TWENTY Quincy
Agreeing to sleep with Sebastian again wasn’t part of the plan, but I’ve been distracted since he walked into my house.
I could barely focus during our broadcast, too busy watching the way he talked with his hands.
Too busy listening to his laugh, a rumbly, steely sound.
Too busy noticing how he didn’t interrupt me, how he nodded along to the stories I told, patiently waiting his turn and letting me steer the conversation.
Appreciated.
Sebastian Dunn appreciates me, and I’m giddy because of it.
He’s shown me what he wants, and I’m careful when I put a palm on his cheek.
He turns his head, desperate for my touch.
His whole body seems to relax when he nuzzles into my hold.
The stubble on his jaw is a rough scrape against my palm, and I’d like to feel the scratch of it against the inside of my thigh. Across my stomach too.
“Truth or Dare, Sebastian?” I ask.
“Dare,” he answers, no hesitation.
“I dare you to stay,” I whisper back. “I dare you to kiss me. I dare you to spread me out on my bed and make me come. I dare you to fuck me, because you’re right.
I’ve been thinking about you, too, no matter how hard I try to get you out of my head.
And I’d like to see if what I’m imagining is as good as the real thing. ”
“As good as the real thing,” Sebastian repeats. He lowers himself to the ground, down on his knees with a hand on either one of my thighs. “I can promise you the real thing is much better than whatever you’re dreaming about.”
“Prove it,” I say, and his smile is a wicked, devastating thing.
There’s a moment when he’s not kissing me, then suddenly he is, and my entire world flips upside down.
His hands roam to my waist. They slip under my shirt, searching for bare skin.
Teeth nip at my bottom lip, sharp enough to make it swell, and he tastes like sugar.
Sweet and addictive when he helps me to my feet.
“Not enough room.” His words are a growl, insistent as he guides me to the couch. “I need you so fucking bad.”
The late-morning sun warms the room, sunlight stretching over the floor.
Sebastian keeps his mouth on mine, frenziness behind the swipe of his tongue.
Urgency in the twist of his fingers in the fabric of my shorts.
He walks me backward until my thighs hit the cushions and I tumble onto the furniture.
I throw a decorative pillow out of the way. I adjust my position, back against the arm of the sofa, head propped up and knees open with space for him, but he’s not moving. He’s standing, watching me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He blinks, pulled out of a daze, and runs a hand through his hair. “Rules.”
“Rules? Aren’t the logistics pretty easy to understand?”
“I want to make sure we’re on the same page.
” Sebastian steps forward, a hand on my jaw.
It’s embarrassing how I almost melt when he rubs his thumb along the line of my cheek.
The needy whine that escapes, starved for his touch.
“We need to communicate with each other. If there’s something we don’t like, we share it. ”
“We keep this between us,” I add, understanding. “No friends. No outside parties.”
“Speaking of outside parties, when I’m fucking you, I don’t want you fucking anyone else.” His eyes rake down my body. They linger on the spot where my shirt rides up my stomach. Zero in on the tops of my thighs. “Just me.”
“You say that like I have a line of guys ready to hop in bed with me.” I gesture around my office, his possessiveness making my nipples hard. “It’s pretty sparse.”
“Keep it that way.” He bends down, his right hand on the back of the couch. “I’ve been tested since the last time I was with a woman. Negative on all accounts.”
“Same here.” I don’t let myself consider when the last time for him might’ve been or who is waiting for him back in New York. The thought makes my stomach roll, and I don’t like it. “No feelings. No emotions. This is … fun. An end-of-the-summer fling.”
“Casual friends with benefits who also talk about the weather.” His smile hitches. “Can’t beat that.”
“Anything else?”
“Take off your shirt,” he rasps. “Please,” he adds, gentler at the edges. “So I can see you.”
Pure, unadulterated lust ripples through me.
I grab the hem of my tank top, dragging it up my stomach in a slow and purposeful glide.
Sebastian’s throat bobs when I reach my chest, the cool air biting at my skin.
His eyes grow wide when I bring it over my head, my hair catching in the strap, and then he’s there.
Pulling out my hair tie. Letting the long strands cascade over my shoulders.
Kissing my neck, my throat, and I almost gasp.
“What else do you want?” I ask.
