Page 49 of Flat Out
“Ruin me for sport. Make me beg. Be mean about it.”
The flicker of hunger in his eyes was instant, devastating. That exact second, I knew he’d decided I wasn’t making it out of this room in one piece. And God help me, I wanted that. I wanted him feral, unchained, lost in me.
He hummed, low and dark. "Destruction it is, then, love." His hands fisted the shoulders of my blazer, and before I could blink, buttons scattered to the floor. The fabric shredded down my back, torn straight down the center, tweed and silk splitting like paper and sliding off my arms to pool at our feet.
“Callum!” I gasped. “Are you fucking kidding me? You can't keep tearing my?—”
He slammed me back against the wall and clapped his hand over my mouth. I breathed harshly against his skin. “No,” hesnarled. “You don’t get to talk. Not right now. Not unless it’s begging.” His fingers traced the hollow of my throat. “You wanna scream at me?” he breathed. “Scream with my cock in your throat.”
My whole body spasmed. The words alone had me shaking, soaked, undone. And when he let go, I dropped—without thinking, without blinking—to my knees as if it was my only reason for living.
But he didn’t touch me. Not yet. Instead, he took a languid step back and just looked down at me like I was some beautiful, broken thing. And there he was, the champion of the grid that belonged to me. Dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled from my fingers, towering over me. Ferocity and fragility warring in his gaze, like I was the only thing keeping him upright even as he planned to wreck me. Perfectly sinful. Perfectly mine.
“Spread,” he said.
I obeyed so fast it was like I was meant to be submissive for him, hands flattening over my thighs as my knees pressed into the plush cream colored carpet. I knew this wasn’t practice, that he wasn’t training me to kneel for him, but fuck if it didn’t feel like I was already conditioned for him. My body knew who I belonged to before my mind could catch up. Heat rushed to my face and my breath came in short, shallow gasps. I felt bare. Owned.His.
And still, he didn’t move.
He cocked his head to the side and studied me like art—or prey. I wasn't sure which, just that I panted under his perusal. "Look down, Aurélie. Look at the mess you're making all over the fucking floor."
My heart stuttered when I dropped my gaze. My panties clung to my pussy like a second skin, doing nothing to stop the steady trail of arousal dripping down the inside of my thighs.There, dark and glistening, was a wet spot soaking into the carpet beneath me.
Holy fuck. That hadn’t just happened. That had… welled up, leaked, andspilledout of me—hot and wet and humiliating, like I was designed to ache for him. And he hadn't even touched me. The overflow wasn't from an orgasm, but from hisvoice.
My stomach bottomed out and my pussy pulsed, releasing a whole new wave of arousal down my thighs, absolute shameless betrayal. My cheeks flamed. What the fuck was happening to me?
I shifted my knees slightly and felt it everywhere—the obscene stickiness between my legs. I choked on a breath. My body was betraying me in real time, already deciding to surrender to him. He could make me kneel in this puddle every night, could make me lick the floor clean, until I understood exactly what I was to him: his desperate, dirty little prize.
And then, as if I’d lost control of my own limbs, my trembling hands moved. Down, down, down, fingertips grazing the wet trail, needing to feel the inarguable evidence of what he was doing to me.
I dragged them higher and touched the ruined lace of my panties. Felt the drop that wouldn't stop.
I’m fighting for women,I thought.I’m trying to change this goddamn sport, and I’m sitting here, on my knees, more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire fucking life.
Callum's dress boots appeared in my vision again. Then a hand curled under my chin, forcing my face up. He crouched in front of me, that smug, devastating mouth close enough to ruin my next breath.
“All that bite, all that fire, and here you are, on your knees, pretty little cunt begging louder than your mouth ever has.”
I moaned like a god damn pornstar. My whole body shivered.
It was cruel. It was condescending. It was goddamndisrespectful.
It was so fucking hot I almost cried.
He leaned in. Our foreheads touched. “You’re not real,” he murmured reverently, rising to his full height but keeping my jaw in his hand. “You can’t be.”
I blinked. My hands curled around the hem of my tweed skirt, inching it higher so he had a better view.
He unbuckled his belt with one hand. Slow, lazy, deliberate. Tugged it through the loops so it made a soft hissing sound, and then he dropped it on the floor at his feet.
“You think you’re in control, mon cœur?” His thumb dragged over my lower lip. “You drop before me like this, spread and obedient, and thinkI’mthe one who’s ruined? You’re fucking melting again, love. I haven’t even touched you.” I whimpered. I couldn’t help it. “You like this? Like being on your knees? Like being treated like the filthy little slut you are?”
Then his hand dropped to my chest, fingers catching the front of my bralette. He tugged it up, rough and demanding.
“Take this off, baby.” I slipped it over my head with shaking hands and let it fall to the floor behind me. He stared. Standing in front of the tall windows, he was a formidable force.
I was completely and utterlyhis.
