Chapter 27
Sebastian
Green eyes wide with surprise and something darker, something more delicious, she stares at my outstretched hand like it might bite her.
My pulse hammers in my throat as I wait for her decision.
This wasn't the plan—I told her tomorrow, set the expectation for tomorrow—but twenty-four hours felt like a fucking eternity after a weekend of discovery that's left me starving for more.
The seconds stretch between us, each one a test of my rapidly fraying control.
In the glow of the street lamp, I drink her in—her hair loose around her shoulders, the flush creeping up her neck that tells me I affect her whether she wants me to or not.
She's wearing simple jeans that hug her curves and a deep green tank top that brings out her eyes. And fuck, she's breathtaking.
When her fingers finally slide against mine, warm and slightly hesitant, I tug her closer, not giving her time to second-guess or pull away.
My other hand finds the small of her back, pressing her against me until our noses nearly touch.
Her breath catches, a small sound that goes straight to my cock.
"You look magnificent," I breathe against her lips, inhaling the scent of her—something citrusy and flowery all at once. "Couldn't wait to see you again."
The admission costs a piece of the armor I've worn for so long I barely remember what it's like to be without it. But with Mia looking up at me like this the cost seems irrelevant.
"So you decided to stalk me?" There's a challenge in her voice, but her body betrays her as she leans into my touch.
"I decided to find you," I correct, letting my thumb trace the curve of her lower lip. "There's a difference."
Before she can argue semantics, I step back and keep her hand firmly in mine as I lead her toward my car. Opening the passenger door, I watch as she slides into the leather seat with a grace that makes me want to see her sliding onto other things. Preferably me.
Around the hood, I take a deep breath of night air, trying to steady myself.
This isn't just about finally burying myself inside her after days of foreplay that's left us both raw and wanting.
It's about the way she looked at me in my office today, not just with desire, but with understanding.
It's about the way she listened when I told her about the ranch, about the parts of me I keep locked away.
It's about how I couldn't stop thinking about her, not for a single fucking minute, since she walked out of my office this afternoon.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I start the car and pull away from the curb.
Traffic is light at this hour, the streets slick with earlier rain that reflects the neon signs and streetlights.
I keep my eyes on the road, or try to, but they betray me every few seconds, sliding to where her fingers tap a restless rhythm on her thigh.
To the way her profile cuts against the passing lights.
To the slight parting of her lips as she watches the city blur past.
"How was dinner?" I ask, desperate to break the charged silence.
She glances over, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fishing for information about my evening?"
"Just making conversation."
"Dinner was nice," she says after a moment. "Laney got properly embarrassed by the singing servers, the cake was decent, and I only had to hear three horror stories about patients with objects stuck in unfortunate places."
The normalcy of her answer settles something in my chest. "Sounds like a successful birthday celebration."
"It was." She turns more fully toward me, her knee bumping my hand as I downshift. "Until you showed up and kidnapped me."
"Is that what this is?" I ask, flicking my eyes to hers briefly before returning them to the road. "A kidnapping?"
Her laugh is low and breathy. "You tell me. You're the one who tracked me down and gave me that look."
"What look?" I can't help the smile tugging at my lips.
"That one that says you're thinking about all the filthy things you want to do to me." I can feel those pretty eyes on me. "The one that makes me forget why I should say no."
My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles white with the effort of not pulling over right here, in the middle of the street, and showing her exactly what that look means. "Should you say no?"
She doesn't answer immediately, and when I glance over, I find her staring out the window, lower lip caught between her teeth.
"I don't know," she finally says as I pull into the underground parking of my building. "But I don't want to."
The simple honesty in her voice hits me harder than any calculated seduction could have. I park in my designated spot, cut the engine, and turn to face her fully.
"Good." The word rumbles from my chest. "Because I don't want you to either."
The elevator up to my apartment is a special kind of torture.
We stand side by side, not touching, both staring at the numbered display as it climbs.
Seven floors have never felt so far. The small space fills with tension thick enough to cut, with the scent of her perfume, with the sound of our carefully measured breathing.
I want to press her against the wall, to hike her up and feel those long legs wrap around my waist. I want to kiss her until neither of us can breathe, until we forget where we are, who we are, everything but the need burning between us.
Instead, I stand perfectly still, hands clenched at my sides, hyperaware of every inch of space separating us. Of the slight lift of her chest with each breath. Of the way her fingers fidget with the hem of her tank top.
When the elevator finally stops and the doors slide open, I place my hand at the small of her back to guide her out. The simple contact, even through the fabric of her top, sends electricity racing up my arm.
"Last chance to change your mind," I tell her as we reach my door.
Mia turns and steps closer until I can feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. "Open the door, Sebastian."
My apartment sprawls before us, all glass and steel and emptiness.
It's a space that's never felt like home but with Mia standing in the center of it, those wild curls catching the dim light, something shifts.
She spins in a slow circle, taking in the minimalist furniture, the bare walls, the distinct lack of anything personal.
What does she see? What does this place tell her about me?
"Why did you show up?" she finally asks, breaking the silence that's stretched between us since the elevator. Her voice is uncertain, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I admit, the words coming easier than expected.
"After you left my office, I tried to focus on work, on anything but you.
But I couldn't." I turn to face her fully.
"I remembered you mentioned reservations at Pastis for Laney's birthday, so I went there and waited. "
Her eyebrows pull together, a small furrow appearing between them. "How did you know I hadn't left yet?"
