Page 28 of Red Flagged
I had always liked control because it kept me safe. Because my body so rarely felt like a haven. But with Callum, every command made me melt. Every touch made me sing. Every strike of the crop made my clit pulse and flutter like it wanted to thank him.
I was floating. Not gone, not mindless, but open. Offered and owned.
He wasn’t just punishing me. He wasprotectingme, giving form to all the chaos I’d been carrying. It didn’t feel like being hit, it felt like beingheld. Like the heat and the sting and the ache had been transformed into something holy. Something that made room for me, for us to explore together, mapping uncharted territories with permanent tattoos of our memories.
I hadn’t expected the surrender to feel this safe. To feel thisearned. Every time the crop kissed my skin, I could feel him holding back the darker edge of himself—not because he didn’t want me to see it, but because he was learning to wield itforme. Like he was stepping into this role not just to dominate, but tobecome. My partner. My mirror. My Dom.My Callum.
This wasn’t a performance. This was a promise. I’d taken the leap with him, dove headfirst into the dark, and instead of drowning, I found myself flying right alongside him.
The belt cinched tight around my wrists pulled with every tremble of my body, dragging my arms higher and tighter across my back. It should’ve been uncomfortable. It should’ve hurt. But instead, it anchored me to him, to this moment, to the ache inside me that finally had somewhere to go. The stretch made my shoulders burn and my back arch. My chest pressed down into the carpet where the gruff texture scraped my oversensitive skin.
I heard the soft sound of leather hitting the floor beside me. The crop. He’d set it down. Which meant?—
Callum wrapped his strong arms around my waist and dragged me off the floor, making my bound hands strain behind my back as the belt tightened deliciously. My legs scrambled beneath me, but I didn’t fight it. I trusted him to use me, move me,commandme.
My thighs trembled as he lifted me just high enough to plant my feet on the ground. My body bowed naturally, hips caught in the perfect angle, and then he pressed me forward—slow and intentional—until my torso was bent over the edge of the bed.
Oh. Oh mon Dieu.
The cool sheets were a reprieve to my feverish skin. My breasts pressed into the mattress. My cheek dragged along the fabric as I exhaled like I was finally being set free. The position left mecompletely exposed. Back arched. Arms bound. Knees shaking. Cunt dripping down my thighs in an obscene amount.
His to take.
He trailed one finger down the length of my spine, slow and possessive, dragging through the dip of my back until it ghosted between my cheeks. The tip circled my hole once—teasing, not entering—before gliding down to swipe through the mess he’d made of me. I jolted, breath catching at the sensation.
“Look at this,” he muttered, more to himself than me. “Your pussy is so fucking pretty when you drip for me.”
I heard the shift of movement behind me. The quietthumpof his knees hitting the floor. Then his warm hands gripped my ass and spread me open with gentle constraint, as if worship required a leisure pace. I let out a ruined little sound, the kind that lived somewhere between a whimper and a prayer. Each noise was something beyond my comprehension, my body’s way of releasing this carnal desire twisting through me. Then his breath hit me, hot and sensual, and I gasped.
“Just like that,” he growled from behind me, voice shredded and husky, and oh my fuck, it made me shudder. “Let me taste what you give me.”
I felt the full length of his tongue drag from my swollen entrance down to my clit in one greedy, unholy stroke, and that was all it took before I came apart with a sob. My climax hit like a lightning strike. Sudden, blinding, impossible to outrun.
Every muscle seized and fluttered. My legs locked and then shook violently as a cry ripped from my throat, raw and unfiltered. My vision blurred. My pulse thundered in my ears. I could feel myself clenching around nothing, body begging for more even as it convulsed with too much.
And still he licked. Still he tasted.
Tongue pressed flat, nose buried, groaning like my pleasure fed him. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. My orgasm didn’t stop, it just morphed into something new. A continuous unraveling. A cascading surrender.
It rippled outward, soft and savage, wave after wave of ecstasy that blurred the edges of everything else. I was trembling, moaning, drooling against the mattress, and Callum was still there, still between my thighs, still fuckingfeasting.
“Too much,” I tried to say, but it came out as something between a gasp and a whimper. And even that fell apart when he flattened his tongue and pressed it against my clit again.
I jerked, twitching under him. He just groaned, the sound so primal and reverent it made my pussy contract, my body trying to pull himin, even though he wasn’t inside me yet.
“Can’t,” I whispered. “Can’t think—can’t—Callum?—”
His hands were everywhere. One palm splayed across my tailbone, holding me down, the other gripping my ass, spreading me wider as his tongue circled, teased,took. I was completely open, completely vulnerable, and Ilovedit.
“F-fuck,” I cried out. “I love you.”
I hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t even known it was coming. It just slipped out, airy and aching andraw, ripped from my lungs by the force of his mouth on my pussy and the worship woven into every lick.
He froze for half a second before he growled—low and wrecked andmine—and bit down on my inner thigh hard enough to sting.
“Again,” he demanded, voice thick with desire. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” I whispered, delirious and wrecked and shaking. “Je t’aime, mon dominant. So much it hurts.”
