“It is.” He turned his face to gently capture my lips with his. “You’re mine. Forever now.”
I melted into him, hands twisting into the hair at the back of his neck. My lips brushed his just once, teasing, before I whispered, “Do we get to start planning our weddingfor realnow?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, mock-offended, then dropped his voice to something dark and amused. “Did you think weweren’tbefore?”
I opened my mouth to sass him, but he didn’t give me the chance.
“All that talk of peonies and wearing white and bending you over the altar?” He nipped my jaw; I shivered. “You think I forgot that?”
A choked, filthy sound clawed out of my throat. “No,” I managed on an exhale.
He hummed. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it. You, looking like a sin in satin while I make you mine twice in one night. My ring on your finger. My cock buried so deep in you my name will be imprinted inside you.”
Then he kissed me, hard and claiming, until I sighed into his mouth. He pulled back, but I chased him and bit his earlobe hard enough to make him flinch.
“You proposed, Callum. You don’t get to half-ass the husband part now by escaping wedding planning.”
His grin turned downright dangerous. “And right this moment…” he breathed, one hand cupping my breast through my dress, thumb brushing over my nipple until it peaked for him. I ground my hips against him, hard enough to make him groan, and he flexed up into me with a sound that punched straight through my core.
His eyes flared—twin flames in the dark—and I saw our entire future in that look. The rings. The ceremony. The rest of our fucking lives.
“What would make me a good husband to you?” he murmured, voice pitched like a prayer. “What do you need, mon cœur?”
“I want you to fuck me like one.”
“You want me to fuck you like one.”
I rolled my hips again, chasing it—chasinghim—the orgasm already tingling, reaching its fingers through my nerves like a warning. My breathing picked up, ragged and shallow, as I clutched at his shoulders for balance.
“Yes,” I gasped. “I need you.God,Callum, I need you.”
“Oh, baby,” he said, low and dark, fingertips skimming higher up my thigh. “You think husbands fuck their wives whenever they whine pretty?”
“I think mine should.” I batted my lashes. Bit my bottom lip. Let my voice go all soft and syrupy as I rolled over him again. “Please fuck me like a good husband would.”
Callum melted.Visibly. An adorable little grin tugged at his lips. I softened into him, sweet and needy and obedient. He shifted, and I nearly sobbed when his touch left my thigh. He wasso close.
He flexed his hands, dragging me down slow and hard over his cock again, the friction enough to make me tremble. Then again. And again. I rode him, soaking him, grinding over the thick, perfect pressure of his cock, the friction from the fabric equal parts heaven and torture—too much and not enough, rough and soft against my pussy.
His pants were drenched now, gliding easier from the lubrication of me completely losing control in his lap. And every time I tried to shift the angle, to chase more, he pulled back just slightly, controlling every movement like he owned my body—and knew exactly how to keep me on the edge.
He clicked his tongue once, shaking his head. “Mm-mm. Not when she’s being a brat.”
“N-No,” I stammered, whimpering as my thighs trembled around him. “I’ll be good. I promise. Mon fiancé… mon amour… please…”
Callum’s eyes went half-lidded with hunger. “Does it make me a sadist,” he murmured, “that Ilovewatchin’ ye beg?”
And fuck.His accent thickened, rasping over the syllables like velvet-wrapped gravel. Thegin “beg” disappeared entirely. His mouth dragged low and loose around the word, like he wanted to taste it and keep it all to himself. Because when I begged, it was only forhim.
I moaned loudly and dug my fingers into his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut. The breeze whipped through my hair, lifting it from my clammy skin. Cool where I burned for him, hot where I was already unraveling.
“I’ll be so good for you,” I gasped, grinding my hips down again and again and again, desperate to push us both over the edge. “I’ll beg so fucking pretty. I’ll earn it. I’ll do anything. Everything. Just tell me how—just let me—please—s’il te plaît—” The words dissolved into broken, needy whimpers.
Then I fisted both hands in the open collar of his shirt and yanked him closer, teeth grazing his bottom lip before I kissed him—rough and a little unhinged.
“If you loving it makes you a sadist,” I whispered against his mouth, “then baby, the way Ifucking cravebegging for you makes me a masochist.”
A pause. A breath. A promise.
