Page 30 of Red Flagged
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “Thank you for my orgasm, Sir.”
He growled softly, satisfied and possessive. “There she is.” His breath hit my thighs, and it made me shiver. “You followed every command. Trusted me with all of it. You obeyed. That’s my girl.” His voice was guttural. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Then, his fingers dipped between my legs, sliding through the mess I’d made. A quiet groan came from behind me. He dragged his hand up, slow and indulgent, before smoothing the moisture over the backs and outside of my thighs,markingme with it. Like he wanted me to wear my wreckage as proof of his devotion.
I shivered.
“Stay just like that,” he whispered. I didn’t dare move. Not with the way my body buzzed, every nerve ending singing, every heartbeat echoing in my pussy like a drumbeat made for him to follow. The Vicodin still curled in my blood like honey, making everything feelslower,deeper, like I was submerged in some secret, sacred place.
But mostly, it was because he’d commanded me to stay still, and my role in this moment was to obey.
I didn’t ask you to speak, mon cœur. I asked you to obey.
His words from Austria echoed in my mind as I recovered. Then I felt Callum’s hands grip my hips. He dragged me up slowly, but withpurpose. He wasn’t being gentle out of hesitation or mercy. He was being gentle because I belonged to him—because I washis—and that meant he needed me whole. He needed me right.Ready. Open. Devoured. He wasn’t holding back; he was holdingme.
My knees landed on the mattress, thighs wide, body folding forward again until I was back in that position of complete exposure. Arms still bound, face turned to the side, cheek pressed to the sheets.
There was the sound of a zipper, then the shuffle of denim. I felt him move behind me, the mattress dipping under his weight. His thighs bracketed mine, and the heat radiating off him made my breath stutter.
“Just like that, love,” he rasped. One palm flattened between my shoulder blades while the other gripped the belt still cinched tight around my wrists. The leather tugged taut, forcing my spine to curve as he adjusted me like a doll, something easily controllable.
“You want to be filled, mon cœur?” he murmured, voice frayed and low.
“Yes, s’il te plaît,” I begged.
The head of his cock pressed against my entrance, and I nearlywept. I was still dripping down my thighs, aching and desperate for him to be inside me. He teased me at first, rubbing his pierced tip against me, nudging at my clit, my entrance, not giving me what I craved. My hips rocked, eager for more. And then he thrust in all at once, hard enough to knock the breath out of me when he hit my cervix.
My scream was muffled by the bedspread, teeth uselessly clamping a mouthful of fabric as he fucked me from behind like a man undoing something holy. He didn’t give me a rhythm. Just need. Just claiming. Justdevotion through destruction.
He gripped the belt between my wrists and used it, pulling back to drive himself deeper, groaning every time he bottomed out.
“Look at you,” he ground out, voice full of awe and violence. “So fucking perfect. So wet for me I could drown in you.”
I writhed beneath him, the pressure building unbearably, needing more of him everywhere, deeper, rougher. I tugged at my restraints without meaning to, instinctively trying to reach for him, trying to ground myself. The leather bit into my wrists. My muscles strained.
He felt it, but instead of mercy, he gave memore. With a savage grunt, he yanked the belt tighter, forcing my arms higher and my back to bow brutally. His thrusts turned punishing, hips slamming into my ass with devastating precision, each one a brand of possession.
He bent over me, chest against my back, mouth at my ear. “You feel that? That stretch? That ache? That’sme, mon ange. That’s your Dom claiming every part of you.”
“Yes,” I sobbed. “Yes, please, don’t stop?—”
“I’m not fucking stopping,” he growled, one hand sliding up to my throat, pinning me in place while he rutted into me like he couldn’t breathe without it. “I could fuck you forever and still not get enough.”
I whimpered, wrecked and unraveling, and that sound—that sound—had him faltering, burying himself deeper as a raw groan ripped from his throat.
“You want to be fucked like you’re mine, Aurélie?”
“Iamyours,” I whispered. “You could propose to me tomorrow and I’d say yes with your bruises on every sensitive part of my body and your name still on my tongue.”
He groaned like the words physicallyhurt. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Cal,” I repeated, breath ragged. “Je prendrai ta bague, ta punition, ta dévotion, ton nom—tout ce que tu me donnes. Je serai ta bonne fille, ta soumise, ta femme. Rien qu’à toi. Pour toujours, mon amour.”
I’ll take your ring, your punishment, your devotion, your name—everything you give me. I’ll be your good girl, your submissive, your wife. Only yours. Forever, my love.
He faltered, just for a second. A catch in his movements, a ragged breath escaping him in a whispered curse. I shifted on my knees, silently pleading for more. Maybe I whimpered, maybe I said his name, maybe even cried out something raw and wrecked.
The belt slipped from my wrists with a hiss, and before I could even register the flood of relief in my shoulders, he flipped me over, manhandling me into place as if I was the most precious, breakable thing he’d ever touched. I landed on my back, breathless, but he didn’t give me time to think or recover. He shoved two pillows beneath my hips, my shoulders pressing into the mattress, thighs spread, his cock at the entrance of my pussy again.
