Page 41 of Close Contact
“Take it,” he bit out between gritted teeth. “Take every inch.” With one hand gripping my hair and the other stroking me, he was all primal dominance, and I was his willing submissive. He lifted his lips, using his heels as leverage as he thrust over and over again. His thighs flexed with the effort. I let him use me the way he needed.
“Look at this ass,” he muttered, more to himself than me. “Perfectly fucking heart-shaped. It’s art. Your whole body is fucking art. I want it burned into my memory forever.” And then—God help me—his fingers slid between my folds, dripping wet and ready. I bobbed my head up and down on his cock,spit coating him and dribbling down my chin, my tongue swirling around the thick ridge near the tip. The veins on his shaft throbbed against my tongue as he twitched, already close, already too far gone to pretend otherwise.
He didn’t stop there. He guided me, controlled my pace with the hand tangled in my hair, while the other circled my clit with practiced precision—teasing, coaxing, punishing in the best way.
We could get caught at any moment. Anyone could walk in here and see us in the most compromising positions possible, but neither of us cared. We never did. We got off on exhibitionism, the forbidden aspect of it all, the fact that we reallyshouldn’tbe doing this, but we were meant for each other, meant for this, and nothing—no one—could stop us.
Callum let go of my hair. I hollowed my cheeks to suck harder.
“Still so wet,” he rasped. “Fucking dripping. That from sucking me off or from me praising your slutty little tattoo?” I shook, helpless and panting, whimpering in response, unable to speak with my mouth stuffed full of him. My eyes watered, my jaw ached, but I didn’t stop, not when he was wrecking me from both ends.
He dragged his fingers through my folds once more, gathering my arousal before he pulled away. I almost cried before I felt his hand skating down the small of my back to the curve of my ass, then between my cheeks, until they teased the tight rim of muscle. His other hand cupped one cheek, squeezing, admiring, spreading me open.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasped. “Seeing you like this in the mirror…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just groaned. Carnal, awed, broken. Like language failed him and only need remained.
“Callum—” I managed to gasp around his cock, my voice a garbled sob as I nearly choked.
He chuckled darkly, low and dangerous, then kissed the dip of my spine, right on the tattoo. “Let me play. Let me feel how far I can stretch my girl.”My girl. Fuck me. Then, he added, “As for you? Keep my cock in that pretty little mouth, Auri. Show me what that tongue can do.”
I obeyed, whining as I took him back in, just as he pressed a single wet finger to my ass. The pressure made my thighs shake, my body clenching as he circled slowly, teasing me open.
“Relax,” he breathed gently, like a lover would, then slid inside. “Fuuuuck, you’re so good for me, baby.”
God, the way I would beg every day for the rest of my life to be told I was still his good girl.
My hips jerked. I moaned around his cock, the sensation of fullness sending fire across my nerves. But then—goddamn it—his other hand returned to my pussy, fingers curling inside me while the one in my ass slowly worked deeper. The combination was brutal and intoxicating. I convulsed, moaning so hard I gagged on his cock.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Fucking take it. Let me ruin you.”
The tension building in my core reached a fever pitch. Pleasure and pressure overlapped until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The pressure in both holes sent me careening toward the edge until I shattered around his fingers with a scream muffled by the cock in my throat. I camehard, body jerking uncontrollably, gagging again as my throat tightened around him.
I was ripped apart and rebuilt by the only man who looked at my broken pieces like they were holy and all his.
He hissed. “Fuck. That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He withdrew his fingers slowly, dragging my orgasm out with wicked finesse. My body collapsed forward, wrecked, trembling—and that’s when his hand curled around the back of my head.
He forced me upright again, cock nudging my lips, still slick with my saliva and demanding more. In a voice that was all gravel and sin, he whispered in French, “T’as une jolie petite bouche, Aurélie.”You have a pretty little mouth, Aurélie.
He thrust into me with a brutal snap of his hips, and I clawed at his hips, trying to get a grip, trying to take a seemingly impossible breath.
“Elle est si chaude—”So warm.
Another thrust.
“Mouillée—”Wet.
Another.
“Serrée—”Tight.
He wrapped my hair around his fist and yanked.
“Parfaite pour que je la baise.”Perfect for me to fuck.
And then he came. He groaned, a brutal, beautiful sound as he buried himself deep. Hot, thick ropes of cum hit the back of my throat as his cock twitched and pulsed between my lips, and I swallowed all of it. I wanted to—no, Ineededto. He’d already claimed every part of my body, and this was my reclamation of him. This was me showing him thatIbelonged tohim.
When he finally pulled back, chest heaving, he looked down at me still on my knees, spit and cum dripping from my mouth, completely fucked out, and said, “I should’ve run to you sooner.”
The world was quieter now.We’d destroyed each other on the gym floor—emotionally, physically, maybe even spiritually—and still, I felt like I could’ve kept going. Not because I wasn’t satisfied; I was utterly spent. It was just being close to her, having her skin against mine, hearing her laugh, her moans, her filthy mouth slip between French and English while I took her apart… nothing compared.
