Page 27 of Red Flagged
She trusted me with her body. With her pain. With her surrender. And I… I trusted her withthis. With the part of me I didn’t show anyone, not even myself.
Because this wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just play.
It was…catharsis. A fucking reckoning.
I suddenly understood how she broke apart as those parts freed themselves. When all her walls crumbled and we picked them back up together. That’s what she was doing to me, little by little as each day passed.
I used to think control was something I had to earn. That it came with podiums, contracts, keeping my head down and grinding myself to dust to make other people proud. My father had taught me that control meantperfection. That my job was toperform. That being a man meant never needing anyone, and if I wasn’t the best, I wasn’tanything.
He’d called it discipline, but it had always been aboutpower.
I inherited that from him.
My mother, sweet as she was, couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle watching me disappear into the machine he built me to be. Racing scared her, not just because it was dangerous, but because it reminded her who was steering the wheel. And it wasn’t me. Not back then.
So she pulled away, disappearing at times, quietly and indefinitely. Letting me go because she didn’t know how to stop him.
I’d spent my whole fucking life being the product of someone else’s obsession with legacy. Being molded into something sharp, something fast, somethingconsumable. And over the years I’d convinced myself that was my dream, too. To only want the title and the fame and the fortune.
A complete one-eighty from the life I grew up with. I wanted nothing to do with that life, but took the cold, ruthless calculation with me. The side of me that learned to compartmentalize, conceal the anxiety and feelings of being burdensome, that wielded that focus into a weapon on the grid.
Yet here I was, holding a woman whoaskedto be unraveled by me.
Not for performance. Not for legacy or power or trust. Forintimacy.
Because she saw me. The jagged edges. The fractured boy underneath the medals. The man who didn’t want to dominate to be feared—only tofeel.
Now she knelt for me, andIgot to choose how to hold that.
Gentle. Rough. Worshipful. Feral.Mine.
I touched her like a man discovering fire for the first time. With awe. With greed. With devotion. And this time, when Istroked her clit, she cried out again—not just from the sensation, but from theconnection.
I was no longer holding back. Not from her, from this, or fromme. I gave the last of myself over to her at that moment.
I let myself feel it all. The gravity of this moment with her, how deep my feelings for her ran, how in tune our souls were with each other.
How much I fucking adored her laugh when she tried to hide it behind her hand. The way she interrupted me mid-spiral just to kiss me quiet. The brilliance of her mind, the audacity in her courage, the softness she kept tucked under armor but still offered to me anyway. The way she tore through a track like she was born to be faster than God, and then got flustered over the smell of warm baguettes.
And then there was her body. The slope of her waist. The freckles scattered across her shoulders like a map leading straight to her heart. That old scar across her ribs from an old karting accident. The way her pupils blew wide when I said her name with reverence. The little moan she gave when I sucked on her neck just hard enough to leave proof.
She was all sharp teeth and soft submission. A cathedral and a battlefield.
I needed to worship every inch of her.
So I did.
The world shimmered.
It was the only way I could describe it. Every breath, shift, and movement sent a new ripple of sensation coursing through my body. It didn’t feel quite real, but not in a dissociative way. More like I was submerged in something sacred. Wrapped in heat and floating just below the surface of consciousness.
Vicodin made the edges soft, dulled the ache, but it amplified thefeel.
And Callum? He made everything sharper. Brighter. Devastating.
My body hummed, lit from the inside out. My cheek was pressed to the carpet, my mouth slack and open, damp from moaning. I could feel the drool at the corner of my lips and didn’t care. Each nerve ending throbbed with awareness. Every part of me had become a live wire under his command.
He had touched something ancient in me. Something aching and primal and so fucking hungry. Something that made me forget the reason I took two pills to begin with.
