“Don’t think, sweetheart,” B purrs at Seb, and my heart melts into a puddle. He scoots closer to Seb and runs his thumb along the column of his neck, and I notice his cock hardening in his boxers. Seb shifts his position and swallows. Then he reaches down and adjusts himself with a quiet moan.
Brantley’s eyes snap up to meet mine, and we stand at the same time, our lust-driven thoughts in sync.
I pull on Seb’s hand.
“What—” he starts, but I yank him toward the trail to the barn.
Sebastian doesn’t fight me as I lead him behind me. I think he knows what we’re up to. He’s close enough that I can feel his hot pants against my neck as we enter the snowy clearing, B running in front of us in white socks, boxers, and his leather jacket. I can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of me.
There’s just enough light reflecting off the snow from the Vancouver skyline to the north to make out the dark, hulking shape of the barn. The quiet forest feels like it’s closing in around us, giving the three of us a moment to ourselves as we push our way into the barn.
Brantley stamps his feet on the floor. “Fuck! My feet are so cold. Fi, please. I saw a heater in the corner by those bags of feed.” He points with his head urgently.
I drop Seb’s hand and walk in that direction, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I find the ancient heater still plugged into the wall.
“Pretty sure this thing is a fire hazard,” I say when I turn it on and watch as the coils flare to life, turning quickly from black to iridescent orange.
B pulls off his socks, squats in front of the contraption, andrubs his hands together to soak in the warmth. “Let’s just keep it away from the wall. And all those flammable bales of hay.”
“Sure,” I snicker. It’s warm enough in the barn that I shrug out of my coat, hanging it on a nail on the wall.
I turn back to Sebastian, who’s standing awkwardly in front of the closed barn door, his expression conflicted. I approach him slowly, and his eyes track my movements. When I’m so close our noses are practically touching, I reach out and unzip his jacket, which falls to the floor when I push it off his shoulders.
I cup his face, his stubble scraping the pads of my fingertips. “Is this okay?” I ask against his lips. I remember the fear in his eyes after our almost-kiss, and now that I know about his inexperience, I understand a little better. But there’s no fear now, just curiosity and determined set to his jaw, like he’s about to push his boundaries.
He gives me a small nod, closing his eyes when our lips meet. I kiss him tenderly, ramping up the intensity slowly so that I don’t overwhelm him. When I taste salt mixed with bourbon on my lips, I pull back. There’s a hint of panic in his expression now, and his lashes cling together wetly.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
I use my thumbs to brush away the tears tracking down his cheeks. “I’ve got you, baby,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SEBASTIAN
Fiona’s gentle fingers ease some of the tightness in my chest, even as my mind spins with all my failed attempts at intimacy.
I’ve got you.
Part of my problem was always a connection—I just can’t feel sexual attraction without one. But whathedid to methatnight is always there too, scratching the surface of my consciousness with its clawed fingernails.
I’ve tried so hard to be “normal.” I’ve tried so many times. Eyes of every color. Long hair, short hair, curly hair. Thick thighs. Breasts large and small. The smell of their skin—vanilla, coconut, strawberries. But my erection was just a biological response to soft hands and warm, wet mouths. Inside, I was an empty husk. And it always felt wrong, like I was being violated. Like I was allowing something to happen against my will. I never came with any of them. I’ve only ever come in my own fist.
I look over Fiona’s shoulder. Michaels is sitting in front of the heater, his legs spread wide, and his eyes are straight fire. The intensity in his gaze makes me feel vulnerable, but it alsosends a pleasurable rush to my balls that only heightens my confusion. Since high school, I knew I was different. While my friends were bragging about blow jobs in the school parking lot, I struggled to understand what the big deal was.
But these two key me up like no one ever has. Yet it’s more than lust—this strong emotional connection pulls me dangerously close to them.
I try to relax as Fi leans in, using her weight to push us against the barn door, and she runs her tongue along my lips. When I open for her, Fi moans into my mouth, and I swallow it, my teeth nipping at her bottom lip and my cock hardening against her thigh.
“Touch him,” Michaels says breathily.
My eyes fall to his hand, which is pulling languidly on his cock through the thin material of his boxers while he watches us with hooded eyes.
Why is that so hot?
Fi reaches for me, her hands pulling at my pants, and before I know it, her chilled fingers are wrapped around my bare cock.
“Fuck, Fi.” I make a noise in the back of my throat, my head falling to her neck, breathing in her floral scent.
