Chapter 7
7
brONTE
I ’d blame it on the brandy, but I didn’t feel all that tipsy. No, a different rush was surging through my body. Adrenaline, I assumed. I felt alive for the first time in my life.
How had I gone this long without experiencing this kind of intense arousal? I wanted him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his mouth on my body. But mostly, I wanted him inside me. Deep inside me.
The fantasies were flying through my mind so fast and furious, I was squirming on the stool. I reached behind me and unclasped the bra, sliding it off and dropping it to the floor on top of my blouse and pants.
Sean didn’t look at me. He kept his attention on the block of wood in front of him. I was trying not to feel insulted by it. Maybe that was what he needed to keep himself under control.
I’d eyed the crotch of his jeans numerous times over the past half hour or so, wondering if I was turning him on. I was pretty sure I saw a bulge there, but it was hard to tell.
He had to be turned on, right? If not, how much more could I do? I could remove my panties, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Besides, I didn’t want to sit here with that particular part of my anatomy bare. It just seemed like it would be uncomfortable.
“I see curves,” I said.
He looked up then, his gaze heading straight to my face. And that was when I saw it. Heat, intensity—the clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes. Oh yeah, he was definitely turned on.
“Huh?” he asked.
“What you’re doing right now.” I gestured toward the wood. “It looks like you’re carving my breasts.”
Carving my breasts. That sounded weird. It was also the first time I’d used that word in front of him—or any man that I could remember.
But I wasn’t blushing. I wasn’t even shy about it. This guy was opening up a new side of me.
“You’re not supposed to peek at the artist’s creation,” he said.
I didn’t miss the hint of amusement in his eyes as he returned his attention to the sculpture. But watching him run his fingers over the curves was doing something to me. I wanted him to be touching me that way. And in a way, he was. I wondered if he was imagining running his hands over my breasts, my waist, and my hips as he ran his fingers over the curves of the wood. Again, warmth spread to that area of my body that made me squirmy.
“You can just do that?” I asked, speaking aloud something I’d wondered for a good ten minutes in silence.
He looked up as though being awoken from a sleep. “Do what?”
“Run your hands over my curves without it affecting you physically.”
There. That was a diplomatic way to say it. But would he think I was weird for wanting to know if it turned him on?
“It’s wood,” he said.
“Yeah.” I bit my own lip. “I just thought maybe…”
I couldn’t get more words out than that. I had no idea how to put it. I should just drop the topic and sit here quietly.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve been fighting everything in me not to stand up, cross the room, and give you the best kiss of your life.”
“Then why don’t you do it?”
Gosh. I was being brave—braver than I’d ever been. Who knew this side of me existed?
I chewed on my lip again—a nervous habit—as I waited to see what he’d do next. He set down his tools on the table behind him and stared at the wood structure.
Disappointment shot through me. He wasn’t going to get up and do that. He was too caught up in his work. Maybe he thought it was a bad idea, getting more involved with me than he already was. I was more than a decade younger than him, after all. Some guys were weird about stuff like that.
Some women were too. In fact, if someone had asked me twenty-four hours ago if I’d ever get involved with an older man, I probably would have said no. I was attracted to older men, of course. Actors, musicians, guys I saw on billboards. But that didn’t mean I’d ever date one in real life.
But now I saw myself doing exactly that. In fact, I couldn’t imagine why I’d ever thought dating someone my own age was a good idea. This guy had experience. He’d know what he was doing. I needed that in my life. Not just in bed, but in every facet.
“Don’t you want to see the finished product?” he asked.
I sucked in air. “You’re finished already?”
“Yep.”
He turned it around and I stood, not caring that I was mostly naked. I had to get a closer look at this.
It was beautiful. There were no details, of course, but he’d outlined a female figure that was gorgeous. Someone looking at it wouldn’t identify it as me. It could be a large number of women. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, he’d taken a look at me and crafted this work of art. It meant more to me than I could ever explain.
“Oh, wow,” I said. “This is amazing. Beautiful. I can’t stop looking at it.”
“Take it home with you,” he said. “You could put it on display and nobody will even know what it is.”
