“That’s definitely it. Thanks for joining.”
“Happy to help, Monroe. If you ever want to do it—or anything else—again, I’m game.” I scoot back and stand, stretching my legs. The implication hangs there, the proposition I tossed her way last night after I had a couple beers with Cooper and Nate. I was on the edge of tipsy and thinking about her.I’d make it really fucking good for you.“Boredom. Being lonely. You already spend your nights thinking about me. At least this way it could be fun.”
“Every part of me wants to kick you out.” Quincy pulls on the hem of her shorts. I don’t know if I want her to keep them on or rip them off. “But then I think about what you said in your text and …”
“And?”
“I don’t have a lot of time for dating, and the time I do have always ends up with men who don’t appreciate me. I’m not saying I need to be worshipped but … I don’t know. It would be nice to be appreciated. And I felt appreciated that night we were together.”
“You’re not wrong about many things, Quincy, but you’re wrong about that.” I put my hand on the back of her chair, tilting it back so our eyes meet. “You deserve to be worshipped. Thoroughly. Repeatedly. In all the ways that you want.”
“Well.” Her throat bobs around a swallow. I can’t stop staringat her mouth, the memory of her lips wrapped around me coming back in bursts. “You’re still in town. I’m here. Since we hooked up, not a single tropical system has developed into something more serious, which is good news for everyone. Maybe we could—” She blushes. Tries to dip her head, but I wrap my fingers around her chin so she has to look at me. “Do it again.”
“It’s cute how you justify wanting me,” I murmur. “I get you off and we prevent natural disasters? I like that logic, and it sounds like we should be doing this every day. For the greater good of humanity, of course. Not because you liked it.”
“Of course.” Her voice is an echo, reluctant to admit. “Were you serious about that being something you were interested in?”
“What do you want to hear, Quincy? That I want to fuck you?” I bend my neck so our mouths are inches apart. “That I daydream about being back in your bed and wondering how tight you’d be when I sank into you? That I’ve missed hearing you talk about the things you love? That I haven’tstoppedthinking about you for a goddamn second?” I touch her shoulder, fingers tracing down her arm. Her breath catches, back arching. “It’s all true, and I bet you’ve been thinking about me too.”
Agreeing to sleep with Sebastian again wasn’t part of the plan, but I’ve been distracted since he walked into my house.
I could barely focus during our broadcast, too busy watching the way he talked with his hands. Too busy listening to his laugh, a rumbly, steely sound. Too busy noticing how he didn’t interrupt me, how he nodded along to the stories I told, patiently waiting his turn and letting me steer the conversation.
Appreciated.
Sebastian Dunn appreciates me, and I’m giddy because of it.
He’s shown me what he wants, and I’m careful when I put a palm on his cheek. He turns his head, desperate for my touch. His whole body seems to relax when he nuzzles into my hold. The stubble on his jaw is a rough scrape against my palm, and I’d like to feel the scratch of it against the inside of my thigh. Across my stomach too.
“Truth or Dare, Sebastian?” I ask.
“Dare,” he answers, no hesitation.
“I dare you to stay,” I whisper back. “I dare you to kiss me. I dare you to spread me out on my bed and make me come. I dare you to fuck me, because you’re right. I’ve been thinking about you, too, no matter how hard I try to get you out of my head. And I’d like to see if what I’m imagining is as good as the real thing.”
“As good as the real thing,” Sebastian repeats. He lowers himself to the ground, down on his knees with a hand on either one of my thighs. “I can promise you the real thing is much better than whatever you’re dreaming about.”
“Prove it,” I say, and his smile is a wicked, devastating thing.
There’s a moment when he’s not kissing me, then suddenly he is, and my entire world flips upside down. His hands roam to my waist. They slip under my shirt, searching for bare skin. Teeth nip at my bottom lip, sharp enough to make it swell, and he tastes like sugar. Sweet and addictive when he helps me to my feet.
“Not enough room.” His words are a growl, insistent as he guides me to the couch. “I need you so fucking bad.”
The late-morning sun warms the room, sunlight stretching over the floor. Sebastian keeps his mouth on mine, frenziness behind the swipe of his tongue. Urgency in the twist of his fingers in the fabric of my shorts. He walks me backward until my thighs hit the cushions and I tumble onto the furniture.
I throw a decorative pillow out of the way. I adjust my position, back against the arm of the sofa, head propped up and knees open with space for him, but he’s not moving. He’s standing, watching me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He blinks, pulled out of a daze, and runs a hand through his hair. “Rules.”
“Rules? Aren’t the logistics pretty easy to understand?”
“I want to make sure we’re on the same page.” Sebastian steps forward, a hand on my jaw. It’s embarrassing how I almost melt when he rubs his thumb along the line of my cheek. The needy whine that escapes, starved for his touch. “We need to communicate with each other. If there’s something we don’t like, we share it.”
“We keep this between us,” I add, understanding. “No friends. No outside parties.”
“Speaking of outside parties, when I’m fucking you, I don’t want you fucking anyone else.” His eyes rake down my body. They linger on the spot where my shirt rides up my stomach. Zero in on the tops of my thighs. “Just me.”
