Chapter 23 – Regina #2
The words come out flat, like he hates himself for it but literally can’t resist telling a bad joke.
I laugh again, harder this time. “You are such a dork.”
Sean’s grin spreads slowly, sheepish and warm, and when I step forward and hook my fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants, his breath catches.
“Really?” he asks, like he can’t believe his own luck.
“Get on the bed before I change my mind.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically falls backward onto the mattress, tugging his shirt off on the way down, and I sink to my knees between his legs as he shoves his sweatpants low enough to free himself.
He’s already hard. Probably has been even before I touched him. Those were some pretty vigorous charades. I wrap my hand around his shaft and his hips jerk, a low sound escaping his throat.
“Fuck, Storm, your hands are cold.”
“Deal with it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I take him into my mouth and his brain visibly short-circuits. His head drops back against the pillow, one hand finding my hair. His thigh tenses under my other hand.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, that’s... yeah. Yeah, just like that.”
I hum around him because I know what it does to him, and his whole body shudders. Whatever he was trying to tell me via whiteboard is clearly gone from his mind now, replaced by the significantly less complicated task of not finishing in three minutes when he’s already this pent up.
He lasts longer than that, but not by much before he’s hauling me up onto the bed, flipping me onto my back, and kissing me hard. His hands are everywhere. Tugging off my jeans, pulling my shirt over my head, palming my breasts while his knee pushes my legs apart.
“I need you,” he breathes against my neck, and this time it means exactly what it sounds like.
“Then take me.”
His eyes go wide and glassy at that and he breathes, “Fuck, Storm.”
He pushes into me in one slow stroke, and both of us groan at the same time. He’s thick enough that it takes a second to adjust, and he holds still, breathing hard against my shoulder, giving me time.
“Move,” I tell him.
He moves.
It’s not gentle and I don’t want it to be.
Sean fucks with the same absolute commitment he brings to everything else.
His hips snap against mine with a rhythm that keeps shifting because he’s too eager to decide between fast and deep, so he alternates, and somehow it works.
The solid weight of his body crushing mine is definitely helping me temporarily forget my problems.
I feel his knot start to swell at the base, pressing against me. I managed to take Killian’s once, barely, and it was like trying to take a fist.
“Can I try...?” he pants, eyes searching my face. “Or are you still sore from Kill’s knot?”
I groan. “How did you even know about that?”
“I mean, he had the stupid look on his face. Only a few things could put Killian in that good of a mood these days, and they’re all related to your pussy, Storm.”
I roll my eyes, smiling in spite of myself.
I want to take his knot. I really fucking do. But when the thickest part pushes against my entrance, my body tightens reflexively and I realize I’m going to need significantly more warm-up than I’ve had. I only took Killian under special circumstances, and even then I was sore for two days.
“Not yet,” I gasp. “I need more training.”
Sean pulls back immediately. “Rain check?” His grin is strained with effort but genuine.
“Rain check,” I promise, kissing him.
He adjusts his angle, keeping the knot outside while he drives deeper, and the pressure change sends a shock of pleasure through me that makes my back arch. His thumb finds my clit, and I’m close, embarrassingly close, within minutes.
“Good boy,” I purr in his ear, running my fingers through his hair, and he melts.
“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes glazed as he leans into my touch. “You know that’s dirty talk for shifters, right?”
I laugh. “I’ve noticed.”
“You feel so good,” he grits out. “Can you come for me?”
I can and I do, clenching around him as the orgasm rolls through me. Sean swears, his rhythm stuttering.
The bedroom door opens, because no one in this house has ever heard of knocking and they all have impeccable fucking timing.
“Pizza’s here,” Rowan announces.
Then he stops, looks at the whiteboard propped against the dresser covered in Sean’s vaguely obscene hieroglyphics, and looks at us.
“What the fuck? No one told me it was game night!”
Sean thrusts once more and comes inside me with a guttural groan that he muffles in my neck, his hips jerking, fingers digging into my thighs. I’m still clenching down around him, and the timing is so absurd I don’t even have the bandwidth to be embarrassed.
And then Sean lifts his head, still inside me, face flushed, chest heaving, and says over his shoulder to Rowan, “It wasn’t planned, bro. I was trying to tell Regina something. Something I’m not allowed to say out loud.”
I stare up at him. “What?”
He blinks. His eyes go wide, like he just discovered a cheat code. “Whoa. Coming must have loosened my brain.”
Rowan raises an eyebrow from the doorway.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my ears still ringing from the orgasm. I’m starting to think it really did pop something loose in Sean’s head.
Sean pushes himself up on his arms, which somehow squashes me even more, looking down at me with sudden, fierce urgency. “Okay. Okay, listen. I have something really important to tell you. I’ve been trying all week but I literally can’t because—“
Nothing.
His mouth keeps moving but no sound comes out. The muscles in his throat strain like he’s trying to force the words past a physical barrier. His face goes red, then purple, then settles on a frustrated crimson as he digs his nails into the pillow beside me.
“FUUUCK!”
I watch his throat work, watch the way the words form and die like they have so many times this week, his body tensing against an invisible restraint every time he tries to push past it.
Oh.
Oh, shit. I know what this is.
“What’s happening?” Rowan has stepped fully into the room, pizza forgotten. “Sean, what the hell? Just tell us what’s going on.”
“He can’t,” I mutter. “He’s been hexed.”
To Be Continued…