Page 34 of Flat Out
I grinned, leaning into Callum’s shoulder again. Let the world see what it looked like when a girl took the weight of the sport on her shoulders—and still got the guy.
And this time, when the lights burned hot and the cameras zoomed in, I didn’t flinch.
Because I wasn’t alone anymore.
The only family who had never judged me were all sitting right here beside me.
We barely madeit around the corner from the media room set before Callum grabbed my waist. Marco and Kimi started talking about dinner plans ahead of us. Callum stopped them with a tone I'd only ever heard over the radio when he was frustrated about something.
"We'll meet you there. Go ahead."
“Alone time?” Marco teased with an arched brow as they both turned to look at us. Kimi opened his mouth, but Callum cut him off.
“Five seconds,” Callum warned, voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got five seconds to walk away before you see something you definitely don’t want to.”
They scrambled, Marco muttering something about trauma and therapy. Dress shoes slapped against the concrete floors of the hallway, and I stood there dazed, barely catching my breath before Callum spun me around when it was just us.
His eyes burned, molten blue flames. I opened my mouth to ask what the hell that was, but he shoved me against the nearest wall like he was about to devour me. And he did. He collided with me in a kiss that nearly split me in half—rough, desperate, wet and filthy and everything I’d been starving for.
I moaned into it, letting my fingers twist into his dress shirt as his mouth ravaged mine. His tongue slid between my lips, and I whimpered, trying to keep up but drowning in the taste of him. He kissed me like I was the air he’d been deprived of. As if I was the answer to every question he’d never had the courage to ask. His body was hot and solid against mine, all bruised muscles that I should've been worried about. I was too lost in him to consider that when he pressed against me like he couldn't stand an inch between us.
And God, I didn't want any either.
His cock was already hard against me, and when he ground against me with a low growl, my ovaries fuckinglurched.
"I… missed… you." I sighed into his mouth.
He pulled back and hummed. "Tu m’as manqué." The French version was so much more intimate.It was like he remembered me sitting by him in his bed, telling him about the translation. Maybe he was, and that was the point, but that didn't matter, because his hand found my throat and squeezed gently, and my head fell against the wall. "I missed this mouth." He dragged his lips across my jaw, biting the spot behind my ear and sucking. The sound I made was straight-up pornographic. "But you did something naughty, didn't you, love?"
I swallowed, and he squeezed harder. "Y-yeah."
His other hand undid the buttons of my blazer, revealing the white lace bralette I wore underneath. It had been the only thing tethering me to myself earlier when I'd put it on, and he groaned when he saw it.
"Callum," I whispered. "Please touch me." My panties were already soaked and the apex of my thighs were sticky with arousal. My skirt was entirely too short to be dealing with this right now, but I didn't fuckingcareanymore.
“Oh, I plan to. Ineedto,” he rasped against my ear. “I missed the way you taste. The way you moan when I’ve got my fingers inside you, knuckles deep, making a fucking mess of the sheets.”
My knees buckled and my head rolled back. “Callum—fuck.”
“I can still smell your pussy in my bed,” he snarled. The hand holding my throat keeping me upright, his body just far enough away to leave me desperate for his touch. “You left those photos like you wanted me to snap. And now you’re pressed against this wall, whimpering like you want me to take you right here like the perfect little slut you are for me. Is that it, mon cœur?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes—s'il te plaît.”
“Oh, now she says please,” he mocked, devilish and sharp. "In French, no less. Just the way I love you. Incoherent and losing your fucking mind between my language and yours."
He shoved a thigh between mine, and the friction alone nearly undid me. His hand slipped under my blazer, palming my breast, rough through the fabric of my bralette. My nipples ached. I arched into his hand, craving everything he wouldn’t give me yet. I choked on a moan, my legs clamping around his as I rolled my hips, craving the friction.
Then his other hand slid down, slipping his fingers under the hem of my skirt, brushing over the curve of my thigh, teasing the soaked lace of my panties. I let out a garbled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. He'd always known how to make my body sing for him.
“You gave me your body and then tried to disappear,” he growled. "Ignored me for almost three fucking days when all I've done isneed you. Now you want me to play nice?"
I nodded, biting my lip. Tears stung my eyes. “I was scared,” I whispered. “I didn’t know if you still wanted me.”
He didn’t wait. Two fingers pushed the lace aside and slid into my pussy like I belonged to him. I gasped loudly as my hips bucked against his hand.
“There she is,” he whispered. “So wet. So needy. Look at you, baby. You missed me that bad?”
I could barely breathe. I panted, hips grinding down on his hand like a fucking animal. His fingers curled inside me, slow and purposeful, and my head pitched forward so I could cry out into his shoulder.
