I start to laugh.
“See? Spank bank,” Fi repeats.
“Don’t worry about it, Bastian.” I flop back onto the bed with a tired, content sigh. “It was worth it.”
Bastian stands and pulls his shirt over his head, using it to wipe up what he can. He really is a work of art, all bunching muscles, hard lines, and flushed skin.
“You’re staring,” he grumbles.
“Yup.” I pop thePwith purpose as I say it. Fi starts to risefrom the bed, and I grab her hand and pull her against me. “Where’re you going?”
“Shouldn’t we finish unpacking the truck?” she asks innocently.
I tweak one of her nipples through her shirt. “How is it that you’re fully clothed, while we’re mostly naked and covered in bodily fluids?” I look up at Sebastian, who’s just pulling on his boxers. “Want to help me out here?”
He smirks and reaches for Fi’s legs. She squeals and tries to roll from the bed, but I grab her shoulders, pinning her arms to her side. She starts kicking and laughing hysterically as Bastian removes her boots and socks and finally pulls down her leggings.
“Fuck, that tickles!” she shrieks, wiggling in my grasp as his fingers slide up her ankles. But when he reaches the inside of her thighs, she relaxes and spreads her legs wide with a content sigh.
I lean forward and suck her neck and Bastian wastes no time pushing her panties aside and laying his mouth on her. She bucks and mewls as he laps at her pussy with far more confidence than he did that first time in the barn.
“Seb, this is gonna be quick,” Fi pants.
I loosen my grip as her body strains, pushing toward Bastian’s mouth. He brings up a finger and pushes it inside her, and she lets out a string of curses, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him even closer as her legs shake with her orgasm.
She collapses back against my chest while Sebastian continues to drop tender kisses on her thighs. He crawls up onto the bed next to us.
Fi’s breathing evens out, and she turns in my arms, watching us intently, her red hair a fiery, tangled mess.
After a minute of silence, my stomach gurgles loudly, and I blush. “So what’s for lunch?”
Sebastian rolls his eyes, his hand skimming over my barethigh. Goose bumps sheet my skin at his touch. His fingers trace up my leg, dangerously close to my flaccid cock, and then up one side of my Adonis belt and across the faint outline of my abs.
He glances up, his blue eyes normally so closed off and serious, and I see lust and confusion, something akin to wonder, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel like my body hasn’t failed me.
I spent so many months after my accident feeling trapped, unable to get a full breath, my muscles losing their hard edges as I binged on alcohol, but maybe it’s time to accept the new me. I may not be the unstoppable force that I was, but I’m still strong and capable andwanted, and maybe that’s enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SEBASTIAN
Asteady scraping noise wakes me with a start. I roll over, rub my eyes, and squint at the dim pre-dawn light. Fi is still asleep at my side, her long hair fanned out around her head.
Michaels is gone.
It’s only been a day since we got here, so I thought we were still cozied up in the loft. Disappointment tightens my chest when I take in the floral wallpaper and drab, lacy curtains.
The scraping noise continues.
I climb carefully out of the bed so as not to disturb Fi, then slip into the bathroom to piss, brush my teeth, pull on my clothes. Then I stumble out into the living room to the rich smell of coffee. Michaels must have made it before disappearing to God knows where.
I grab a cup from the cupboard and pour the steaming liquid. After I take a sip, I walk to the curtain and push it aside. The sun has finally made an appearance, and the landscape is brilliantly white. I look at the thermometer perched outside the window; it reads ten degrees, which is fucking cold forWashington. This winter is so fucked up. It’s been below freezing like this ever since we fled from Vancouver.
“No climate change, my ass,” I mutter as I continue to sip my coffee. The scraping noise picks up again. “What the heck is that?” I pull on my boots and winter clothing and walk out onto the porch. The still icy air steals the breath from my lungs.
My stomach clenches when I see Michaels a little ways out on the pond with a small snow shovel, pushing piles of white fluff toward the bank. My first thought is that the ice may not be stable, but then I remember that he probably knows more about ice than I do.
He pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side, wiping sweat from his brow. He’s breathing so heavily I can hear it from here, but he doesn’t seem to be in distress. I’m about to ask him why he’s out here at the ass crack of dawn shoveling snow from the pond when I notice his black skates near the shore.
