Chapter Thirteen
You changed me. You made me different. My life will never be the same, and I don’t know whether I love you or hate you for that.
C
KATE
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if this is a good idea or the worst one I’ve ever had. I don’t know if this will make my life even more difficult or not change it one iota, and which is worse out of the two . . .
Well, I don’t know that either.
I only know that I’ll die if I don’t kiss him.
He came to me. He crossed the space between us and touched me first. That’s what I wanted. I wasn’t going to force myself on him if he really didn’t want me to. I wanted him to make the choice.
And he did.
His chest is hard and I can feel his heartbeat. Strong. Fast. His mouth is hot and at first he doesn’t move as I kiss him, as if he’s waiting for something.
I touch my tongue to his lips, tracing their shape and he opens his mouth and fire consumes us. His kiss is as demanding as it was the night before and his hands are in my hair. He closes his fingers into fists and he’s holding me still as he devours me, stepping in closer and pushing me up against the kitchen bench. He’s tall, muscular and very strong.
I’m not afraid of him. I’m exhilarated, the blood roaring in my ears, a nagging ache between my thighs. I feel as if I’m in a sleek, powerful sports car, travelling far too fast, taking corners wildly, recklessly, and I don’t care. All I want is to go faster.
I smell his skin, musk and spice, and my mouth is watering. I claw at his shirt, wanting to get it open so I can taste the salty hollow at the base of his throat, but his fingers leave my hair to close around my wrists and he holds me tight. He lifts his mouth from mine.
I can still hear his voice saying my name and it echoes inside me like a prayer.
‘What?’ I ask, looking up at him, my voice husky. ‘If you’re changing your mind I might just have to kill you.’
His eyes have gone dark, that blue just before the blackness of space again, and there’s a feral glint in them that thrills me down to the bone.
‘I’m not changing my mind,’ he says roughly. ‘But I’ve been dreaming of this moment for six fucking months and you’re going to have to do it my way if you don’t want me to embarrass myself.’
A shiver goes through me. Six months? He’s been dreaming of . . . this? Me? For six months?
I swallow. ‘But . . . I’ve only been here for six months.’
‘Yes.’ His eyes glow. ‘Exactly.’
‘I thought you hated me,’ I say, staring at him in shock.
‘I never hated you.’ He lets one of my wrists go as his hand drops to the tie of my wraparound dress. ‘It was wanting you I hated.’
He pulls the tie and the little knot unravels and my dress falls open.
I don’t stop it.
His gaze drops to my body and he lets out a breath. His expression is almost reverent as he stares at me, taking in all of me, from my throat, down over my breasts, to my hips and thighs. I don’t feel self-conscious, not the way I did with Jasper, because Sebastian looks at me as if he’s seeing something precious, something holy.
Jasper didn’t look at me at all.
‘I knew it,’ he breathes. ‘I knew you’d be beautiful.’
I do feel beautiful in this moment. I feel precious, and holy, and when he lifts a hand and touches my throat, his fingertips brushing over my skin, over my breasts and my stomach, tracing the line of my hips and thighs, I shiver.
I don’t want to admit it to myself, because admitting it means Jasper’s been in my head for longer than I wanted him to be, but . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve felt beautiful or precious or holy. Mostly it’s been ‘ Time to lay off the crisps, love ’ or ‘ Would it kill you to use a razor sometimes? ’ Or ‘ Can you not make that weird sound? ’
Little comments, but in a constant stream, like water torture, until every drop is painful. And you can’t move in case another falls, and you think keeping still will help.
I’ve been keeping still for a long time.
But Sebastian makes me want to move. His touch is gentle and I want more so much and so badly it’s agony.
I take a shuddering breath. ‘Sebastian . . . please . . .’
The expression on his face tightens, intensifies and he pushes the dress off me so that it slides onto the floor. Then he reaches around and unhooks my bra, pushing the straps off my shoulders and letting the lace fall away.
He sighs and his hands cup my breasts, testing the weight of them, and I sigh too. His palms on my skin are so hot and I’m trembling. I can’t help it.
He leans down and presses his mouth to my throat, tasting my racing pulse, making everything inside me get tight and restless. I arch my back, leaning into his hands, leaning into his mouth as it trails down from my throat, and down further. My nipples are hard and so sensitive, and I gasp as he teases them lightly with his thumbs. Then when he bends and flicks his tongue over one, I groan.
Pleasure crackles like lightning over my skin and I’m a slave to it. All those small voices in my head, the ones I hadn’t realised were there, that had Jasper’s voice, are gone now. Stripped away. I want his mouth on me, his hands. I want him next to me, on me, inside me, nothing between us. He makes me feel so good I can hardly stand it.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, as he shifts one hand between my shoulder blades, bending me further back, his mouth on my breasts, nipping, teasing, sucking. Then he slips his free hand down over my stomach and beneath the waistband of my lacy knickers, his fingers sliding over my slick sex.
