Page 20 of Red Flagged
Jesus Christ.
“I had to handle the press.” My voice came out rougher than I intended, sounding distant to my ears as I watched her trail her fingers over her legs, hooking under the hem of the shirt to drag it up higher. I cleared my throat and set my bag down, trying to find steady ground. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she answered, almost dreamily.
When I stepped closer, she reached for me. Quick and mischievous with a wicked little grin. Her palms slid to the backs of my thighs, nails scraping lightly through the fabric, anchoring me there. Heat spiked through me so fast, my head rushed.
“Hey,” I warned, low. It came out more like a groan than a protest.
Her smile softened. “You look tense, baby.”
Fucking hell, she knew what she was doing to me. I was seconds from acting with my cock first and thinking with my brain later. Why did she always have such a fuckingchokeholdon me?
She slid one hand higher, over my ass, around my hip and under my shirt, her nails tracing my abs until they curled just beneath my waistband. A shiver ripped through me so violently, I hissed through my teeth.
Up close, I saw the languidity in her movements. Her skin glowed with that fever-warm flush that was equal parts intoxicating and alarming. Her eyes were glassy, her pupils too wide in the dim light. The color in her cheeks darkened when she bit down on her plump bottom lip.
God, it made my cock throb in my jeans.
Wait.She was in so much pain earlier, and now she was fine. My brain apparently had some coherent thoughts left, because I suddenly recalled Ivy telling me Aurélie had taken a pill before strapping in for qualifying yesterday.
“Auri, baby…” I managed, every muscle tense with restraint. “Did you—did you take something?”
Her lashes dipped. “Mmm. Painkillers.” The words dripped out like honey. “Les forts ones,” she added nonchalantly.
A strangled sound tore out of me—part laugh, part groan. “Your Frenglish is coming out, baby.”
She giggled. “It’s because I feel good.”
I stepped closer, so her head was between my thighs. Before I could breathe, she turned her face into me, nuzzling like she didn’t even realize what she was doing. All I could picture was sliding my cock into her throat, dragging my piercing against her tongue, fucking her mouth until she was crying and gagging. Blood rushed south faster than taking Eau Rouge flat out.
“Auri,” I pleaded. She just hummed, and from this angle she looked like something born of sin and starlight—Aphrodite remade for the modern world, halo slipping into horns, desire dressed in devotion. Gold hair spilled over the edge of the bed like it had been poured there by a jealous god.
I grabbed a fistful of it, those long blonde strands that drove me so goddamn crazy catching against the callouses on my hand. I shouldn’t have touched her—Christ, I knew better—but the sound she made when I did, that tiny half sigh, half moan pulled every thought out of me. Stole the breath right out of my lungs and stitched the frayed edges of my heart right back together.
She was all glow and desire and impossible temptation, the kind of beauty no man walked away from unscathed. That delicious pink flush spreading down her neck belonged somewhere unholy, and my mouth suddenly watered at the idea of sinking my teeth into the supple flesh of her pulse point. I wanted to claim her and bury myself so deep inside her she’d forget her own name unless I said it.
“Shhh,” she hushed, tongue flicking out to wet her lips, a soft gleam that caught the light and my sanity along with it. That single slow drag was the kind of thing meant to undo men and start wars. “Stop trying to translate and just feel with me.”
That one sentence short-circuited whatever self-control I had left. I didn’t know the right response anymore. My hand tightened in her hair. Not hard, just enough to make her look up at me through her lashes, dazed and devastating, and I couldn’t tell if I was restraining her or myself. Concern and arousal collided so violently I almost saw stars.
For a heartbeat I forgot what I was trying to talk about, forgot everything except the feel of her and the pounding behind my ribs.
“Les forts ones.” Fuck. “How strong are we talking?”
Aurélie only smiled, seemingly blasé, as if the question didn’t matter. She sighed, and the movement made her chest heave. Her nipples were pointed beneath the Vanguard red fabric stretched across them. I loosened my hold in her hair, and finally she answered. “Strong enough to stop hurting.”
My heart kicked. “Mon cœur.”
She made a soft, distracted sound and rolled to the side, pushing up onto her knees. The motions were unsteady but graceful. On all fours she fumbled for a small amber bottle on the nightstand, and her perfect heart-shaped ass was on full display for me. It took everything in me not to pounce.
She shook the bottle once before pressing it into my hand. “It’s a prescription,” she mumbled. “Vicodin. My doctor gave them to me after an incident last year. I just… forgot how strong they are.”
Relief flooded me, heavy and dizzying, chased immediately by guilt. It wasn’t dangerous, but explained the fog in her eyes and her slow movements.
Her head tipped, eyes heavy-lidded and distant. “I needed them,” she murmured, like a confession that wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. “It was bad earlier.”
I sat beside her on the bed, resting a hand on her thigh. The part of me that worried—the one that had seen her doubled overhours ago—clashed violently with the one that just wanted to taste her skin. “You should’ve waited for me.”
