He fucked me like he was chasing eternity, like he needed to brand it into my body. Each thrust harder, deeper, moredevastating than the last. His grip on the ribbon let him control the angle, dragging me into him, keeping me open, making me his.
The tartan rubbed against my skin with every snap of his hips, a constant reminder of what bound me to him now. The dress bunched between our bodies, silk ruined and perfect. His wedding ring bit into the nape of my neck as he held me like a lifeline, like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
“Cal,” I panted. “Fuck.”
His rhythm turned filthy, desperate,unforgiving. Every thrust jarred my body forward, every pull on the ribbon forcing my arms tighter, shoulders aching from the strain. He was so deep I could barely breathe, the pressure cresting past pleasure into something that bordered on pain, but I wanted it, craved it, because this was what it had always been.
Frenzied. Possessive.Fated.
Just like the first time. And even then, I’d known—he would ruin me for all other men.
“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s how deep I am. HowfullI make you. Fuckingweddedto me now.”
I moaned, my legs quaking beneath me.
“You gonna take it for me, baby? Gonna be a good little wife and let me fuck you how I need?”
He called me baby the most when he was inside me. Sometimes in the public eye, sure. Buthere, like this—when I submitted to him—it hit different. It always had. And paired with that thickened Scottish accent, fraying at the edges with how wrecked he was, the whole thingundidme.
Because even in this state—feral and filthy and buried inside me to the hilt—he read my body like a map. Knew when to check in, when to push, when to pull back. He never took too much. Never asked for more than I could give.
I was safe with him.
He was safe with me.
And it wasso fucking sexy.
“Oui, mon mari.”
“That’s it,” he rasped, his tone turning darker, filthier, reverent and vile in the same breath. “Pretty wee thing, bent over in your wedding dress like you weremadefor it. Mine to tie. Mine to wreck. Mine to fucking keep.”
I whimpered, lost to it, lost tohim, lost to the consummation of our marriage. I’d take it no other way than just like this. This dynamic, this depraved, reverent, Dom/sub surrender wasso us.
“Gonna keep you like this,” he snarled, one hand fisting in my hair, the other yanking the ribbon tighter, dragging my arms back as his hips slammed into mine. “Dress all wrinkled, legs fuckin’ shakin’, drippin’ down m’cock like a holy altar come to life. My own wee shrine of sin.”
My whole body seized at that, the tartan biting into my wrists, the heat drowning me, the filth and praise colliding in my bloodstream like lightning to bone.
“You love it, don’t you?” he breathed, filthier now, the Scottish climbing in his throat to where it belonged. “Love when I talk dirty to you, yeah? When I worship ye on my knees one hour and then use ye like a proper fucktoy the next. Myperfectwee wife.”
“Ido,” I sobbed.
“Goddamn fuckin’right, ye do.” His hips snapped hard enough to make me see stars. “You’re my perfect?—”
Thrust.
“Wee—”
Thrust.
“Fuckin’—”
Thrust.
“Wife.”
A sound tore from my throat—half gasp, half broken plea—his name scraped from my lungs like it had been branded on the inside. My arms twitched behind my back. My legs buckled, helpless and wrecked.
Callum’s voice dropped an octave, hot against my ear. “Tell me, my submissive little fucktoy of a wife.”
