Chapter 9
Sebastian
I carry her across the snow to the inn, both of us laughing softly like teenagers sneaking into the movies.
She’s soft in my arms, warm and pliant, her curves pressed against me like they were carved to fit.
The snow crunches under my boots. The wind bites at my face. I don’t feel it. All I feel is her. All I hear is her breath at my neck. All I taste is her on my tongue.
I ease open the door to the inn as quietly as I can. The hinges creak anyway, but no one stirs.
The place is packed for Christmas, and I’m glad—for my parents, mostly. Even if one of the guests accidentally set off the fire alarm recently, and the fire department was alerted.
Still. I’m cenrtainly not ready to face Loretta with this grin on my face.
Not when Willa’s cheeks are flushed and her hair’s mussed from my hands. Not when her dress is still rucked up around her thighs and she smells like sex and cinnamon.
I take the back route to my room, kick the door open, and carry her in. I set her down on the bed, slow and careful, like she’s something breakable. But she’s not. She’s fire and sugar and soft, aching need.
She looks up at me, lips swollen, eyes dark. Her sweater dress is rumpled, one strap slipping off her shoulder. She looks like every fantasy I never let myself have.
"You okay?" I ask again, voice lower now.
She smiles, lazy and satisfied. "Yes, Sebastian. Stop asking. Unless you want me to ask you."
I snort. "I’m fine. More than fine."
She sits up and pats the mattress. "Come here."
I toe off my boots, peel off my socks, and climb onto the bed. She reaches for the hem of my flannel and tugs it up. I help her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside.
Her gaze drags over me. My scars, my muscle, my mess. I’ve never cared much about how I look, but under her eyes, I feel seen. Revered.
She traces one of the marks near my ribs. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers.
I huff, half laugh. "That’s not usually the word people use."
"Then they don’t know what the hell they’re looking at."
She leans in and presses a kiss to the scar above my heart. I shiver.
She kisses lower. Over my stomach. Down each ridge. Her hands skim my sides. My cock twitches, hardening again.
She glances up at me through her lashes, her mouth inches from my skin.
"Lie back," she says.
I obey. Arms braced behind me. Breathing rough. Watching her like a man waiting for lightning to strike twice.
She kneels between my legs and tugs at my jeans. I lift my hips so she can strip them off. My underwear goes next. I’m already hard, the ache almost unbearable. Her eyes widen slightly. She licks her lips.
My blood pounds.
"I’ve never..." she starts, then falters.
"You don’t have to," I rasp. "I’m happy to—"
"I want to," she blurts, cheeks flushed.
My cock jerks in response. The idea that she’s never done this. That she wants to learn on me.
Fuck.
"Go slow," I manage. "Do what you feel. I’m not going anywhere."
She nods, nervous but determined. Her hand wraps around me, fingers testing the weight. She strokes, gentle, watching my face. I groan. She smiles. Shy, excited. The she leans down.
Her tongue swipes the head. I hiss. She licks again, then parts her lips and takes me into her mouth.
Heat. Wet heat. Velvet and suction and heaven.
My eyes roll back. I fist the sheets, trying to hold still. She flattens her tongue, pulls off with a pop, then does it again. And again.
When I look down and see her lips wrapped around my cock, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes on mine—Jesus. I nearly lose it.
She takes more of me. Swallows, carefully.
My hips jerk. She gags and pulls off, coughing.
"Shit—sorry," I grit out, hand already at her head. I stroke her hair. "You okay?"
She wipes her mouth and laughs. "I’m fine. You’re just… big."
Pride flares. I try not to smirk. "You can stop—"
"No." She places her palm on my thigh. "I want to try again."
She does. Again and again. Taking more of me each time. My control thins to a thread. She moans around me. The sound vibrates all the way to my spine. When her hand cups my balls, I see stars.
"Willa," I gasp. "Stop. Now. Or it ends right here."
She pulls back, a wicked glint in her eye. "And that would be a problem?"
"Yes." I growl. And flip her onto her back in one swift move.
She squeals, laughing, her hair spilling over the pillow. I yank her dress up and off, tossing it aside. Her bra’s gone in seconds. Her breasts are full and perfect and begging for my mouth.
I take one into my mouth, sucking, licking, dragging my teeth gently across her nipple. She arches, crying out. I do the same to the other, while my hand slides down, pushing her leggins and panties down and off.
She’s slick. Hot. Desperate.
I drag my fingers through her folds, circle her clit. She whimpers, legs falling open.
I slide one finger inside her, then two, curling against her. She gasps, clutches my shoulders.
"Please," she pants. "Sebastian, I need—"
"I know."
I kiss a path down her stomach, over the curve of her hip, until I’m between her thighs.
She smells like sugar and sex and mine.
I lick a slow stripe through her folds. She shudders. I flick her clit, then suck it, gentle but firm. She sobs my name.
I smile against her. Do it again.
Two fingers back inside. Tongue on her clit. She comes apart hard, crying out, thighs locking around my head, hips bucking off the bed.
I don’t stop until she pushes me away, too sensitive.
Her whole body trembles.
"Oh God," she pants. "Oh my God."
I wipe my mouth, crawl up her body, and line myself up. She’s flushed and dazed and perfect.
I thrust into her in one deep, smooth stroke.
She gasps, nails digging into my back. I don’t stop. I set a brutal rhythm, chasing the edge. She matches me, move for move. The bed rocks. The headboard slams the wall. She cries out, bites my shoulder.
Pain mixes with pleasure. I snap.
"Come with me," I growl, voice raw. I find her clit and rub, fast and tight.
She wails and tightens around me. I follow with a groan, thrusting deep, coming hard.
We fall apart in a tangle of limbs, sweat cooling on our skin.
Eventually, my breathing evens. I roll to my side, dragging her with me. She lays her head on my chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my stomach. I stroke her hair, kiss the top of her head.
Silence wraps around us, thick and warm.
"You’re dangerous," she whispers.
"Why’s that?"
"Because I could get used to this."
I smile into the dark. "Maybe you should."