Page 79 of Close Contact
“So that’s how Fraser busted his hand. I need to know?—”
Nope.Not how I planned to spend my night. “Marco,” I purred. “Drop this topic and dance with me.”
“Oh, Team Heartthrob is so back,” he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the dance floor. I threw a glance over my shoulder atCallum, who was gawking like I’d torn his heart out and handed it to someone else.
Poor baby.
Except he moved. Fast. One hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me gently, but firmly, out of Marco’s grip. My champagne spilled over the edges of my glass.
“Hey!” Marco said, half-laughing. “I was promised a dance.”
Callumdidn’t even look at him. “Pick someone else.”
“Jesus,” Marco muttered. “Possessive much?”
“Yes,” Callum said flatly. “Very.”
My breath caught.
He didn’t ask, wait, or explain. Just led me straight to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parting like it sensed what was coming.
He turned to face me. Music thrumming low and sinful. I was already shaking.
“What are you doing?” I asked, breathless.
“Reminding everyone,” he said. “And maybe myself.”
“Of what?”
“That you’re mine.” His hands found my hips and slid lower. Not quite appropriate, yet not obvious. But I felt the edge in them. The way his fingers splayed across my hips like they were barely containing something darker.
The music pulsed slow and sinful—made for grinding, not gliding. AndCallum danced like a man with a purpose. He pulled me tighter, until the curve of my ass brushed against the front of his jeans.
Andfuck.He was hard. I was wet, thighs sticky from all the verbal foreplay and teasing and not having nearly enough of him earlier.
I inhaled sharply, my back pressing against his chest. This was filthy. So much dirtier than dancing in Miami. Here, we knew what giving in was like. How good we were at it together.
He didn’t say a word. Just let his hands trail down, thumbs grazing the bare skin below the back hem of my dress, right where it barely covered me.
“Callum,” I warned.
He dipped his head, stubble scraping against my neck. “Keep dancing, love.”
My thighs clenched. The music dropped into a bass-heavy roll, and I moved—slow, deliberate. Pressed my body to his. Rolled my hips just to see what it’d do to him.
His grip flexed. “Fuck,” he groaned into my skin. “You’re perfect, and you’re all mine,Aurélie.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But all I could think about was how Kimi had said it.Pain and poetry.As if it was an old joke. As though Callum had loved before, said all the right things before, left bruises before.
Maybe I wasn’t special. Maybe I just fucked like a dream.
The thought coiled low in my stomach, sharp and unwanted. I didn’t want it to ruin this, ruinus, but it festered. Familiar. Ugly. Santino had done that—made me question every softness like it was a scam. Made me feel like I was only worth something when I was on my knees or underneath him.
Callum wasn’t Santino. I knew that, yet I also knew what it felt like to be replaceable. To be just another warm body in the rotation.
He turned me in his arms, chest to chest now, my thigh slipping between his. I dragged it up slowly, trying to school my features.
He hissed. “You do that again and I’ll take you to the car and put my mouth on you for the rest of the damn night.”
