Page 32 of Eternally His

“You’re wet, tesoro.” His voice was strangely slow and deep, like he was half-drunk. “So wet for me.”

He circled the hard bud, and stars burst across my vision. I bit down on his thigh to block the shameful cry of pleasure that tore from my chest. He hissed a sharp breath, and fire lashed my bottom when his punitive hand delivered two hash slaps.

I released him from my bite and let out a strangled shout as the heat of his punishment burned deep in my core, making my inner muscles flutter with need. My sex became swollen and achy, and a fresh wave of arousal soaked my panties.

He inhaled deeply, and a curse dropped from his lips just before his clever fingers found my clit again.

“Come for me, nenita,” he commanded, rubbing me in a demanding, circular rhythm.

Pleasure rocketed through my body, exploding outward from between my thighs to rush to my head. My vision went white, and my back arched on a rough cry. Mindlessly, I ground my sex into his hand, greedy for the ecstasy he was wringing from my body. He stroked me through my orgasm, his touch firming to meet my desperate motions against his thick fingers. The sparks that tingled through my bloodstream began to ache, my sex becoming too sensitive as little lightning strikes of residual bliss contracted my inner muscles.

I whimpered and eased away from his hand. He petted the length of my slit through my panties, sending one final arc of pleasure up my spine.

My mind was hazy, my brain buzzing in an afterglow as he tenderly tugged my jeans back over my stinging bottom and fastened them. I gasped for breath and forced my fingers to unfurl, releasing my desperate grip on his leg.

Mortification rolled through me, almost as hot and intense as the orgasm he’d wrung from my body.

I pushed off him, and he allowed me to stumble to my feet. I took several shaky steps away from him, my stomach souring as the awful reality of what’d just happened settled over me. My husband had punished me, and I’d practically humped his hand in my desperation to come.

I didn’t understand how this could happen. When Rafael had dragged me home, I’d feared the pain of Sebastián’s fists. Instead, I’d been subjected to ruthless pleasure after being disciplined with his belt.

“Isabel…” He rasped my name, but I took another step back, shaking my head.

The tears that blurred my vision mercifully blinded me, so I didn’t have to look into his dark eyes. I wouldn’t have to see how easily he stripped me bare and peered into my soul.

He grunted, then stood. For a moment, he didn’t move, and I thought he might say something else.

But after several aching heartbeats, he brushed past me, stomping out of my room. The door shut between us, and my knees gave out. I sank to the floor and buried my face in my hands, capturing my shameful sobs in my palms.

I hated my body for reacting to him in this strange way. I hated myself for harboring a stupid crush on him that’d clearly warped my mind. I hated him for doing this to me.

I hated him so intensely that my heart burned with the searing heat of my loathing.

CHAPTER 13

SEBASTIÁN

I’d been careful not to look into her eyes. I’d made sure to hold her down over my lap for her punishment, so I wouldn’t fall prey to their hauntingly familiar, caramel hue.

But then I’d released her, and she’d pierced me with her flashing golden gaze. She hated me. I’d seen it in the taut lines of her delicate face and the clench of her small fists.

And I was still hard for her.

Fuck!

I raked a hand through my hair and stormed away from her bedroom, desperate to put distance between us. Her body had responded to my hands on her, despite the fact that neither of us wanted that. Just like that day in the ballroom, her arousal had fucked with my head. I couldn’t seem to help caressing her, not when she was wet and whimpering while she rubbed herself against me.

Any man would’ve wanted her. Any man would’ve gotten turned on. He’d have to be a fucking saint not to.

And I was no saint.

When I fucked a woman, I was always the one in control. I did the touching, not the other way around. Restraining Isabel had triggered my arousal; it was as simple as that.

Still, I hated the loss of control. I hadn’t intended to make her come.

Even worse, I’d liked the feel of her squirming against my hand, the sound of her ecstatic cries as I’d forced an orgasm from her untried body.

Virgin. My bride was untouched and not only by me. She’d admitted it to me on our wedding night, when she’d feared that I would force myself on her.

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