I can't help the slight quirk of my lips. "I saw you through the windows." The memory of her laughing with her friend, head thrown back, hands animated as she told some story, warms something inside me. "You were at the corner table, talking with your hands like you always do when you're excited."
She blinks. "You were spying on me?"
"Not spying," I correct, taking a step toward her. Then another. "Observing."
Her eyes track my movement as I stalk closer, something like anticipation flickering across her features. She backs up instinctively, one step, two, until her shoulders connect with the wall beside my bookcase. Perfect.
"Is this about punishing me for what I did in your office?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper as I close the final distance between us.
My fingers find her arm, trailing upward over smooth skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of my fingertips as I trace her shoulder, the delicate line of her collarbone, until finally coming to rest at the base of her throat where her pulse hammers wildly.
"I don't want to punish you," I tell her, the words rough with desire as I press just hard enough to feel the blood racing beneath her skin. Thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, I tilt her face up to mine. "I just want you."
I stare at her for one heartbeat, two, and then I crash my mouth down on hers, claiming her with a hunger I've been fighting all day. Her lips part on a gasp, and I take full advantage, sliding my tongue against hers in a demand she meets with equal fervor.
My hand snakes under her tank top, fingers splaying across the warm skin of her back, her waist, her ribs. The need to touch her, to map every inch of her body, overwhelms any thought of taking this slow.
I break the kiss just long enough to tug her top over her head, revealing a simple black bra that somehow looks more erotic than the most expensive lingerie. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, nipples already hard against the thin fabric.
"Fuck, look at you," I murmur, drinking in the sight of her. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
Instead of waiting for an answer, I reach behind her and make quick work of the clasp of her bra.
It loosens, but before she can shrug it off, I hook my fingers in the straps and pull them down her arms, trapping them at her sides.
The cups fall forward, exposing her tits completely—small, perfect, with those dusky pink nipples that have haunted my dreams.
"Sebastian," she breathes, and there's something in the way she says my name that makes my cock throb painfully.
"I've been thinking about these all day," I tell her, cupping the weight of her breasts in my palms, watching as her eyes flutter closed at the contact. "About how they felt in my hands, in my mouth. About the sounds you make when I do this."
I pinch both nipples simultaneously, just hard enough to make her gasp. Back arching off the wall, she presses further into my touch. Her reaction sends a surge of satisfaction through me, a primal pride at knowing exactly how to make her respond.
Lowering my head, I capture a nipple between my lips, sucking hard before soothing the sting with gentle swirls of my tongue.
Her hands, finally freed from the bra straps, fly to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands and tugging with increasing urgency as I lavish attention on first one breast, then the other.
"Sebastian, please," she gasps.
In answer, I press my thigh between her legs.
Her head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, exposing the long line of her throat that I immediately attack with teeth and tongue, sucking hard enough to mark her, to leave evidence of this moment that she'll feel tomorrow when she's sitting in meetings, trying to focus on anything but the memory of my mouth on her skin.
"Ride it," I command, voice a low growl against the curve of her shoulder. "Show me how much you want me."
She obeys without hesitation, hips rolling against my thigh in a rhythm that makes my own control fray at the edges. I can feel the heat of her through both layers of denim, can imagine how wet she must be, how ready for me. The thought nearly buckles my knees.
"Good girl," I praise, returning my attention to her breasts, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks that have her movements growing more frantic, more desperate. "That's it. Take what you need."
Her nails dig into my scalp, little points of pain that ground me, that keep me from simply ripping her jeans off and taking her right here against the wall.
As tempting as that is—and fuck, is it tempting—I want to savor this first time.
Want to take her apart piece by piece until she's sobbing my name, until she forgets every man who came before me, until she understands exactly what she's been missing.
"More," she demands, voice breathless. "I need more, Sebastian, please."
I press my thigh harder against her. "You'll get more," I promise. "But not until you give me your first one just like this."
Her movements become more desperate, grinding against me with increasing urgency.
My mouth finds her nipple again, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak while my hands grip her hips, guiding her rhythm.
"That's it," I murmur against her skin. "Let me watch you fall apart. Show me how good it feels to rub that pretty pussy against me."
A low moan fills the air.
"You're soaked, aren't you?" I murmur, teeth grazing her nipple.
She whimpers, a broken sound that goes straight to my cock.
"Tell me," I demand. "Tell me how wet you are for me."
"So wet," she gasps, the words torn from her throat. "I'm so fucking wet for you."
The admission breaks something loose in my chest, a possessive satisfaction that she's this responsive, this honest about what I do to her. I reward her honesty by pressing my thigh more firmly against her, angling it so the seam of her jeans hits exactly where she needs it.
"Now come for me. Show me how beautiful you look when you fall apart."
Her breathing turns ragged, desperate little pants that tell me she's close. So fucking close. I can see it in the flush spreading across her chest, in the way her eyes lose focus, in the increasing urgency of her movements against my thigh.
Then she shatters with a cry that's half my name, half incoherent pleasure. Her body goes rigid against mine as waves of her orgasm crash through her. I hold her steady while she rides it out, whispering praise against her temple.
When the tremors finally subside, she slumps against the wall, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused, and there's a satisfied flush painting her skin that makes her look absolutely fucking beautiful.
"Holy shit," she breathes. "That was—"
"Just the beginning," I promise, already reaching for the buttons of my shirt. "I’m nowhere near done with you."