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I scream then, my body hurtling straight into a second climax the moment he fills me up.
“Shit. Fuck. Damn.” Curses are falling from his lips like prayers as he pulls back and slams into me again. And again. And again. “You feel so fucking good, Aria. I fucking want to stay inside you forever.”
Yes, oh, God, yes. I can’t say the words out loud—they’re too much, too soon—but I want to. I really want to, because nothing has ever felt this good, this right. Not since I walked away fourteen months ago without a backward glance, and if I’m honest, not before then, either.
All along, Sebastian has had one hand braced against my lower back, keeping my body tilted at the perfect angle so that every slide of his cock inside me hits my G-spot. Again and again and again and again. Over and over, until my eyes are crossing and my body is trembling with the need to come one more time.
“Please,” I beg him, my hips moving restlessly against his, out of sync with his own movements as the need takes over.
Immediately his other hand comes to my hip, presses down hard enough to leave bruises but not hard enough to hurt, not really. He’s locking me in place, keeping me still so that I have no escape, no relief. No choice but to take what he’s giving me. To take and take and take until I’m overheated, oversensitive, over everything. And when he slides one long finger across my hip to my clit, I know that the damage is done. For now and maybe forever.
I’m no longer in control of my own body. Sebastian is and he wields that control like a weapon—and a shield.
It’s a gift and a curse and I want it to end even as I want it to go on forever.
“Sebastian!” I call out and it’s a high-pitched, breathy sound that is nothing like my usual voice. “Do it! Just fucking do it.”
He laughs, low and dark. But then he’s circling my clit with his finger, flicking over it once, twice.
But it’s not enough. I’m too wound up, too oversensitive, my body wigging out in twenty different directions as the ecstasy and the agony continue to build and build and build.
“Sebastian, please!” I’m fucking begging at this point and I don’t give a damn. If he doesn’t do something soon, I’m going to go crazy. I’m going to—
He pinches my clit, hard, with one hand. Clamps down hard on my nipple with the other. And I go off like the fucking Fourth of July.
Even better, Sebastian’s right there with me, groaning and arching and shuddering as he pours himself into me in long, powerful pulses that take my breath away.
It goes on forever, seconds bleeding into minutes as I keep him locked against me with my arms, my legs. Not that he seems in any hurry to move, but I’m not taking any chances. I feel fragile, wrung out, desperate, and I need these moments with him. The quiet after the storm.
I keep waiting for him to try to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rests his forehead in the crook of my neck and presses soft kisses to my jaw, my shoulder, my collarbone. Wherever he can reach as we slowly, slowly come back down.
When it’s over, when I can finally stand the idea of Sebastian letting me go, I loosen my grip. He pulls back a little, looks straight into my eyes, which I know are puffy and watery, confused and hurt. So hurt. I brace myself for the inevitable questions, for the demands to know why I’m being so weird. So clingy. So needy when just this morning I told him that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to do this with him again.
But Sebastian doesn’t say anything about my weird behavior. Just pulls out reluctantly and then steps away to dispose of the condom.
I watch him for a second, loving the sexy ebb and flow of his shoulder and back muscles as he moves. Loving even more the way he glances over his shoulder at me, like even those few seconds are too long to go without seeing me.
But I can’t stay here forever, legs spread and ass naked against his desk, no matter how much I wish I could. So gingerly I climb down, pick up my bra and dress off the floor. I slide them quickly back into place. The panties are a lost cause, so I scoop them into a ball and deposit them in Sebastian’s trash can.
Staring at them there—bright and garish and completely out of place against the pencil shavings and sheets of white paper currently residing there—totally kills whatever sex buzz is still humming through my veins. It makes me feel cheap. Out of place. Like I could never belong here in Sebastian’s world.
Which is true, right? After all, I just finished fucking the boss in his office for the second day in a row. And once again I let him do anything he wanted to me. Talk about a cliché.
The only problem is I don’t belong anywhere else, either. And of all the hats I’ve tried on in the last fourteen months, of all the people I’ve tried to be—or not to be—this is the one I like best. The one I might actually like to wear around for a while, just to see how it fits.
I don’t know if it’s that realization or if it’s the picture my panties make in his trash can or if it’s just that I’m able to think clearly for the first time since Sebastian told me to put my hands against the window last night. But whatever it is, I’m suddenly completely freaked out again. Completely terrified of what is. What was. What could be.
And once I acknowledge that emotion, all the rest of them come rushing back into me, too. Everything comes rushing back.
My sister.
My father.
Carlo.
My mother.
The choices I made fourteen months ago and the choices I continue to make today.