“Anything. Everything.” Sebastian climbs onto the couch, chest hovering above mine. His hand strokes up my leg, a soft push against my thighs to open them wider. I move to accommodate him, my ankles around his waist. “But first I’m going to make you come.”
There’s no use in arguing with that.
His fingers toy with the strap of my bra, at war with himself. I see the decisions flashing across his face, the deliberation to leave it on or take it off. I raise my arms above my head, my breasts lifting with the motion, and his soft groan is fractured.
“Touch me, Sebastian,” I breathe out. Each word is more difficult to say than the last when he yanks the cup of my bra down and takes me in his mouth. “Fuck.”
“Like this?” he murmurs against my breast. His hand skates up my body, skimming over my skin until he finds my nipple and twists it with his thumb and forefinger. A whine spills out of me, the jolt of pain subsiding to blissful, aching relief. “Yeah,” he says, proud of himself. “Just like that.”
I’m panting already, worked up in a way I’ve never been before.
Every minute we sat next to each other during the show felt like foreplay, and I’m glad when there’s no fumbling, no hesitation.
He knows exactly what to do, cockiness in every searing touch.
It’s impossible not to squirm beneath him, pent-up energy and longing pulsing in my blood.
My skin is hot, and it seems like ending up back here with him was a cataclysmic certainty we could never fight.
Sex has always been fine, but no one’s taken their time. No one’s asked what I liked or what feels good, but Sebastian does. I’m wet with anticipation of the way he’s going to thoroughly wreck me, damage I don’t want to try to repair.
“This next.” Sebastian reaches behind me, twisting the clasp of my bra until it pops open, my breasts free.
He sits up on his knees, towering over me with his wide frame.
My feet fall to the cushions, and he shoves my legs open again before cupping my chest with both hands. “Could I make you come like this?”
“I don’t know.” My eyes close, desire a fuse and his touch the lighter when he twists both nipples, harder this time. “Maybe? Yes? I’m not sure.”
“Too inconclusive. We should test the theory.” He rocks his hips forward, the head of his cock pressing into the seam of my shorts.
I gasp at how hard he is, cursing the fabric between us.
A hiss whooshes out of me when his fingers tighten on my chest, holding me in place.
When he bends, his teeth replacing his hands, and leaving bite marks on my sensitive skin.
“I bet you can, Quinny baby. And I’d like to watch when you do. ”
It’s intimate, borderline arrogant. Perfectly him, and for as much as I’ve liked being the one with the upper hand in all the years I’ve known him, there’s something gratifying in giving him the power.
It’s a moment where I don’t have to be in control, the one who works harder than everyone else.
I can be a woman who craves pleasure, safe in a space where I can let go without performing, and the recognition exhilarates me.
I don’t know who I am when I roll my hips, moving in time with his. Grinding against him, using him, the hard length of his shaft spurring me on like we’re reckless teenagers doing this for the first time.
He likes this too.
“That’s good, Quincy,” he whispers, heat behind the praise. Ecstasy in his low groan. I squirm again, clawing for something within reach. For something I deserve. “Take what you need.”
I want and need so many things, but I take the first thing I can find: an orgasm by way of his fingers plucking at my nipples and him rutting against me.
I’m mindless when his hands turn rougher and explore other parts of my body.
There’s pressure at my neck. Pinching the skin at my hip.
My vision goes black when he lines up and hits the perfect spot between my legs, fading out entirely when he gives my clit a light tap over my clothes, and I split into a million pieces.
Again and again I’m hit by waves of euphoria, my body shuddering with satisfaction until Sebastian kisses me with hot, heavy insistence behind his mouth.
“Just getting started,” he practically slurs.
We should’ve picked a different place to do this.
We barely fit on the couch, his shin hanging over the edge of the cushions and my right leg dangling without a place to land, but there’s no time to care about the details.
Sebastian’s fingers are at the button on my shorts, unfastening it and moving to the zipper next. “Taste. Want to taste you.”
His caveman, lizard brain is something we share. My limbs are heavy, my reaction time slow. It’s taking me a minute to catch up, like I’m drunk, light and floating.
“Should I take them off?” I toy with the zipper, the question sounding silly when we both know what’s going to happen next.