I feel as if I’ve been plugged into a power socket and he’s flicked the switch, lighting me up from the inside with the most extraordinary physical pleasure. He touches me with so much gentleness and explores me with such delicate precision. He could do whatever he wanted with me and I wouldn’t protest. I’d let him do anything at all.
My hips lift against his hand and he growls, his mouth against my skin, and then I’m being lifted up and placed on top of my kitchen bench. He spreads my thighs and moves between them, then reaches into the back pocket of his trousers and gets out his wallet.
A condom. Of course. What guy doesn’t have one in his wallet?
I’m not complaining, though. In fact, I want him to go faster. Clearly picking up on my impatience, he takes out the condom, drops the wallet onto the floor and reaches for his fly.
‘Let me,’ I whisper, reaching for him too.
But he gives one definitive shake of his head, and given how much my hands are trembling, that’s probably a good thing. His movements are fast and deft as he undoes his fly and gets out his cock, dealing with the protection.
Then he’s pulling aside my knickers and I feel him push against me, then thrust deep inside.
The breath goes out of both of us in an explosive rush, and then we’re still, staring at each other. He’s big and hard and he feels utterly perfect inside me.
His blue eyes are like stars and there is wonder in them. And awe. He’s looking at me as if he can’t believe I’m real, as if there’s nothing wrong with me, nothing that needs fixing. As if I’m perfect just as I am and I . . . I feel the same about him.
The sense of connection we have in this moment is amazing.
He grips one of my hips and cups the side of my face with the other, his thumb tracing my mouth. ‘Are you okay?’ His voice is so deep and rough it’s almost unrecognisable. I can also hear the tension in it. I can feel the tension in him too. He’s holding himself back.
My heart aches at the question. Such a simple thing, to ask if I’m okay. As if it matters to him. As if my pleasure is of the most vital importance.
‘I’m more than okay,’ I murmur, unable to be anything but honest with him. ‘I’m fantastic. And you feel . . . incredible.’
A flicker of male satisfaction crosses his face and he lowers his head and kisses me. At the same time he begins to move and the electricity of the sensation expands outwards and tightens, catching me in a fine net of pleasure.
I lift my hands and take his face between them, glorying in the prickle of stubble against my palms. And I kiss him back, devouring him as he devours me, and the pleasure we’re generating between us devours us too.
I knew this would destroy me and it will. And I don’t care.
I want to feel this for ever. Have his mouth on mine and him inside me, moving, making me feel so good. Better than Jasper ever did. Sebastian makes me feel beautiful. Sebastian makes me feel strong.
He moves faster and it gets wilder, hotter, more desperate. I wind my legs around his hips, trying to get closer, frantic for more of him, and he gives it to me.
We’re both as lost as each other, our hands touching, stroking, grasping, clinging. Then his fingers find their way between my thighs, giving me more friction, and the orgasm rushes over me, far too fast and intense, and I’m crying out, clinging to him as it takes me.
I’m still shaking when he moves harder and faster, and then it takes him too, his mouth turned against my throat, the sharp edge of his teeth on my skin. He growls my name again, ‘ Kate ,’ and I close my eyes, holding on to him as he shudders against me.
Neither of us move for a long time afterwards.
It’s as if I’ve had an out-of-body experience and I’m trying to find my way back to myself again. I almost don’t want to. I want to stay where I am, play amongst the stars he threw me up into.
But then I feel him move, pulling away from me, and I hate the cold of the air against my heated skin. I’d much rather have him there instead.
He deals with the condom and, as he does so, I feel suddenly self-conscious and weird. I’m sitting on my kitchen bench in only my knickers, while he’s still fully dressed. All he had to do was zip up his fly.
Perhaps it was terrible. Perhaps this perfection was all in my head. He probably didn’t think I was beautiful at all, and those things he said were just—
He turns back to me and all my thoughts scatter as his hands slide possessively up my bare thighs. The expression on his face is as intense as it has ever been.
‘You wanted me to come and get you,’ he says. ‘And I did. Now you need to ask me to stay.’
I swallow, searching his face. Does he really mean it or is this something he says to every woman he sleeps with? ‘Do you . . . want to?’
‘What do you think? I want a night, Miss Jones, and a night I’m going to have.’
He means it, I can see it in his eyes, and I should know that about him by now. That he’s always straight up. He always says what he means.
The band that has tightened around my heart eases. Yet his dark brows twitch and he lifts a hand to cup my jaw. ‘What is it?’
