“I could watch you come for the rest of my life, princess.” His exhales shudder against the damp hair on my nape. Sweat and need drench us both, but we’re just getting started. Intimacy with Sebastian is nothing short of awe-inspiring—a promising realm of existence a singular experience won’t satisfy alone.
Passion with him will be a lifelong mission.
He shifts his weight and rolls me to my back before standing on his knees. “You don’t know how bad I’m aching for you right now.” He adjusts himself in his jeans, and my attention stalls on the huge ridge behind his zipper.
“You put my orgasms on lockdown last month,” I point out, raising an incredulous brow. “Between that and the doctor’s voodoo sex potion, I might have an idea.”
He grins. “Voodoo sex potion?”
“It’s a more accurate name than arousing elixir.”
Showing off just how aroused he is, he tilts his hips, flaunting his erection. Thirty long seconds pass as our eyes lock. I know what he wants—what he’s too proud and stubborn to ask for. And maybe if I weren’t so worked up myself, my climax barely taking the edge off, I could draw it out long enough to make him crack.
But my craving for the taste of him, for the power his desire gives me, prompts me into motion. He doesn’t object as I unzip his jeans. Lowering into a crouching position, I prop myself on hands and knees and slide my mouth over the head of his cock.
He only gives me five seconds before desperation drives him. Both hands gripping my head, he thrusts between my lips with purpose. Pulling back isn’t an option. Teasing him isn’t an option. With a deep-throated groan, he forces his way to a gag-inducing depth.
“Keep sucking me like that.” He isn’t giving me much choice, his grip on my head unrelenting, his claim on my mouth a battle he has no intention of losing.
My lips stretch more with every inch I take, and I draw deep breaths through my nose to calm my racing heartbeat. When I glance up, I catch him staring back, his gaze fierce and arctic in the sunlight.
He’s a masterful contradiction.
Raw vulnerability shrouded in a tough I-don’t-give-a-shit exterior.
A collision of passion and thorns.
Sweet, dominant mercy.
He pulls out and caresses my cheek. “You’re so damn beautiful. I want to paint you this way.”
“On my hands and knees?”
“It’s not the position that’s got me wrapped.” His thumb rubs my wet lips. “It’s the flush of your skin, and those amazing fuck-me eyes.” Holding me by the chin, he leans down and plants his lips on mine. “It’s knowing you’re mine.”
Before I can respond, he rises and pushes his cock into my mouth again. But instead of trapping my head between the strength of his hands, he cradles my cheeks, his fingers sliding into my hair to comb it back from my face, and allows me to bring him to the finish line on my own terms.
I hold his gaze the whole time, my lips gliding over his velvety smooth flesh. His shoulders rise and fall with each erratic breath. Kissable lips part for his sounds of pleasure. At some point, he breaks the visual connection between us and shutters his eyes, tilting his chin toward the sky as my name bleeds off his tongue. Knowing he’s close, I bring him to the back of my throat.
“Jesus,” he gasps as the coil releases. He fists my hair, ensnaring me in his iron grip, and floods my mouth with his climax. Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he dips his head, blond hair falling over his forehead in a way that makes my fingers ache to brush it back. Sweat trickles down his temples.
The silence in the negligible space between us roars louder than the waves crashing onto the shore several yards away. Without a word, he gets to his feet and begins packing up the leftovers of our picnic lunch.
My heart thuds somewhere in my gut, leveling it with a sense of foreboding.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, my voice small and shaky as I watch him wrap the glass plug in a linen napkin before stowing it away with the rest of our stuff.
Pushing his damp hair back, he shakes his head, blue eyes a brilliant squint against the sun. “You did everything right.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
One hand lifting my chin, he plants a brief kiss on my lips. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. You make me want things I thought I’d never have.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s wigging me out. I didn’t expect this with you.”
“You think I did?”
His mouth tilts into a half smile. “I don’t think anyone prepared you for what I want to do to you tonight.” And with that, he ushers me back to the cottage.
Chapter Four
The heaviness of our conversation stays on the beach. We’re both flushed from the sun and covered in sand as Sebastian shows me around the cottage, opening doors to reveal a study, the main bath, and a guest room. He leaves the most intimidating place for last.
The master suite.
Plush carpet welcomes my bare feet as he ushers me into the intimate space. A vaulted ceiling gives the room an open and airy feel, while the sun’s rays spill through the abundant windows, offering plenty of natural light. A set of wide French doors lead to a stone patio, and a fireplace sits across from the massive bed.
My focus lands on that significant piece of furniture, reminding me this is a room for more than sleeping; it’s a playground for lovers. I imagine what it will feel like to sink into that mattress with his body pressing into mine. Nervous flutters dance in my stomach. This night has been a nebulous concept for months—like the light of a ship loitering on the horizon during a foggy evening. If I’m this wrecked over my first night in the House of Leo, I can only imagine how nervous I’ll be on my wedding night.
Our wedding night.
It’s the first time I’ve really let myself envision a marriage to Sebastian as a real possibility, let alone a reality.
“I made dinner reservations.” He picks up a suitcase and lays it on a cushioned bench by the bed. “We’re supposed to be there in an hour.”
“Why so early?”
As he unzips the luggage, he shoots me his legendary cocky smirk. “We’re going to be busy later.”
His mind is in the one place that sends those butterflies in my belly into a frenzy. To distract myself, I finger through the folded dresses, soft material that’s thankfully wrinkle-resistant, and grab a flirty baby blue number with an empire waistline.
“I should dress for the occasion, then.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” He crosses to the corner of the room and settles into a chair.
I clutch the dress to my chest. “I’m not dressing in front of you.”
Resting his chin on his hand, he raises a brow. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
The memory of lounging naked in front of him as his paintbrush stroked me to life on his canvas flits through my head, and I latch onto the recollection against my will. Heat flares between my thighs, renewed since our time spent on the beach.
I stare at him, determined to win this impasse, but he doesn’t budge. He’s silent, steadfast in his demand, confident that I’ll bend.
“Time’s ticking,” he says, nodding toward the clock on the mantel above the fireplace.