My roommate would have questions. So would my parents if they stopped by. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to have a roommate—not one in Jefferson, anyway. I was moving to Seduction Summit, whether my parents liked it or not.
“Thank you,” I said, returning my attention to his face.
His expression was neutral as usual, but I saw something else. A slight hint of fear and maybe a little uncertainty.
“Do you still want to kiss me?” I asked.
Sean looked at me then, and whatever I’d seen in his eyes was replaced by confidence. He knew what he wanted. He wanted me.
Suddenly, he stood. In the process, he shoved the stool back against the table. It wobbled before settling into place once and for all.
My breath caught as he came around the table. His stride was determined, and he didn’t stop until he had his arms around me and my body pressed against his.
He looked down at me for several long seconds, and the desire in his eyes made my knees go weak. Thankfully, I had his arms around me, holding me in place.
And then he lowered his head and captured my mouth in a kiss that was filled with all the pent-up longing of the past twelve hours. As soon as my mind cleared from the best kiss of my life, I realized his hands were on my bare back, the heat of them warming me to my core. I was suddenly overwhelmed by just how much I wanted him to touch me all over.
Finally, he broke the kiss and moved his mouth to my ear. “Turn around,” he whispered.
I did exactly that, leaning against him and feeling the rough denim and soft flannel against my bare skin. He was fully dressed, while I was mostly nude. There was something so incredibly hot about that.
I sighed as his hands went straight to my breasts, cupping them while he nudged away the hair at my right shoulder with his chin. Then he began planting kisses along my shoulder. It was the relief of sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day, combined with the thrill of a theme park ride.
I wanted the feeling to never, ever end.
His thumbs began circling my areolae, and I arched my back, which slid my butt cheeks along his bulge. He groaned, and the sound made its way through my body, upping my arousal and making me even wetter for him.
And then one hand made its way over my stomach, and I knew where he was going. I sucked in a breath, taking advantage of the way it made my stomach just a little flatter.
He loved my curves, though. His adoring gaze while he was carving them had made that much clear.
When his fingers slid beneath the waistband of my panties, I let out an involuntary sigh. He was going where no hand had gone before, not even mine. I hadn’t dared touch myself, although I’d thought about it from time to time.
“Spread your legs a little wider for me, baby,” he said into my ear.
That was when I realized I’d had them clamped together, tight as could be. It had nothing to do with any hesitance for him to touch me. No, I’d been doing that because of the growing pressure down there. I recognized it now as an overwhelming need to feel his touch—to have him inside me.
I did exactly as he requested and parted my legs. His hand went farther, his finger parting my folds. Suddenly, he let out a groan.
“You’re so wet, baby,” he said. “Is that for me?”
I nodded, my face brushing against his rough cheek. I heard the scraping noise it made, and it just added to the heat flowing through me. He slid his finger in deep, then withdrew before sliding it in again. Each time, he brushed my clit.
It felt so good, I thought I might come immediately. But an orgasm couldn’t happen that quickly. Not the first orgasm ever, anyway. I was pretty sure of that.
“Touch me,” I said.
It might not make much sense to him. He was touching me. I wanted him to do more of that thing that felt so good.
He must have gotten exactly what I meant, though, because he shifted his finger to my clit and began moving rhythmically over it. Slow, steady strokes—movements that were barely perceptible but enough to drive me over the edge.
“Oh, God, that feels so good,” I heard myself say.
It was like someone else was doing the talking. I didn’t even recognize my own voice. It was breathy, but lower-pitched than usual.
“Come for me, baby,” he said.
For a long, scary moment, I worried I wouldn’t be able to do that. Would he think I was flawed somehow if I couldn’t?
But those worries were drowned out by the intense sensations rolling through my body. I reached up to grab his shoulder, but my fingers landed on his chest instead, the soft flannel contrasting with the roughness of everything else about him.
“Ahh,” I cried out as air whooshed from my lungs.
And then my body was rocketing upward. Up, up, up into the sky. All I could do was hold my breath as my pussy began contracting under his touch.
Once the sensations subsided, I waited to go back to normal, but that didn’t happen. Instead, I felt better than any dose of alcohol or even my favorite indulgence—chocolate—had ever made me feel.
This was what sex was all about. And I couldn’t wait for Sean to show me more.