Sebastian moves his palm to my stomach, rubbing along the underside of my breast. It’s impossible not to smile at his pink cheeks. At his rumpled hair, perfectly disheveled. A piece sticks up by his ear, and I want to tuck it away.
“You’re so beautiful,” he croaks, sounding as if it’s the most tortured thing he’s ever said.
Heat moves up my spine when his gaze cuts to my chest. The compliment is unfamiliar, and I don’t know where to put it. Close to my heart? Buried behind my ribs? Should I throw it away, because keeping it goes against the rules we put in place?
“You’re just saying that so I’ll get you off.”
“No.” Sebastian cups my cheek. My underwear is still wrapped around his wrist, a prize he’s glad he won. I can smell myself on him. I can see the gleam of what looks like adoration in his eyes, but it must be the trick of the light. Something I’m imagining in my post-orgasm fog. “I could not get any action tonight, and I’d fall asleep happy.”
“Really?” I arch an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”
“I’ve used my hand many times throughout my life. The most recent was two nights ago, actually.”
“Two nights ago?” The image of him on his bed, palm wrapped around his length while he stroked up and down with the pace he likes floods my mind. The vision is filthy, depraved, but I wish I could’ve been there to watch. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He hooks his fingers under my chin. “Want to know what I thought about before I came?”
“Tornadoes?” I whisper, and his laugh is booming.
“Close. I thought about you, Quincy, and not even anything sexual about you. I fucked my fist to the idea of you talking about clouds. To the little lines you get around your eyes when something makes you happy.” This laugh is softer, as if he can’t believe he revealed his biggest secret to me. “We could sit here and look at the NHC’s marine forecasts. Or I could pull up some old chasing videos I filmed back in college so we can argue over which way the funnel cloud is rotating. I could eat you out again.” There’s a long pause, his gaze returning to mine. “Or I could leave.”
“No.”
“No?” His mouth twitches in the corner, the makings of a smirk. “Can you be more specific?”
“I don’t want you to leave. I told you I wanted you to stay.”
“Anything else you want me to do?”
“Get on your back. Please,” I add as an afterthought. “So I can really see you.”
He moves slowly, everything unhurried. He positions himself on the mattress, knee propped up and arms starfished across the bed. “Like this?”
“Just like that.”
I take my time looking at him because there’s so much to see: a tiny scratch on his abdomen. Hair in a neat line leading down his stomach. A deep breath, and I look at his cock sitting thick and hard between his legs.
I flush at how big he is. My body temperature rises while I appreciate his long shaft and the pre-cum glistening on the head. The vein that runs up the side and the familiar way he curls his hand around himself and gives a tug, the underwear of mine he’s keeping bobbing up and down with the movements of his wrist.
“This is just from getting you off. You don’t need to touch me and I’m hard,” he rasps, and a current pulses through me. His freehand moves to my waist, but he stops. Props himself up on an elbow. “Holy shit. Your secret tattoo.”
“Oh.” I glance at the small design etched above my hip bone and laugh. “You didn’t notice it earlier?”
“I was too busy noticing other things, but I’m here now. Iknewyou had one. And it … raindrops. Of course.”
“For my show. Cheesy, but … I don’t know. It’s a reminder of how hard I’ve worked to get to where I am today. I’m proud of myself, and I wanted something to commemorate that.”
“I like it.” He traces the outline of each one, five in total. “It’s simple. Sexy. A surprise if someone is lucky enough to get you out of your clothes. A special treat for the people who really know you.”
I don’t know how many people really know me. Not many, and even fewer like this, but Sebastian does now.
“That’s exactly what I was going for.”
“Hmm.” He outlines the markings again. “I wanted you before I saw it, but now I want you even more.”
“Rain turns you on?”
“No, Quincy.” Voice as rough as gravel, he takes my hand and brings it to his length. He wraps my fingers around his shaft, guiding me, and I stroke him once. Again, when he lifts his hips and squeezes his eyes shut, lips parting with an exhale. “You turn me on. You have to know what you do to me. What you’vebeendoing to me for years.”