“Yeah.” A nod. A palm running over the front of his shorts to adjust himself and the vein in his neck straining. “Please. I’d like that.”
I’d like it, too, and it takes teamwork to shimmy my bottoms off. Lifted hips. A knee landing in his stomach and our matching laughter that follows.
“You did that on purpose,” he says.
“I swear I didn’t.”
The jokes die out when I’m finally under him, a scrap of cotton underwear all that separates me from being completely naked and entirely at his mercy.
Sebastian takes his time looking at me, gaze meticulous.
He studies my collarbone, the curve of my hip.
The faint stretch marks from years of growing into my body and the hand I rest on my stomach.
He reaches out, thumb rubbing an excruciatingly slow circle against my clit.
The start of a smile when I arch my back in response.
“Wet,” he says. I look down where he’s touching me, a damp spot forming on the front of my underwear. “You’re so wet. I like knowing I do that to you.”
He tugs his shirt over his head, showing off the muscles across his bare chest. He loops both arms under my thighs, getting on his stomach and draping his leg off the far arm of the couch. It can’t be comfortable, an awkward position he won’t be able to stay in long, but he doesn’t seem to care.
How can I put up a fight when he yanks my underwear to the side?
Why would I protest when he keeps his gaze on me and lowers his mouth between my legs, licking me like I was made for him?
How can I argue when his fingers dig into my skin hard enough to leave behind a bruise while he circles my clit with his tongue?
My hands work their way to his shoulders, needing something to hold on to. They move to his hair and twist the strands, emboldened when his touch wavers at the roughness behind my grasp.
I wonder if he’d like it if I wasn’t gentle with him.
If I was loud and frantic, and he must, because he groans into my thigh when I press his face deeper between my legs.
He scratches over my knee with sharp nails when I lift my hips, allowing him to find the perfect spot, his tongue parting me like his fingers would.
“Heaven,” he grits out, turning his head to nip the apex of my thigh. I moan, the sting a welcome surprise, and he does it a second time. “You taste like heaven. I’ve been good, right? Good enough to taste you when you come?”
Worship is right.
The sensations are overwhelming. It’s a full-body experience, gratification I feel everywhere.
Sebastian puts his mouth on me, pressing a kiss to my clit.
I can hear how wet I am. I can feel it on his lips, on his cheeks, but there’s no room for embarrassment.
Not when he thrusts against the cushions.
Not when his hold on my leg tightens, a new ebb of pleasure building at the base of my spine.
I close my eyes, sinking into it. It’s intense, sudden, but before it can crest over me, the satisfaction disappears. It’s snuffed out, and I claw at his shoulders, aching for relief.
“No.” I tug on his necklace to get his attention. “Why did you—”
“Because.” He snaps my underwear against my waist, and I cry out. “I want your eyes on me while I make you come, Quincy. I want you to watch how easily I make you fall apart.”
The demand is primal, greedy in a way no one’s ever been with me, and submissiveness I never knew I had succumbs to his ask. I don’t blink. I don’t dare breathe, reveling when his mouth is back on me, wet and filthy.
“Better,” he mumbles, and I wonder if he’s struggling to hold it together like I am. His movements turn frantic, less sharp, but equally as wonderful. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb. “You’re a vision. Fucking beautiful. Fucking mine.”
Mine.
What a terrifying, lovely word.
I’ve never been someone else’s, not like this, and the declaration is exactly what I need. Everything around me blurs. Magnificently hazy and deliriously good. It doesn’t take long, tears welling behind my eyes when he pushes two fingers inside me at the same time his tongue presses on my clit.
It’s perfect. The most wonderful burst of adrenaline I’ve ever experienced, and I fall apart with his name on my lips and his heart racing under my hand.
Sebastian is slow to pull his mouth away, easing me down with a kiss to my knee, my stomach. He sits up, holding his weight above me with his elbows, and smiles at me.
“Take these off.” I fight with his shorts and he laughs, hands covering mine to help pop open the button. “And please tell me you have a condom.”
“Put one in my wallet on a whim. Didn’t know if I’d ever get this chance with you, but wanted to be ready if I did.” He drops a kiss to my forehead and stands, working his shorts down his legs and stepping out of them. “That’s what you want?”
“It is.” I lick my lips. “Get the condom, Sebastian.”