Page 61 of Flat Out
"No," I said, possessive and helpless all at once. "I'm yours. And you're mine."
Her golden-green eyes glittered, molten and mischievous.
"Let me take care of you, mon amour," she whispered, voice soft but so fucking lethal I forgot how to breathe.
She wriggled her wrists free—because of course she did—and pushed at my chest, flipping us with shocking ease. I let her. I would let her do anything. She slid down my body with sinful grace, palms dragging down my chest, my stomach, and stopped just above the waistband of my boxers. Right where I was aching for her.
"Lie back," she said, voice velvet-drenched authority. Soft and commanding, both a balm and a dare in the same breath. I did exactly what she said. "Be good for me."
My body sank into the mattress, eager for her and already straining for more. She straddled my thighs, brushing her palms down my stomach as if was relearning me—muscled but still bruised. My ribcage was tender, as was the laceration still healing, but it all faded into the background.
I barely managed a broken sound of compliance before she yanked my boxers down and freed my cock, leaking, desperate, flushed dark against the morning light.
"Fuck," she breathed reverently, licking her lips like she was starved.
Her eyes locked on mine as she wrapped her hand around the base, and then—sweet fucking hell—her mouth descended. She sucked me in slowly, torturously, mouth widening to fit me. Her tongue flattened against the underside, tracing the vein with painstaking precision before swirling around the tip and sucking.Hard.
My head slammed back against the headboard, concussion be damned.
One of her hands gripped my thigh. The other pumped what her mouth couldn't reach. And I just laid there, panting like a man possessed, hips twitching as I tried and failed not to fuck into her throat.
"Aurélie—" I gasped, a warning, a prayer, a fucking surrender as I fisted the sheets.
Gone. I was gone. Eyes rolling, breath whooshing out of my lungs, hips flexing helplessly up into her mouth as she hollowed her cheeks and swallowed me deeper. I couldn't even think, couldn't fucking see straight, couldn't contain the sounds coming out of me.
“Jesus Christ, my love." I grabbed the back of her head, needing to touch her. “So fucking good. You’re unreal.”
She moaned around me as if she liked the praise, then pulled off with a wet, obscene pop. Her mouth was red and shiny, spittrailing down her chin as she looked up at me with fire in her eyes.
"You're being such a good boy for me," she said softly. “Taking care of yourself. Letting me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, bébé. Let me give you everything.”
I didn’t think I could speak, let alone survive what she had planned, so I just nodded, dazed and desperate. She tugged her shirt over her head and climbed up over me, dragging those soaked thighs over mine, then reached between us and lined me up.
And when she sank down?
Fucking stars.
I cried out like a man being saved and ruined in the same breath. My hands flew to her hips—trembling, desperate—just to ground myself and hold her there. I feared if I let go for even a second, I’d slip out of this moment and never find my way back.
Her thighs flexed as she rode me slow and deep, muscles working with maddening control. Her abs clenched with each grind, her tits bouncing, nipples hard and a perfect rosy-pink. Her head tipped back, sweat-damp hair clinging to her neck, and I could see everything. The way her mouth dropped open, the way she whined when I hit her just right, the way her skin shimmered with perspiration.
I was high off the way her cunt squeezed around me like she was trying to fuse us together. My fingers skimmed up her sides, over the swell of her waist. I brushed her ribs—her scarred rib, the one that matched the healing wound across mine—and fuck, my heart stuttered.
Twin wounds. Twin hearts. My mirror. My match.
She was a goddess in motion. Lit from within, burning me alive. The most sacred fucking thing I’d ever seen.
“Look at you,” I rasped, throat raw with devotion and filth and fucking awe. “Riding me so goddamn good. Like your body'sbeen waiting its whole life to take mine. You look so fucking perfect using me like this. No one else. Just. Me. Don't. Fucking.Stop.”
My thumb found the little white line on her forearm, that old karting scar she once told me about, and I traced it like it was scripture.
She moaned, a sound straight from the heavens, and leaned forward, palms bracing against my chest. Her eyes locked on mine, wild hazel, worshipful and commanding. "You are mine, Callum James Fraser. You let me in. You broke for me. You healed with me." She leaned forward, lips brushing my ear. "Now I'm going to break you. In the best fucking way."
I let her, because Iwasbreaking. With every grind, every soaked clench, every heartbeat in sync. At the same time, she built me back up with each greedy, ruinous grind of her hips. She fucked me like I was holy. Like we were the only two people left in the world and she needed to memorize me with her body. Shetaughtme what it meant to be touched with purpose.
I flattened my palm over her stomach, just below her breasts, pressing gently as she moved on top of me. My breath caught when something primal and terrifying andbeautifultwisted deep in my gut. I imagined her full of me—round and glowing, my ring on her finger, our child growing where my hand now rested. A future I’d never dared to picture before her. A life, a home, a shared last name.Fraser.
I wanted it all. With her. Only her.
