In answer, I press my thigh between her legs. Her head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, exposing the long line of her throat that I immediately attack with teeth and tongue, sucking hard enough to mark her, to leave evidence of this moment that she'll feel tomorrow when she's sitting in meetings, trying to focus on anything but the memory of my mouth on her skin.
"Ride it," I command, voice a low growl against the curve of her shoulder. "Show me how much you want me."
She obeys without hesitation, hips rolling against my thigh in a rhythm that makes my own control fray at the edges. I can feel the heat of her through both layers of denim, can imagine how wet she must be, how ready for me. The thought nearly buckles my knees.
"Good girl," I praise, returning my attention to her breasts, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks that have her movements growing more frantic, more desperate. "That's it. Take what you need."
Her nails dig into my scalp, little points of pain that ground me, that keep me from simply ripping her jeans off and taking her right here against the wall. As tempting as that is—and fuck, is it tempting—I want to savor this first time. Want to take her apart piece by piece until she's sobbing my name, until she forgets every man who came before me, until she understands exactly what she's been missing.
"More," she demands, voice breathless. "I need more, Sebastian, please."
I press my thigh harder against her. "You'll get more," I promise. "But not until you give me your first one just like this."
Her movements become more desperate, grinding against me with increasing urgency.
My mouth finds her nipple again, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak while my hands grip her hips, guiding her rhythm.
"That's it," I murmur against her skin. "Let me watch you fall apart. Show me how good it feels to rub that pretty pussy against me."
A low moan fills the air.
"You're soaked, aren't you?" I murmur, teeth grazing her nipple.
She whimpers, a broken sound that goes straight to my cock.
"Tell me," I demand. "Tell me how wet you are for me."
"So wet," she gasps, the words torn from her throat. "I'm so fucking wet for you."
The admission breaks something loose in my chest, a possessive satisfaction that she's this responsive, this honest about what I do to her. I reward her honesty by pressing my thigh more firmly against her, angling it so the seam of her jeans hits exactly where she needs it.
"Now come for me. Show me how beautiful you look when you fall apart."
Her breathing turns ragged, desperate little pants that tell me she's close. So fucking close. I can see it in the flush spreading across her chest, in the way her eyes lose focus, in the increasing urgency of her movements against my thigh.
Then she shatters with a cry that's half my name, half incoherent pleasure. Her body goes rigid against mine as waves of her orgasm crash through her. I hold her steady while she rides it out, whispering praise against her temple.
When the tremors finally subside, she slumps against the wall, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes areglazed, unfocused, and there's a satisfied flush painting her skin that makes her look absolutely fucking beautiful.
"Holy shit," she breathes. "That was—"
"Just the beginning," I promise, already reaching for the buttons of my shirt. "I’m nowhere near done with you."
Chapter 28
Mia
My legs are still trembling, my body humming with aftershocks as Sebastian watches me with those dark, hungry eyes. Before I can gather my scattered thoughts, he bends down and sweeps me into his arms in one fluid motion, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. The sudden shift makes my head spin or maybe that's just the lingering effects of the orgasm that's left me boneless and pliant in his embrace.
"I'm taking you to bed," he murmurs against my hair, his voice a low rumble I feel through his chest. "Properly."
I loop my arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him.
"I can walk, you know," I say, though my protest lacks any real conviction.
His arms tighten around me. "I know you can." There's a possessive edge to his voice that sends a fresh shiver through me. "I don't want you to."
We pass through a doorway into what must be his bedroom, though in the dim light filtering through the windows, I can only make out vague shapes—a large bed, sleek furniture, moreglass and steel that echoes the minimalist design of the rest of the apartment. Unlike my chaotic, plant-filled space, everything here is precise and controlled, just like the man who owns it.
