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For long seconds, I forget how to breathe. How to think. All I can do is feel as Sebastian slams me into first one orgasm and then another. When it’s done, when I can finally string three words together in a barely coherent thought, I know that no matter how much pleasure he just gave me, it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. He’s right. It’s been four days since he’s touched me—four days since I’ve touched him—and right now all I want is to feel him against me. Inside of me. To meld the two of us together so completely that I won’t be able to tell where he ends and I begin. It’s a terrifying thought, considering how many things are still uncertain between us, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Doesn’t make me want it—want all of him—any less.
He starts to pull away, to usher me out of the elevator. But that’s not what I want.
I slip from his grasp, ignoring the questioning look on his face as I drop to my knees in front of him. Whatever happens later, whatever he says—whatever we decide—I want this time with him. Want to make him feel as good as he’s just made me feel.
Maybe if I hadn’t talked to my sister, maybe if he hadn’t just hurtled me into two powerful orgasms without a thought to his own pleasure, maybe if it hadn’t been four days since I felt him inside of me, I would feel differently. But those things did happen and all I want is to wipe the guilty look off of his face and to give him pleasure.
“Aria, you don’t have—”
“Let me,” I plead, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. “I want to.”
He cups my face, tilts my chin up so that I can’t help but look him in the eyes. “We need to talk.”
My heart thuds in my chest. When used in that combination, those are four of the most terrifying words in the English language. And though I know he’s right—we do need to talk—I want this first. “Please.”
“Aria—”
“I need this, Sebastian. I need you.”
For long seconds, I think he’s going to refuse. It’s stupid—I know it’s stupid—to feel like he’s rejecting me when he’s gone through all this trouble just to see me, but the rejection shatters me anyway. Has my head dropping, has the breath catching in my chest, has the hope that’s bloomed inside me since the moment I looked up and saw him watching me across the casino floor slowly leaking away.
I try not to show it, try not to let him see how much he affects me, but I must not do a very good job, because suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me. “Aria, baby, I don’t want you to think your submission is all I want from you. That I’m demanding it—”
“You’re not demanding it if I’m giving it freely.” I pull back from him a little, urge him to his feet. But when he reaches to help me up as well, I shake my head. Clasp my hands behind my back. And wait for him to tell me what he wants.
I’ve never done this before. Never given myself so completely over to the care of another person—especially not a man. But he’s as shaken up by what happened the other night as I am and I don’t know any other way than this to show him that I’m okay. That I want him.
That I trust him not to hurt me.
We’ve both made mistakes in our time together, but this—making love with Sebastian—isn’t a mistake. It never could be. But after the way I freaked out last time, I need to prove it to him.
Maybe I need to prove it to myself, too. That I’m not afraid. That I’m not weak. That I’m strong enough to love Sebastian—to let him love me.
His hand is shaking when it reaches out to cup my cheek. “You don’t have to do this.”
I give him the most sultry smile I can muster—which probably isn’t much, considering how afraid I am that he’ll reject me. “You keep assuming I’m doing this for you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. I’m doing it for us.”
For long seconds, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Hell, I don’t even think he breathes. I’m about to give up—about to push to my feet and try to find another way around the mess I made the last time we were together—when he reaches for his belt.
I nearly sag in relief. Thank God. Maybe we can salvage this yet.
I expect him to rush. It’s been four days and even after two orgasms, I’m so hungry for him that I can barely stay still. But Sebastian seems intent on drawing things out—on torturing me—his fingers slow and deliberate as they unbuckle his belt. Pull the two ends apart. Slide the fine Italian leather through the belt loops.
I watch him, spellbound, my heart beating just a little faster with each belt loop he passes. Finally he’s pulled it all the way out, but instead of dropping it on the floor like I expect him to, he stretches the leather between his two hands. Tugs a few times as if testing the integrity of it.
I don’t know why, but my sex grows wet at the sight. I don’t want him to hit me with it—I’ve had enough pain at the hands of men to last me a lifetime—but something about the way the brown leather looks against his tanned and calloused hands…It gets me hot. Really, really hot.
“Stand up,” he tells me, and I do, pushing eagerly to my feet.
“Take off your clothes.”
I pause for a moment, a little uncertain at the coolness in his voice. I’ve never stripped for a man before, let alone one who sounds so dispassionate, so removed from what’s going on right in front of him. But then I look at his eyes and they’re a hot, laser-bright green and I can see he’s as aroused as I am. Can see that he’s hanging on to his own control by a thread.
Somehow that gives me the impetus I need to lift my hands to the buttons of my blouse. To slip them through the buttonholes, slowly, carefully. When they are all undone, I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms and to the floor behind me.
