Page 109 of Hate To Be Mine

“What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Hard to tell.”

She tilted her head up, and even in the darkness, I could see her eyes. They were huge and dark and looking at me like I was something more than just a fuckup model who’d gotten lucky with good genes and a famous last name.

“We should check the weather,” she said.

“Probably.”

Neither of us moved.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah, Bernadette?”

Nothing. But I didn’t need the words.

I kissed her. If she slapped me away, so be it.

But she didn’t slap me. She kissed me back and the next thing I knew she was straddling me. My hands immediately went up her shirt, sliding over hot, silky skin. Oh shit. She wasn’t wearing a bra. My hands massaged her breast, tweaking her nipples with my thumb and forefinger while she moaned into my mouth.

She broke the kiss. Her eyes locked on mine as she slid down my body. My heart hammered against my ribs as she settled between my legs, her hands already working at the waistband of my joggers.

“Bernadette,” I whispered, but whatever half-formed thought I’d had evaporated when she freed me from the confines of the fabric.

“Shh,” she whispered. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

And then her mouth was on me.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

My head fell back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure shot through every nerve ending. Her tongue traced along my length, teasing, exploring, like she had all the time in the world to learn exactly what made me lose my mind.

And she was succeeding.

“Jesus,” I breathed, my hands fisting in the couch cushions because I didn’t trust myself to touch her. Not yet. If I did, I’d lose what little control I had left.

She took me deeper. I could feel the back of her throat with the tip of my cock. I couldn’t stop the groan that tore from me. I could hear the wind outside and the occasional clap of thunder, but all I could focus on was the wet heat of her mouth wrapped around my hard length. Her tongue swirled and flicked. She made the most erotic noises that vibrated right through me.

My hand found its way into her hair. She looked up at me through her lashes. Those eyes. God, those eyes were going to be the death of me. They were dark and hungry and so fucking beautiful it hurt.

“Bernadette,” I managed, my voice rough. “You’re killing me.”

She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath hot against my skin. “Good.”

Then she took me deeper than before, and I was done. Completely, utterly done. My fingers tightened in her hair—not pulling, just holding on for dear life as she worked me with a skill and enthusiasm that made my vision blur.

She wasn’t tentative or shy about it. She was confident. She wasn’t racing for the finish line. My woman was taking her time to figure out exactly what made my breath catch and my hips jerk. When she found a spot just beneath the head where her tongue could do devastating things, she focused there until I was practically shaking.

“Fuck, Bee,” I gasped. “I’m not—I can’t.”

She didn’t stop. If anything, she doubled down, one hand wrapping around the base while her mouth worked magic on the rest of me. The combination was too much, too good, and I felt the warning tingle at the base of my spine.

“Bernadette, I’m gonna⁠—”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her lips swollen and wet, and said, “I know.”

Then she took me back in her mouth and I was gone. The orgasm hit me like a freight train, pleasure so intense it bordered on painful as I came apart completely. She stayed with me through all of it.