Page 83 of Close Contact
She blinked, eyes brimming now. But she didn’t look away.
“You are not just anyone,” I said fiercely. “You’re the first woman I’veeverfallen for. And if you think anything I’ve said to you came from some old playbook, then you don’t know howutterly wreckedI am for you.”
Her lips parted. She hiccuped on a sob, and then she collapsed forward into my arms.
I caught her, held her, let her breathe. And after a long moment, I whispered against her hair, “Come on.”
She didn’t move. “Where are we going?”
I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “To remind you who you really are.”
I was going to show her exactly what it meant to be loved without condition.
We barely madeit through the door for the second time in one day. I didn’t care, as long as I had him. Tomorrow, it was back to HQ. But tonight was ours.
He kicked the door shut behind us, mouth already on mine like he was trying to drink the words right out of my throat. I gasped into the kiss, hands dragging through his hair, bodies colliding as though we hadn’t touched in years rather than mere hours.
He lifted me onto the counter, his palms firm against my thighs. “You’re still in the dress,” he growled against my mouth.
“Thought you liked the dress.”
“I hate it,” he whispered. “Because I couldn’t touch you in it. Couldn’t make love to you in it. Couldn’t drop to my knees and show you what it did to me.”
Heat spiraled up my spine. I could barely breathe. Didn’t want to. Not if it meant being away from him.
He pulled back, panting, pupils blown wide. “I love you.”
I blinked. “Again.”
He kissed me once, slowly. Pressed our foreheads together.
“I love you. I love you. I fucking love you.”
He was my everything.
After everything today, this last week… I should’ve felt shattered. My body ached, my heart was frayed, and every part of me had been through the wringer. But in his arms, I didn’t feel like something broken needing to be fixed. I felt... cherished. As if I was something sacred, and he was trying to help me believe it again.
God. I would’ve let him take me on the counter. The floor. The hallway. Instead, he lifted me. Carried me like I was precious andhis.
His flat was dim and quiet, but his bedroom glowed from the city lights filtering through the windows. The bed was messy. The mirror on the far wall—tall and gold-rimmed—caught the reflection of my flushed cheeks and the blush-pink hue of my dress.
He set me down gently in front of the mirror, then stepped back.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Look at you,Aurélie.”
I started to reach for the zipper.
“No.” His voice was a command. “Keep it on.”
He stepped closer, eyes locked on mine in our reflection. His fingers slid down the curve of my thighs, coaxing me lower until I was kneeling on the soft rug, legs spread, heels still on. My dress bunched just barely over my hips.
He knelt behind me, cradling my body against his chest. His legs bracketed mine, hands trailing up my arms. Goosebumps scattered down my body.
Maybe I should’ve felt exposed on display like this. But all I could see in his eyes—reflected in the mirror—was awe. He sawme, bruised and flushed and messy, and still looked at me like I was the most extraordinary thing he’d ever laid eyes on. No one had ever looked at me like that before. Not without expectation or wanting to mold me into something else. Callum… he just wanted me.
His voice was a rasp against my ear. “Touch yourself for me, love.”
My breath caught.
