, voice fraying. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of that. Every last piece of you belonging to me. Not because I own you, but because you ask me to.”
I half giggled, half moaned, one hand latching onto his forearm. “Then make it real.”
His grip on me tightened, dragging me back so my clit ground against the seam of my leggings, stretched taut and cruel over swollen flesh. We were panting and writhing, sweat prickling my temples.
“You do this again, tease me like this in public?” His Scottish accent was dark velvet, a promise and a threat all at once. “I’ll make you sit on my cock under the table. Keep me buried inside you. No one will know but us.”
A desperate, guttural laugh tore out of me, head tipping back against his shoulder. “And I’ll do it. I’ll sit there like your perfect girl, dripping for you, knowing I’m full of you while the rest of the world has no idea.”
His forehead dropped to my shoulder, teeth scraping my skin.
“Fuck, you’ll kill me.” He nipped at me again before pressing a gentle kiss to the tender spot.
“I promise I’ll take care of every last ache, every need, until you’re begging me to stop.
But right now—” He squeezed me, pinning me exactly where he wanted me.
“You’re going to sit here, be so fucking good for me, and pay attention. Understand?”
I nodded, breath hitching. “Oui.”
“Good,” he said, brushing his lips over mine but not kissing me. “Because the sooner we finish this, the sooner I can ruin you properly.” Callum tapped the paper. “Start with Turn 5.”
With a deep breath, I did just that.