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“I’m serious. Around you, I don’t feel judged, I don’t feel like you’re about to critique my outfit or tell me I’m being too brash or too crude. I don’t feel like you’re waiting to pick me apart.”
“That’s because I’m not. I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you. Not even a single eyelash.” He shakes his head. “You’re fucking perfect.”
I know it’s not smart to mistake attraction for actual feeling, but Sebastian is everything I need right now.
I loop my arms around his neck and drag his head down to mine; kissing him because I don’t have the words to tell him how grateful I am that he’s here right now. It’s like I can only communicate with my body. Like the words themselves are too terrifyingly real.
I touch my mouth to his, coaxing his lips open and pressing him back against the front door. I’m ravenous. A woman starved. When he meets me halfway, opening up to my kiss and letting out the softest, most thrilling little groan, I’m done. Ruined.
Claimed.
His tongue meets mine and I line my body against his—hips to hips, thighs to thighs. My breasts press against him and I rub against the growing erection in his jeans. I’m wanton and wanting and desperate. Needy. His hands reach behind me and cup my ass, jamming me harder against him.
Our kiss has everything, tongue and teeth and a little bite that gets me so hot I’m already soaking through my underwear. That night at the burlesque show was wicked and forbidden, but now I want more. I want to see him this time. Taste him and experience everything Sebastian Foster has to offer.
I sink to my knees, watching his eyes flare with darkness as I kneel in front of him. The outline of his cock is visible through the soft, blue denim and he’s every bit as endowed as I remember. I tug his zip down and he threads his fingers through my hair, watching me.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” I tell him as I slide a hand into his boxer shorts and release him to the air. He’s hard, pulsing. A clear, pearly bead of precum clings to the tip of him and I swipe my tongue across it. “I want you to watch me fucking you with my mouth.”
“Bloody hell, Presley.” His eyes are like craters, endless and dark. His hand tightens on my hair as I open my mouth, sticking out my tongue to make sure he gets a full show.
When I slide him between my open lips, he moans. It’s mostly for the visual at this stage, but I want to take every one of his senses and light them on fire. I want him to remember this forever, because I’ll rememberhimforever.
Foreveris not a word you should be using right now...or ever again.
I quieten my mind by focusing on the physical—on the salty, earthy taste of his cock on my tongue. On the tickling brush of hair under my palm as I brace myself against his thigh. On the way his hips flex as he thrusts into my mouth, not content to be a passive bystander in this carnal act.
“Your mouth feels so good.” His eyes are still on me, as I’ve demanded. There’s something about watching him watching me that gets me wet between my thighs. Previously my sexual experience has been of the lights-off, covers-up variety. Not bad, but not exactly mind-blowing, either.
Nothing raunchy, nothing dirty. Just good old-fashioned basic sex.
This feels anything but basic. Just knowing that everyone in my life would be appalled that I was sleeping with Sebastian makes it hotter. Naughtier. I suck harder, eliciting a gasp from him that rockets through my body. I can’t help touching myself and I stick one hand between my legs, rubbing at myself. The friction is good and bad, making me even more desperate for release.
“Fuck, Presley, are you...?” He leans forward a little. “Oh my God.”
I slowly ease him out of my mouth. “You’re not the only one with needs, buddy.”
The way he smiles at me is so sinfully wicked that I’m pretty sure my undies just spontaneously lit themselves on fire. “I want to hear more about these needs.”
He yanks me to my feet. The action is a little rough, but his eyes are on me all the time—assessing, checking. I like that he can find the line between hard and soft and walk it with ease. I’m suddenly aware that I’m dressed like a slob, hair in a messy bun and baggy pyjama bottoms almost falling off my hips. My university hoodie swims on me and I’m hot, hot, hot.
I strip it over my head. Underneath I’m wearing a singlet top and no bra and Sebastian all but licks his lips when I start wriggling my pants down. “I have needs of the sexual variety,” I inform him.
Smooth, Presley. Like a human nail file.
“I’d like a little more detail than that.” He shucks his jacket and keeps going, matching me clothing item for clothing item. Jumper, jeans, underwear.
I wrap my hand around his wrist and pull him toward the couch. “I...”
I’m shy all of a sudden. Knowing he can see my face, and my body—which I’ve never disliked, but isn’t exactly a curvaceous wonderland—makes my confidence falter.
We hit the couch and he pushes me down, taking charge and dragging me beneath him in a way that’s so primal and commanding my body all but sings. His mouth lands on my breast, teasing my nipple until it’s so hard it aches. His hands widen my thighs, smoothing up and down in maddening motions, getting so close to where I want him...and then edging away as if to wind me up.
It totally works. I’m writhing beneath him, fueled on instinct and lust and the desire to feel safe and cherished in his arms. To connect.
God, what if Drew walked back in and found me like this—spread-eagled beneath a virtual stranger? I tense for a minute, questioning everything. Me. Him. Sex. My own desires.
But Sebastian eases the tension out of my muscles by kissing the inside of my thigh. Sensation blanks my worries as if he’s splashed my mind with white paint. And, really, even though I have only known him a few days, he’s shown me compassion, care, and trust. He doesn’tfeellike a stranger. In fact, he feels like he could be something a whole lot more...
