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“When are you going to Paris, then?” he asks.
“I booked a flight this morning. In three weeks to the day at 8 p.m. I will be boarding a plane. Can you tell I’m counting down the hours already?” I squeal. “It’s a little pricy given the short notice, and I had to rearrange all the leave I had booked for the honeymoon, but my boss is cool. So I’ll head back into the office on Monday and work until I’m due to fly out.”
I can barely contain my excitement—I’ve wanted this since I was a little girl. I’m going to spend twowholedays in the Louvre. Minimum. Then I’m going to eat my body weight in pastries.
“Your face absolutely lit up then.” Sebastian brushes a stray strand from my cheek. “I want you to send me a ton of pictures, okay? Promise?”
“I promise.” I croak the words out, feeling choked up and confused and then...oh... “Damn you.”
I have to grit the words out because the vibrations have started again. Sebastian is close to me, arm around my shoulders like we’re any other couple enjoying a romantic moment. But this isn’t romantic. It’s dirty and sexy and oh so perfect.
“Tell me how it feels,” he whispers in my ear.
I can barely speak. I’m feeling too many things now—overwhelming need, desperate wanting, the aching sense that I’m going to remember this forever. Then the vibrations intensify, and it blanks my mind. Behind my sunglasses, my eyes squeeze shut.
“Presley—” his lips brush my ear “—tell me.”
“So good,” I pant. “Oh... I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
His chuckle is low and raspy and it sends a shiver through me. “I can. You’re a firecracker.”
I was never that woman, that risk-taker. But I feel like I can be now. I can put myself out into the world and be independent and chase things formydesires andmydreams. I can believe I deserve to have everything in life.
The vibrations go up a notch and this time my eyes fly open. Through the lenses of my sunglasses, the world is warm and sepia-toned, and people walk past us, oblivious. But if any one of them decided to look closer...
I squeeze my legs together and one hand bites into Sebastian’s thigh. The pleasure is bright and blinding. I remember the way he looked at me when I opened the door last night. I remember the feel of his arms as he pulled me to him. I remember the weight of his body pressing mine into the couch, the feel of him moving inside me. How hard he was. How deep. The way he touched me, confident and sure of his abilities.
The feel of his lips and his tongue between my legs. I remember dancing for him, pulling him into that darkened office. I remember the feel of him lying next to me last night, the way it made me happy and whole. The feel of shower tiles cold and wet against my palms as he fucked me from behind, fingers biting into my hips, lips at the back of my neck. Teeth and nails and flesh.
“Sebastian,” I gasp. I’m so close, my head so full of him. “I wish you were touching me.”
“Fuck, Pres. Me, too.” He turns my face toward him and he kisses me. I vaguely hear someone hollering in the background, laughing and telling us to get a room. But I don’t care.
My fantasy was to have a man make me come in public, but now I don’t even notice anyone else. It’s only him and his lips on mine. It’s not the thrill of the crowd or the chance of being caught that has my sex flooding, it’s him.
I shatter, my body pulsing in waves as the little butterfly continues to vibrate. My underwear is damp with my need and release washes through my veins, bathing me in a hazy pink glow. But he doesn’t stop the device—instead he kisses me while it continues to push my boundaries, pushing me past the end of one orgasm into more sensation. More colour.
“Seb, please,” I gasp. “Oh God.”
I shatter again. This time it’s even sharper, more brilliant. The muscles in my sex clench, desperate to be filled. To have him inside me. I ache everywhere. That’s never happened before, wave after wave. If we weren’t in the middle of a public area, I’d push him straight to the ground and climb on top of him.
I’m ruined now. Because nothing else will ever be this good.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sebastian
I’MCONVINCEDI’VEdied and gone to heaven, because there’s no way that Presley Richardson is real.
I slide my hand into my pocket and turn the device off. “Wow.”
“Oh God.” She presses a hand to my cheek. Even with the oversize sunglasses, I can see her face is flushed pink. “Was I loud? Did people notice?”
“I could feel it, how bad you were shaking.” I kiss the end of her nose. “But no, I don’t think we’ve violated any public decency laws.”
She laughs. “You’re a walking public decency violation.”
“Oh yeah.” I lean back, pulling her with me so her back lines my front. Her head rests against my chest, white-blond hair fanned out all over my T-shirt, and I rest my chin on her head, loving the way she always smells sweet, like fruit. “How so?”
