Page 48 of Flat Out
It lit my body ablaze, every nerve sparking alive as if I’d been plugged directly into him. My chest ached, my throat burned, my pulse pounded so violently I thought it might bruise my ribs. Every layer I’d built to keep myself safe, to keep him at arm’s length, melted under that stare. His vulnerability was a blade, slicing away every barrier, until only my heart remained, beating furiously for him and only him.
"I was mad that I'd let such a rookie fucking mistake do that kind of damage to me. You warned me and I thought it was clean. I didn't—fuck, I didn't think he'd be that reckless. We were going way too fucking fast. He could've killed himself, too." He paused, chest rising and falling against mine.
"Racing 101," Callum muttered, sounding bitter, and talking about racing was as romantic as pouring our hearts out. Putain,I loved him so goddamn much. "If you're defending into a chicane, you commit to your line. You don't swerve last-second in the braking zone. He moved late, way too fucking late, and pushed me. By the time I adjusted, it was already done."
I cupped his face and forced him to meet my eyes. I realized this was as much an apology as it was a profound moment of processing the trauma of that accident. "That wasn't your fault, mon amour. I watched it happen. You made a calculated risk because you're the best of the best and you were surrounded by other experienced drivers."
"Doesn't matter," he snapped, and I could see that talking about this was stripping away the rest of his defenses. "I was still in that car. I heard your voice the entire time telling me to be careful. I should've held back and accepted a lower position."
"That's not who you are, mon bébé. You're Callum Fraser, World Driver Champion of Formula fucking 1. You are my idol." I gently pressed my mouth to his. "You didn't get here because you accepted a lower position your whole life. You dragged yourself out of a difficult childhood and rose from the fucking ashes. You are a good man, and you're mine, and I love you. And I will tell you that every day until you remember who you are."
"Thank you,” he said, so soft it nearly broke me. “Thank you for not letting me disappear.”
I closed my eyes, leaned my forehead to his, and sobbed quietly. "How could I when you're the reason I didn't fade away? When everything else in my life was going dark, you were the only light I had left."
Callum bit my lip, and the sensation made me shiver. “Whatever barrier was there between us before,” he whispered, voice thick, “you broke it down. You chased me. The same way I will always, always,alwayschase you.”
"Je sais, mon amour. I know."
“Iamstrong enough now, because I have you.And I will always come back to you.”
The silence stretched, thick with everything we’d just bared to each other. My tears hadn’t even dried, his hands were still trembling on my skin, but the air between us shifted—hotter, heavier, combustible. Every confession had been gasoline, and now one wrong word would set us alight.
I wanted to stay in that fragile, precious moment forever, but my body betrayed me. My thighs clenched, heat flooding back with a vengeance. The ache between my legs was unbearable, born of grief and love and lust all tangled together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
He kissed me like he’d just pulled me back from the edge of a cliff, and then his expression shifted. Tenderness burned away, replaced by something molten, merciless. The same man who whispered vows against my skin was suddenly ready to tear me apart for sport.
“You always know what to say to make me melt,” I teased as my lips curved wickedly. “Shame you’re absolute shit at timing.”
His brow arched, that dimple flashing that had me relaxing further into him. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? Clearly I timed it right.”
I pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You think you’re the hero of this story, don’t you?”
“Baby, Iamthe hero. And the villain. And the man currently planning your destruction.”
I swiped at my tears, laughing through the emotions. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Says the woman who screamed bloody murder at the FIA until they nearly pissed themselves.”
“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
“Of course. I win races, arguments, and you. Every single time. Don’t even try to pretend otherwise.”
“Shut the fuck up, Callum.”
His grin deepened, and that goddamn dimple flashed again. I pressed my thighs together, clit throbbing against the lace that was still stretched tight and unforgiving. Every twitch, every shift, only made it worse. More friction, more heat, moredesperation. It was all building into something that was destined to detonate. And it would devastate me when it did.
“Heed your own advice,” he murmured, eyes burning, “and shut the fuck up, Aurélie.”
I gasped, and he tilted his head—cocky, smug, utterly insufferable—and added, “Respectfully.”
I arched into him, ready to surrender the rest of my control for the night. To give him every part of me. My body, my breath, my obedience. I wanted to be good for him, so good that he’d never doubt how much I belonged to him. My only thought was to kneel, to yield, to let him unravel me however he needed.
I was all his.
“No,” I whispered. “Please. Disrespect me.”
He inhaled like I’d just stolen the air out of his lungs.