Somehow he’s picked up on my doubt, which is annoying, because I don’t want to talk about Jasper and everything he did to me, not here. Not with him. So instead I say, ‘Miss Jones? Really? Still?’
His hands stroke my sides, a tender touch that makes me want to arch my back and purr like a cat. ‘Kate, then,’ he says. ‘Miss Jones when you’re bad.’
I shiver. I like that idea very much. ‘What if I don’t want a night?’
‘If I thought you meant it, I’d walk away, and you know that.’ His fingertips gently trace the curves of my breasts. ‘But you don’t mean it.’
There’s a smug, male note in his voice and I can’t help smiling. ‘No, you’re right. I don’t.’
‘Good,’ he murmurs. ‘One night and that’s all.’
Somewhere in my heart I can feel something twist, as if part of me is disappointed. As if part of me wants more.
But that’s why it can only be one night.
He doesn’t want more and neither do I, and I’m fine with it.
I ignore my doubts, wrap my arms around his neck, and when he asks me where my bedroom is, I give him directions.
He carries me there and, even though I protest, I don’t make any effort to leave his arms. I like it there. I like it too much. Lying here against his warm chest, looking up at him and his taut profile. His Roman nose. His mouth that doesn’t smile as much as it should. That doesn’t smile at all.
I’m going to get a smile, I vow to myself silently, as he carries me through into my little bedroom. I’m going to make this man smile come hell or high water.
He doesn’t look around as he steps into my bedroom. He keeps his attention on me and me only as he deposits me on the edge of my bed. Then he falls to his knees in front of me, kissing my throat and then going down further, between my breasts and over my stomach. I sigh as he pushes me back and grips the waistband of my knickers, pulling them down and off until I’m finally naked.
He kisses his way up my thighs and between, and yet although I’m loving his mouth on me, I want to touch him. I want him as naked as I am.
‘No,’ I whisper, and push him away, sitting up and meeting his shadowed blue eyes. ‘Take off your clothes, Mr Blackwood.’
And there it is, at last. The corner of his mouth lifts. It’s not a smile so much as a smirk, but I love it. There is arrogance in it and also knowledge. He knows he’s beautiful to me and he’s going to milk this moment for all it’s worth.
Good.
I want him to.
I want to sit back and worship him in all his glory.
He stands, his blue gaze pinned to mine, and he unbuttons the shirt I’ve already clawed at, exposing his broad chest and going down further to his muscled stomach. He shrugs out of it and discards it on the floor. Shoes next, then his hands go to his belt, undoing it and the buttons of his trousers.
It’s unspeakably erotic.
He shoves his trousers down, taking his boxers with them, and steps out of the fabric. Naked.
He’s so gorgeous I can’t breathe.
Hard everywhere. Muscled and strong. Crisp hair on his chest, and shoulders to carry the world. Narrow hips and powerful thighs.
My God. This man isn’t a bookseller. He’s a god.
I reach for him, but he’s already pushing me down on the mattress, his warm skin sliding over mine, his weight settling on me. I make a sound and push at him, and we roll over so I’m on top.
I sit up, liking this for now, and look down at him, my palms on his bare chest. His skin is golden and velvety and I love touching it. I stroke him and he stares at me, his gaze dark.
‘Kiss me,’ he says, low and intense. ‘Now.’
‘So demanding,’ I murmur. ‘Not yet. It’s my turn.’
His fingers close around my hips and he holds me down on him, moving beneath me in a way that makes me gasp. ‘Not yet,’ he echoes.
Then he reaches one hand up and closes it in my hair and pulls my mouth down on his.
I love his demands. I love his intensity.
What seems too much in the bookstore is perfect here, and I feel myself change to meet him.
I grab his wrists and put them down on either side of his head and hold them on the pillows. I bite his lower lip and move on him, making him growl. ‘My turn,’ I whisper. ‘Deal with it.’
‘Then touch me, damn you.’
I do. I stroke him, caress him. I taste him. He tastes of salt and heat and musk and he’s delicious. I can’t get enough of him. Despite his demands and his growls, he lets me play, lets me do what I want and, at the end, when I grab another condom from his wallet and straddle him and ride, he grips my hips hard.
‘Fucking beautiful,’ he says roughly, looking up at me. ‘You’re fucking beautiful, Miss Jones.’
He’s the anti-Jasper. The antivenom to my ex’s venom. He gives me back what Jasper took away, and I love him for that.
I smile, then lean down and kiss him. ‘So are you, Mr Blackwood,’ I murmur against his mouth. ‘So are you.’
He makes another growling sound and then he turns us, pins me beneath him and he moves, slow and deep, and I’m lost.
I don’t think I’m ever going to recover from this.
And maybe I don’t want to.