Page 56 of Flat Out
“Oui,” I said. “But I was also protectingus.”
And that was the moment I knew we’d never be the same again.
We weren’t just burning for each other. We were building something sacred from the ashes.
I driftedin and out of consciousness with my head in Aurélie's lap, her fingers massaging slow circles into the knots between my shoulders.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, humming something under her breath, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be here, touching me, healing me. I hadn’t even asked—she just scooped up the jar of salve she’d left on the nightstand and went to work the second I climbed into bed, exhausted and sore. The warmth of her thighs against my cheek, the tender scrape of her nails over my scalp, the smell of her—lavender and citrus and whatever magic lived in her skin… I could’ve died like this, and I wouldn’t have had a single regret.
“You know,” I mumbled, letting my eyes slip closed as her fingers pressed deeper into a tight spot near my neck, “you keep touching me like that, and I’m gonna make a mess all over your pretty thighs.”
She snorted, the sound sleep-laden. “You’re in pain and still thinking about sex. What a surprise.”
I cracked a grin against her skin. “Can you blame me? I’m in heaven.”
She pinched the back of my neck lightly. I groaned, more in pleasure than pain, and she laughed again—soft and wild and absolutely hers. God, I loved that laugh. I’d move mountains just to hear it one more time.
"Precious thing," I murmured, running a palm over her skin. "My favorite fucking sound in the world."
"I thought it was the sound of me coming?"
It was my turn to laugh now. "A guy can have more than one favorite sound."
"That kind of defeats the purpose offavorite,don't you think?"
I hummed. "D'accord. Alors ma chose préférée au monde, c'est toi, mon cœur."
Okay. Then my favorite thing in the world, is you.
She didn't answer, just kept rubbing slow, careful circles into my muscles until my breathing slowed and my eyes drifted shut, exhaustion finally taking over. And every few hours, through the quiet darkness, she woke me up just enough to press pills into my hand. Her phone lit up like a tiny lighthouse on the nightstand, alarms blinking at precise intervals she’d set to make sure I never missed a dose.
Each time I stirred, her voice was there, soft and coaxing, like the tide pulling me back to shore.
You’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you. I love you.
By the time the sun peaked over the mountains outside our window, she was sprawled sideways across the bed, topless with her perfect tits exposed, one arm thrown dramatically over her face, hair a tangled mess as she drooled onto the pillow.
I bit back a laugh, the kind that warmed my chest and made my eyes burn at the same time. Christ, I loved her so much it hurt.
I reached for my phone out of habit, blinking blearily at the screen against the morning light, and stilled.
The notifications were endless, more than the usual frenzy. Clips of the interview last night, of me kissing Aurélie live on camera. Photos of me, Marco, and Kimi showing up mid-broadcast. A trending hashtag in different languages: #Caurélie. I blinked harder. Thank God the world finally abandoned that cursed #Frabois nonsense. It sounded like a disease.
One post had over three million likes—a picture of me kissing her hand with the caption:
@romanceonthegrid: He sprinted to her on a broken body. That’s not PR. That’s love.
I barely registered the ache in my ribs from laughing too hard. I didn't care. This was wild and beautiful andperfect. Everything we'd fought against, everything we'd risked—and the world was falling at her feet like she fucking deserved all along.
I was about to wake her up and show her when my email inbox buzzed.
Subject: FIA Urgent Meeting Scheduled.Attendees Required: Fraser, Dubois, Bertolli, Bianchi.
I exhaled through my nose and sat back against the headboard. Of course they were pissed. They couldn’t just let us have this.
I looked at her again, face peaceful, breathing deep and completely unaware of the new storm we'd created. I set my phone on the nightstand, careful not to wake her, but when I sat up, she stirred. She rubbed her face against the pillow, mumbling something in French that sounded suspiciously like an insult to my Scottish bloodline.
I huffed a laugh under my breath. Cheeky little thing.
