Page 44 of Flat Out
She hesitated for only a heartbeat before obeying. Her mouth fell open, her face flushed. I stuffed the cloth inside, filling her cheeks until her lips stretched around it. “That’s right,” I rasped, cock twitching at the sight of her gagging softly on the silk. “Hold it there. Don’t you dare drop it, or I’ll spank you until you can’t sit through qualifying.”
She moaned around it, the sound muffled and obscene. Drool leaked down her chin, soaking the edge of the fabric. My whole body jolted at the sight.
And fuck, the thoughts hit me all at once—filthy and relentless. What it would be like to tie her wrists behind her back and leave her like this, gagged and dripping, begging with her eyes. To put her on her knees in front of me with that silk stuffed between her lips, my cock replacing it. To leash her with it, demand she crawl to me, make her hold it in her teeth while I fucked her from behind.
It wasn’t just the gag. My mind spun darker, deeper. I wanted her trussed up for me, wrists bound, legs spread wide, her perfect cunt bared and dripping, waiting. I wanted leather kissing her skin, the sharp crack of a crop across her ass until she remembered who she belonged to. I wanted to drag a flogger down her spine, make her count every lash, every stripe I left on her, until she sobbed my name through the gag. Punishment, not for the brat I adored—but for the fear that still lived in her chest. For thinking she could ever shut me out, or worse, that I wouldn’t want her. I’d whip every doubt from her, toy with her body until she was nothing but trust and wreckage, until surrender was all she had left to give me.
What gutted me most wasn’t the hunger. It was thetruth. I’d never thought like this before her. Never wanted silk stuffed between a woman’s lips, never needed to hear anyone beg through tears, never imagined binding someone down just to watch them fall apart for me. But Aurélie cracked me wide open. She dragged something out of me I didn’t even know was there. Some dark, desperate part of me that wanted every filthy inch of her submission. Not to break her, but to prove no one could ever love her as ruinously as I did.
It was indecent. It was too much. But watching her drool around that fabric—my clean, polished, respectable pocket square—made my brain spiral into every filthy, taboo thing I’d ever wanted to do to her.
I lost whatever thread of control I had left. I dragged the lace aside, pressed two fingers into her, slow but deep. She cried out, the sound intoxicatingly muffled as she arched against me, her hands gripping my shoulders like she needed something to hold her down.
“I’ve got you, love,” I whispered, curling my fingers just right, still trying to shake the direction my thoughts had taken. “You’vebeen so good for me. So fucking good. Let me take care of you now.”
She was shaking, every muscle in her body drawn tight. Desperate and barely holding it together.
“Come for me,” I breathed, my fingers working her harder, faster, curling deep. “I want to feel you break. I want to hear how pretty you sound when you fall apart for me.”
Her body locked up, her thighs shaking, her orgasm building sharp and high. And just as she was about to tip over the edge, I ripped the fabric from her mouth.
She screamed my name. “Callum James Fraser.”
“Look at me,” I said. Her eyes met mine, glazed and blown wide. Her lips parted. “Right here. You’re safe. You’re mine. You’ve earned this.”
And then she shattered. It rolled through her in waves, her body jerking against me, breath catching, curses and whimpers falling from her mouth in rapid-fire French I barely understood.
It didn’t matter. I held her through all of it. One arm wrapped tight around her waist, my other hand still working her slowly, helping her ride it out, coaxing every last flicker of pleasure from her.
But just as I thought she was coming down, her body seized again, tight and helpless. Her thighs clamped tight around my hand, her hips bucked forward, and then a rush of wet heat poured over my fingers, soaking down my wrist. I felt it hit the sleeve of my dress shirt, then my forearm, my lap, my fucking stomach.
It waseverywhere.
We both looked down at the same time.
There was a moment of absolute, stunned silence as we took in the mess—slick and glistening across the front of my shirt, soaking through the fabric of my trousers, dripping down the side of my wrist and pooling at the edge of the seat. Her thighswere trembling, her panties pushed to the side of her pussy with me still knuckle-deep in her, the hem of her skirt riding high as the last of it slipped from her.
My brain short-circuited. She tried to close her legs and pull away, but I didn’t let her. I couldn’t, because the second I realized what had happened—what I’d just done to her, what she’d just given me—something inside me snapped.
A raw, animalistic sound tore from my throat. There was a rush of heat through my bloodstream, and then I came right there in my fucking pants. No warning, no build, just the sudden, brutal release that tore through me like fire, as if my body couldn’t take one more second of restraint. I gritted my teeth as it hit—hot and wet, soaking through my briefs and spreading across the front of my already ruined trousers.
I looked down just in time to see a wet, dark patch blooming through the fabric of my pants in pulsing spurts, mixing with her mess. My cock wasn’t even out and I still couldn’t stop it. My whole body jerked with each wave. I was completely helpless and undone.
Her eyes went wide. “Mon Dieu,” she breathed.
I came harder, each pulse wringing more from me until there was nothing left. Her hand moved before she could stop it, reaching for the front of my ruined trousers, eyes huge and dazed. Her fingers hovered just above my dick, not quite touching it.
I folded her into me and dropped my forehead to her shoulder—ruining us both in every sense of the word. I clung to her like she was the only real thing left, needing to feel her flush against me. Trying to erase all the moments we’d spent apart, to eliminate any remaining space between us, to show her that Ineededher.
My fingers never left her.
I held her there, still rocking her hips against me, slick and dripping, while my own orgasm raged like a storm. I buried my face in her neck, hips grinding once, twice, against nothing, against her, against the fucking air. I didn’t care. I was gone.
Utterly, absolutely wrecked.
When the shaking stopped, I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and lifted my head. Her lashes fluttered. Her lips were parted, pink and trembling, mascara smudged beneath her eyes.
She looked like sex and surrender and salvation.
