“Still good?” he murmured.
“Yes,” I said, breathless, arching. “Please, mon dominant. Please take care of me.”
He hooked his thumbs in my waistband and dragged them down. They pooled at my ankles, followed by my underwear, and I stepped out with a soft shuffle, never taking my eyes off the ocean. He didn’t rush. Just knelt behind me, hands on my thighs, lips brushing over the place where my hip met the curve of my ass.
“You’re shaking,” he said reverently.
“I’ve needed you all day.”
He groaned softly. “I know, baby. I’ve been trying to hold it together since we woke up.”
Then he did the one thing guaranteed to break me—he sank his teeth gently into the swell of my ass and spread me open with both hands, like I was his to feast on.
“Oh monDieu.” My forehead thunked against the door, my breath fogging the glass.
“You’re so soft here,” he said, voice low and fucking ruined, mouthing at the place he knew made me whimper. “Sweet little peach.”
He kissed my ass cheek, then bit again, teeth leaving a faint sting. I moaned. That pain always cleared my mind, brought me into the moment, like snapping elastic that stilled the world and left only him, only us. My thighs trembled. When his tongue followed, a long, deliberate swipe between my cheeks, I nearly sobbed.
He worked me open with patience that felt like worship—slow circles, lazy pressure, praise I could feel in my bones.
“You like that?” he rasped against me. “Want me to taste you right here, baby?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Callum, fuck.Yes.” My hips pushed back into his face, but I didn’t care. My entire body felt like a live wire, hot and buzzing and ready to explode. And I was fucking weak in the knees every time he got close to my ass.
I heard him curse under his breath, heard the rustle of clothes as he adjusted himself, one hand never leaving my hip while the other worked me open again.
Then I felt it—his tongue, hot and slick, circling where I was tightest. My knees buckled.
“Such a good, slutty girl for me,” he rasped. “Aren’t you, future Mrs. Fraser?”
The name hit me like a jolt to the spine.
I cried out, my breath clawing up my throat as I dropped my forehead back to the glass. He held me steady with one thick arm banded around my hips, forearm braced across my pelvis like he was anchoring me—like if he let go, I might fall apart completely. His other hand splayed across my lower back, holding me open, claiming every part of me with touch and tongue and filthy praise.
“You always want it right here,” he murmured between licks, his breath hot against my skin. “So fucking greedy for it. You’re gonna be my wife, yeah?”
“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes.”
The rhythm he found was torturous. Thorough and reverent. He licked slow and deep, letting the tip of his tongue circle and tease, then flatten and press. Each motion was deliberate, like he was savoring it. Like I was his favorite meal and he had all day. I moaned, so goddamn loud and wrecked—palms slipping against the glass as the pressure built fast and brutal. It was erotic sacrilege, having him worship my ass this way.
My whole body trembled. The muscles in my thighs burned. My hips jerked without rhythm, chasing friction. And then, just when I thought I couldn’t take another second of the delicious torture, I felt his fingers slip lower.
He didn’t stop with his mouth. He gave me more. He always gave me more.
I gasped at all the sensations. His tongue stroked, his fingers slid deeper. I listened to the obscene wet sounds of it all. And then he rose behind me with terrifying grace, pressing his chest to my back. One hand slipped up to wrap around my sternum while the other stayed low, his fingers coated in slick heat.
“That’s it, mo chridhe. Breathe. Take what you need.” His fingers moved with aching precision. He knew exactly how to dismantle me, one touch at a time. Each stroke over my clit was slow, but deliberate, the kind of rhythm that wasn’t rushed because hewantedto feel every second of it. I pushed back into his hand, greedy for more.
“Good girl. You take me so well,” he whispered into my neck, his breath hot, his mouth brushing the spot beneath my ear that made my spine flex. “Fucking perfect.”
I whimpered, my hips grinding instinctively as he slipped another finger inside, curling just enough to make stars dance at the edge of my vision. The glass in front of me steamed with every exhale, our reflection a blurred, a golden tangle of limbs and need.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured, dragging his tongue down my throat, “thinking about how wet you were when we woke up this morning. And how you begged so pretty in the shower yesterday.”
“Callum—” I gasped.
“Aye. Say my name again.” His voice roughened. “Let the whole fucking country know who makes you feel this good.”
