He groaned, low and strained, the way he did when his self-control was dwindling. My chest heaved, knowing we were out of time. I was torn between sprinting down the aisle to marry the hell out of him, or staying put just a little longer.
Then Callum’s voice lifted, directed over his shoulder away from me.
“Ivy? Can you give us two minutes? Tell the photographer we’re done here.”
“Fraser, I swear toGod?—”
“You can curse me later,” he said, voice fraying at the edges of his control. “But right now, I have a fiancée who needs a private moment.”
There was a pause, followed by Ivy’s amused sigh.
I barely had time to react before his voice dropped to a murmur so filthy and tender it rearranged my organs.
“I know I can’t look at you, but I can hear you. Feel you. And mo chridhe, I need to feel you.”
My lungs stalled, thighs clenching. Desire zipped through me so fast I swayed on my feet.
“I don’t want you walking down this aisle all wound up and unsteady. I want you flushed. I want you ruined. I want you mine.”
“I already am,” I whined. “And now you’re edging me, Cal, and?—”
“Lift your dress,” he demanded.
My hand trembled in his, and then he let go.
“Cal—”
“Auri, do as you're told,” he said, voice rough with command. “Touch yourself. Guide me.”
I obeyed, hiking the dress slowly, the rustling of the fabric barely audible over the sound of my heart pounding wildly. I could feel myself soaking through the special, ridiculously expensive white lace thong I’d picked just for today, cupping my freshly waxed skin with only a slim landing strip left. It was a surprise for him, because I usually kept a cute little patch down there.
The breeze kissed my pussy, and I shivered, my skin overly sensitive. I’d wanted him this morning, aching to crawl into his lap before hair and makeup arrived—aka Ivy and Lucy—but we were interrupted before I could even try. This? This was survival.
“Good girl,” Callum growled. “Now ride my hand. Use me. Get messy for me. Right here, in the corner of the winery where we’re about to vow forever.”
I clutched my dress in one hand, not caring that it might wrinkle the fabric, and pushed up on my toes. My fingers closed around his wrist. I guided him blindly, clit pulsing in desperate anticipation. I whimpered, heat flooding me, wrapping around each nerve ending, burning me from the inside out.
Our hands moved together, and I nearly sobbed as he found the drenched strip of lace and pushed it aside. His fingertips dragged across my slick skin—slow, reverent, sure. My hand stayed over his, but I didn’t need to do much. He knew my body better than anyone ever had.
When his fingers finally circled my clit, I bucked, biting down on my bottom lip so hard I tasted cherry lip gloss and champagne. Sweat slicked the back of my neck and my head dropped forward.
“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he asked. “You’ll ride my hand like a good little wife?”
He brushed over my clit again, firmer now, and then—without warning—slid two fingers inside me. I nearly cried out. The full, perfect pressure of him wrecked me instantly.
“Yes,” I moaned. “Oui, mari.”Yes, husband.
“Fuck,” he swore. “When you call me that…” His voice trailed off, wrecked and reverent, as his fingers curled inside me, hitting that devastating spot that turned me inside out. My hips rolled instinctively, chasing the friction. My calves burned from standing on my tiptoes.
“Callum.”
“That’s my name, love,” he rasped, pushing his fingers slow and deep, his palm rubbing my clit with each pump. “Let go for me. Let your body lead. Don’t think. Just feel.”
I pressed my back harder against the stone, head spinning, thighs quaking. His thumb found my clit and circled in tight, devastating strokes, always knowing how to make my body sing for him.
“Make yourself come for me,” he panted. I pictured him touching himself, just out of sight, getting off from me, fucking his hand when I should be walking down the aisle to marry him. “On our wedding day. Before you ever say I do.”
I was a whimpering mess, the warm air turning humid between my legs. And then, his voice broke into a different rhythm. A different language. Scottish Gaelic.
