“You say that like I have a line of guys ready to hop in bed with me.” I gesture around my office, his possessiveness making my nipples hard. “It’s pretty sparse.”
“Keep it that way.” He bends down, his right hand on the back of the couch. “I’ve been tested since the last time I was with a woman. Negative on all accounts.”
“Same here.” I don’t let myself consider when the last time for him might’ve been or who is waiting for him back in New York. The thought makes my stomach roll, and I don’t like it. “No feelings. No emotions. This is … fun. An end-of-the-summer fling.”
“Casual friends with benefits who also talk about the weather.” His smile hitches. “Can’t beat that.”
“Anything else?”
“Take off your shirt,” he rasps. “Please,” he adds, gentler at the edges. “So I can see you.”
Pure, unadulterated lust ripples through me. I grab the hem of my tank top, dragging it up my stomach in a slow and purposeful glide. Sebastian’s throat bobs when I reach my chest, the cool air biting at my skin. His eyes grow wide when I bring it over my head, my hair catching in the strap, and then he’s there. Pulling out my hair tie. Letting the long strands cascade over my shoulders. Kissing my neck, my throat, and I almost gasp.
“What else do you want?” I ask.
“Anything. Everything.” Sebastian climbs onto the couch, chest hovering above mine. His hand strokes up my leg, a soft push against my thighs to open them wider. I move to accommodate him, my ankles around his waist. “But first I’m going to make you come.”
There’s no use in arguing with that.
His fingers toy with the strap of my bra, at war with himself. I see the decisions flashing across his face, the deliberation to leave it on or take it off. I raise my arms above my head, my breasts lifting with the motion, and his soft groan is fractured.
“Touch me, Sebastian,” I breathe out. Each word is more difficult to say than the last when he yanks the cup of my bra down and takes me in his mouth. “Fuck.”
“Like this?” he murmurs against my breast. His hand skates up my body, skimming over my skin until he finds my nipple and twists it with his thumb and forefinger. A whine spills out of me, the jolt of pain subsiding to blissful, aching relief. “Yeah,” he says, proud of himself. “Just like that.”
I’m panting already, worked up in a way I’ve never been before. Every minute we sat next to each other during the show felt like foreplay, and I’m glad when there’s no fumbling, no hesitation. He knows exactly what to do, cockiness in every searing touch. It’s impossible not to squirm beneath him, pent-up energy and longing pulsing in my blood. My skin is hot, and it seems like ending up back here with him was a cataclysmic certainty we could never fight.
Sex has always been fine, but no one’s taken their time. No one’s asked what I liked or what feels good, but Sebastian does. I’m wet with anticipation of the way he’s going to thoroughly wreck me, damage I don’t want to try to repair.
“This next.” Sebastian reaches behind me, twisting the clasp of my bra until it pops open, my breasts free. He sits up on his knees, towering over me with his wide frame. My feet fall to the cushions, and he shoves my legs open again before cupping my chest with both hands. “Could I make you come like this?”
“I don’t know.” My eyes close, desire a fuse and his touch the lighter when he twists both nipples, harder this time. “Maybe? Yes? I’m not sure.”
“Too inconclusive. We should test the theory.” He rocks his hips forward, the head of his cock pressing into the seam of my shorts. I gasp at how hard he is, cursing the fabric between us. A hiss whooshes out of me when his fingers tighten on my chest,holding me in place. When he bends, his teeth replacing his hands, and leaving bite marks on my sensitive skin. “I bet you can, Quinny baby. And I’d like to watch when you do.”
It’s intimate, borderline arrogant. Perfectly him, and for as much as I’ve liked being the one with the upper hand in all the years I’ve known him, there’s something gratifying in giving him the power. It’s a moment where I don’t have to be in control, the one who works harder than everyone else. I can be a woman who craves pleasure, safe in a space where I can let go without performing, and the recognition exhilarates me.
I don’t know who I am when I roll my hips, moving in time with his. Grinding against him,using him, the hard length of his shaft spurring me on like we’re reckless teenagers doing this for the first time.
He likes this too.
“That’s good, Quincy,” he whispers, heat behind the praise. Ecstasy in his low groan. I squirm again, clawing for something within reach. For something I deserve. “Take what you need.”
I want and need so many things, but I take the first thing I can find: an orgasm by way of his fingers plucking at my nipples and him rutting against me. I’m mindless when his hands turn rougher and explore other parts of my body. There’s pressure at my neck. Pinching the skin at my hip. My vision goes black when he lines up and hits the perfect spot between my legs, fading out entirely when he gives my clit a light tap over my clothes, and I split into a million pieces. Again and again I’m hit by waves of euphoria, my body shuddering with satisfaction until Sebastian kisses me with hot, heavy insistence behind his mouth.
“Just getting started,” he practically slurs. We should’ve picked a different place to do this. We barely fit on the couch, his shin hanging over the edge of the cushions and my right leg dangling without a place to land, but there’s no time to care about the details.Sebastian’s fingers are at the button on my shorts, unfastening it and moving to the zipper next. “Taste. Want to taste you.”
His caveman, lizard brain is something we share. My limbs are heavy, my reaction time slow. It’s taking me a minute to catch up, like I’m drunk, light and floating.
“Should I take them off?” I toy with the zipper, the question sounding silly when we both know what’s going to happen next.
“Yeah.” A nod. A palm running over the front of his shorts to adjust himself and the vein in his neck straining. “Please. I’d like that.”
I’d like it, too, and it takes teamwork to shimmy my bottoms off. Lifted hips. A knee landing in his stomach and our matching laughter that follows.
“You did that on purpose,” he says.
“I swear I didn’t.”
