Page 43 of Flat Out
I could’ve fucked her right here. God, Ishould have. But I wanted more. I wanted to slow it down and feel everything. I wanted her messy, trembling, begging. I'd been without her for twenty-six days and had missed her so goddamn much that I never wanted to take a second with her for granted ever again.
But mostly, I wanted her to know exactly how much I wanted her, craved her,needed her.
“Slow down,” I murmured, cupping her jaw and forcing her to meet my eyes.
Her breath hitched. “Don’t you dare tell me to slow down,” she snapped. “You left me starving for weeks—if anyone deserves to be desperate, it’syou.”
I chuckled darkly, brushing my thumb over her lower lip. “Oh, my love, you think I don’t know exactly how desperate you are? How wet you’ve been for me all night?”
She blinked, lips parting, confusion flickering through the haze of arousal, right before I slid my hand down, gripping her ass and dragging her against me. My other hand slipped beneath her skirt, hooking a finger around her lace panties and searching until I found the thin black string. Her eyes went wide when I tugged, the metal spheres slipping free, dripping wet and glistening in the low light.
I held them up between us. The sound of them clinking together made me smirk. “Look at this. You’ve been leaking down your thighs while I sat next to you like a saint.” I dropped them onto the seat next to us.
A wicked little grin curved her lips. “Saint? Please. You nearly groaned every time I crossed my legs. Some saint you are.”
I laughed under my breath, my smirk sharpening as I leaned in, mouth brushing her ear. “You noticed, did you? Good. Then you know exactly what kind of hell you’re in for.”
She bit down on her lip, glare sharp even as her thighs trembled. “What, you want a medal? Congratulations, Fraser, you survived dinner without fucking me under the table.”
A growl rumbled in my chest as I hooked my fingers in her panties, tugging them tight against her swollen clit until she gasped. “Careful, mon cœur. I could have this car turned around, march us back in there, and bend you over the fucking table.” I tipped my head toward her, my lips brushing hers. “We can let the whole restaurant watch.”
Aurélie giggled. “You’re a naughty boy, Fraser.”
“Can’t help myself where you’re involved, Dubois.”
She whimpered, reaching for me, but I caught her chin in my hand. “No. You’re not done yet.” I paused when the car braked suddenly and I had to grip her tighter. “You started this, you finish it, properly. You’ve been teasing me all night, mon cœur. Now be a good girl and give me what I want.”
She bit her bottom lip. “I’m trying?—”
“Not good enough.” My voice dropped lower, darker and filthier. “You want me to let you come? Say it.”
“Callum, I?—”
“No.” I pressed my thumb beneath her chin, tilting her head, brushing my lips across her cheekbone. “I want the full name of the champion you’ve been obsessed with for years. Say it like you mean it.”
She blinked at me, pupils dilated and face flushed and sweaty. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
Her breath hitched. She rolled her hips once—slow and needy—and leaned into me, mouth grazing the shell of my ear.
“Callum James Fraser.”
Fuuuuck. My whole body shuddered.
“Again,” I growled, palming her ass under her skirt and dragging her closer until my cock pulsed against her. I needed her so fucking bad I could barely think straight.
How was I supposed to follow through on this punishment when all I could think about was being inside her?
“Callum. James. Fraser,” she whispered, as if she was giving herself over and my name was a confession and a command all at once.
I let out a low, broken sound. “That’s it. Good fucking girl. And you're all mine.”
Aurélie said my name again, reverent and so goddamn erotic. That’s when I reached into the front pocket of my suit jacket and pulled out a pocket square, black and pristine.
Her brows shot up. “Callum…” This time, my name was a warning.
“Open.” My voice left no room for argument.
