Page 119 of Red Flagged
And it was backless.
It was exactly the article of clothing that would make him feral, which was the entire point in me wearing it. After what we’d gone through… we needed time to have fun again. Time for skin and surrender, for teasing and eye contact and kinky, devotional sex that reminded us we were still ours. I was craving that vulnerability and intimacy so bad it hurt.
This vacation would be our reset. We booked a private villa tucked into the cliffs of Milos, just the two of us and nearly three weeks of sun, silence, and no interruptions. We timed it so we’d arrive at our villa in time for dinner—one Callum had arranged on the beach, just past golden hour. He didn’t tell me what was on the menu. Said I’d be too distracted anyway. Said I’d be dessert.
The moment his eyes raked over me, he ended his call, and I knew he was right. He would absolutelydevourme, and I wasn’t sure I’d survive it. Not with the way his throat bobbed. The hold on his cup? Death grip.
I came to a stop in front of him, then slowly spun in a circle so he could see the back. When I completed my turn, I was certain I’d never seen him look so speechless before. I smirked, stepping closer, dragging a single finger down his chest. "Something wrong, Fraser?"
His voice was hoarse. "You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?"
"I have no idea what you’re talking about." Like the absolute menace I was.
“Aurélie.”
“That’s my name, mon champion. Don’t wear it out.” I winked at him and stepped around him to climb the steps, listening to him groan something about having a weakness for some stubborn French woman.
I grinned. Because he did. Because I knew him, and he knew me, and after everything we’d been through, it was still this easy—this magnetic, this good. I loved him so much it scared me. And I was finally ready to let that show.
Okay,maybe my plan was backfiring.
I’d spent a solid fifteen minutes debating whether or not I should wear panties. Thought it would be fun to mess with Callum while up in the air.
Except I had four hours to deal with my decision, and every time my thighs parted even a little bit, cool air would hit my pussy and my oversensitive skin, reminding me of my decision.
My very poorly executed decision that Callum had no idea about.
I was restless, pretending to read a romance book thatshouldhave been distracting me from my predicament, but here I was flipping through pages I wasn’t actually absorbing. Every time I shifted in my seat, the hem of my dress rode up just a little, and I was not far from exposing myself to him or the stewardess as a result.
And Callum? Okay, he was in equal hell with me. The vein in his temple pulsing, hands clenched into fists on his thighs, staring straight ahead like he was in battle mode.
Breathe.
Yes, his reaction was hot as hell, but now the light turbulence had friction from my thighs gritting my teeth. My thighs, now slick with my arousal.
I’d really fucked myself over here.
Okay, think, Dubois.What could I do about this? I could get up and go to the bathroom. Finish myself off so I could keep teasing him. Then spend the next four hours just drinking champagne and having a good time. I mean, hewasthe one who told me we’d have to wait until we got to Greece, so really, this was his fault.
All for some silly little punishment, because I told him he wasn’t allowed to bite or mark me on this trip, seeing as I was going to be in minimal clothing.
Being a brat was fun until it turned into a form of torture.
Okay, fuck it, it was my fault, too. He just didn’t know how difficult it was to hold myself together right now. My skin felt warm, and when I glanced down to see how hard he was, my head fell back against the seat. We were both suffering in silence.
I snapped my book shut, tossing it on the seat across from me and lifting my hair off the nape of my neck. I was hot, hot, hot, too fucking hot. Overheating and now thinking about his large hands, veiny and calloused, all over my skin, touching me, making me come. Or his mouth, teeth grazing me—and I wanted him to bite me, because the sharp pain was always so grounding, always pulling me out of my head. And I’d spent too much time in my head.
What was wrong with me? We’d both taken a mutual step back from our sex life after the miscarriage, giving each other time and space to breathe again. But my libido was back in full force, stronger and hungrier than ever before. Like I was making up for everything I’d tried not to feel.
But I really couldn’t get enough. He’d turned me into a fiend. A nympho. I was barely surviving if I didn’t get it more than once a day.
The final straw between us was when I crossed my legs. Just enough for my dress to slip to the tops of my thighs, right into the crease where they met my hips.
His head whipped to me, eyes dark, voice low and dangerous. “Get up.”
I blinked, feigning an innocence that was so far from gone, especially when it came to this man. “Sorry?”
“Get the fuck up,” he repeated, unbuckling his seat belt. “Bathroom. Now.”
