Page 84 of Flat Out
He finally wrenched me off his cock with a wet pop, saliva stringing from my lips to his piercing. I collapsed forward onto my palms, panting, drool and tears streaking my chin, my chest heaving. My throat burned, my ass squeezed around the plug like it was begging for more, and still—still—I wanted him more than anything in the whole goddamn world.
“Stay,” Callum commanded, so low, feral, and fucking absolute.
Something in me thrilled at the word. I was no stranger to control, but with him? With him, I wanted to obey. I wanted to be unraveled, stripped down to nothing but submission because he was the only one I trusted to put me back together.
I nodded, trembling, and stayed right there on my knees, savage and feral and dripping for him, watching him through the blur of candlelight.
He moved with deliberate precision, dragging the desk chair across the carpet and angling it in front of the mirror. The scrapeof wood on carpet echoed through the quiet room, a sound that made my pulse skitter. He set it just so, then glanced back at me, sweat dampening his temples, chest rising hard and fast.
The candlelight caught on the ink carved onto the top of his thigh—elle saura.She’ll know. A secret promise written into his skin years before I ever touched him. My gaze trailed lower, to the thick weight of him, piercing glinting as his cock stood hard and unapologetic. The sight stole the breath from my lungs, devotion and hunger crashing together until my hands trembled on the carpet.
His lips curved, dark and knowing. “I told you, mon cœur,” he murmured, voice like gravel and silk. “You’d know.”
My breath came out in shallow gasps. “Mon amour…”
“Not a word, love,” he cut in, his tone sharper now, hungry. He grabbed the bottle of lube and my rose vibrator, tossing them onto the nightstand that was within reach. Then he turned back to me, his eyes blazing. “Up.”
I tried to move, but his hand was already fisting in my hair again and guiding me to my feet as though I weighed nothing. My legs wobbled; he steadied me with a palm to my lower back, pressing me forward until I was standing in front of the chair and staring at myself in the mirror.
The sight hit me hard: my red splotchy face, spit-slicked chin, tear-clumped eyelashes. I looked fucked-out already. Fucked, and he hadn’t even given me his cock anywhere but my mouth yet.
He came up behind me, bare skin scorching into mine, his chest a wall of heat at my back. His arms wrapped around me, all possessive and perfect, guiding my hands to the chair. “Hold on.”
I gripped the arms of the chair, panting, while his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. One hand splayed firm across my lower back, the other curling between my thighs. I felt the shiftbefore I understood it—the slick press at my ass easing outward, stretching me in reverse.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, my nails clawing the seat as the plug slid free. The sensation was intense, a sweet sting of pressure giving way to sudden emptiness that made my whole body twitch. I was throbbing, the absence almost worse than the stretch itself.
“Good girl.” His thumb circled the tender rim as I shuddered beneath him. “Opened up for me so perfectly. Ready to take what I’ve been saving for you.”
Something French and filthy came from my mouth, something I wasn’t even certain of. I needed him, needed to be filled again before I lost my mind. He pulled me upright, dragging me back against his chest. My body molded into his the way it always did, weak and pliant, while he positioned us in front of the mirror.
“Now,” he murmured, voice breaking apart like gravel and silk all at once, “watch as I make you mine in every last way.”
His cock pressed hot and heavy against my ass, slick with lube from his earlier prep, the heat of him branding me even without penetration. My breath stuttered, my gaze locked on the mirror in front of us—our bodies reflected back in flickering candlelight, my eager expression and his feral eyes colliding in real time.
But instead of bending me back over like I expected, Callum dragged the chair closer, planting it squarely in front of the mirror. He sat, spreading his thighs wide, then crooked a finger at me. My knees nearly buckled at the command.
“Up here,” he ordered. “Straddle me.”
I obeyed, shaky and panting, moving to climb over him, only for his hand to catch my hip and pivot me. A firm pull and I was turned away from him, easing one knee, then the other, over his thighs until my spine fit tight to his chest and we were both facing the mirror—my ass snug in his lap.
The ink on the top of his left thigh, just below his hip, caught my eyes again..
I froze for a beat, my breath catching hard in my throat. Because he was right; I was always going to know. Iwasher. The one who knew him, body and soul, deeper than anyone else ever could. In that moment, as his eyes burned into mine, I understood. The tattoo had always been waiting for me. He was always mine. Even before me, he was mine. The words weren’t just a promise, they were prophecy, and I was the one meant to fulfill it.
My heart swelled, too full and too raw as devotion and desire blurred until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. And then his hands gripped my hips, dragging me flush against him and grounding me as his cock nudged thick and heavy between my cheeks.
“Regarde,” he murmured, chin grazing my shoulder as one arm banded low across my waist, the other gliding up to cradle my jaw and tilt my face forward. “Look how perfect you are in my hands.”
His knees nudged mine wider; his thumb stroked slow along my throat, then pressed against my pulse point. In the glass, hunger and devotion warred in his eyes, and every line of my body answered his call. Candlelight caught our reflection, his bruised body caging mine and swallowing me whole. “See how fucking beautiful you are like this? See what’smine?”
My breasts grew heavy, my thighs trembling as I hovered above him, the enlarged head of his cock brushing my tight hole. My pulse thundered in my throat.
Callum pressed a tender kiss to my shoulder, gaze never wavering from mine. I shivered from the sensation of his stubble on my bare skin, from the intimacy of it all. “You’re in control, Aurélie. It’s important you know that. Tonight, you set the pace. Take me when you’re ready.”
The words had emotions swelling in me. My body wanted to give in, to be taken, ravished, used—but my heart ached with the gift he was giving me: the choice.
Until this moment, I didn’t realize how much of a blessing it was. The power of control even in the most submissive moments. That’s what he was giving me. And he had no idea just how much it healed me and broke me at the same time.
