Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SEBASTIAN
By the third week of December, we’re inseparable. The days pass in a whirlwind of hugs and kisses, and counting down the hours until the workday ends and I can hold her again.
Obsession no longer covers it.
Steam floats up around us as I peer at Sasha on the opposite side of the bath. Her eyes are closed, her hair damp and draping over the back so she doesn’t get it completely wet. I’m not sure why, but apparently getting curly hair wet when it isn’t wash day is very annoying. I learned that mistake yesterday when I dragged her into the shower and fucked her against the tiles.
Her tits peek above the soapy water line, her skin dotted with water droplets and red from my stubble. She moans in bliss as I sink my thumb deeper into the arch of her foot. I do it twice more before tugging it up to my mouth for a kiss, making the water ripple as Sasha laughs and tries to pull away.
There’s a faint ridge of a scar under the arch too, and I want to ask her how old she was when it happened, if she needed stitches, and how it happened too.
I want to unravel her as much as she’s unravelled me, make a note of everything about her until she’s a whole book stack in my mind.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she says sleepily.
“The other day you mentioned something about not being able to afford extra staff at the shop.”
Sasha’s expression shutters, and when she tugs her foot away, I almost regret bringing it up, disturbing the quiet bliss of our shared after-sex bath.
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t though, was it? It made me think about what you said all those weeks ago, when I found out you hated Christmas. At the time I thought you were exaggerating, but you weren’t, were you? The shop is really struggling.”
“I have everything handled.”
“Sasha.” The water splashes over the sides as I sit up, catch her wrist, and drag her to my side. I settle her between my spread thighs, her ass a torturous press against my dick, and wrap my arms around her. She’s skittish and on edge, and it takes her a moment to settle. “You can tell me anything.”
“What if I don’t want to?” she whispers.
“I can’t say it doesn’t hurt a bit that you feel you can’t confide in me. I want to be here for you.”
“It’s not that I can’t necessarily, it’s that I’m embarrassed.”
It’s silent for a long time, and I think that’s the end of the conversation until she says, “Things have been bad for a while.”
“How bad?”
“Enough that I might have to close the shop in the new year,” she admits quietly.
“Don’t hate me for saying this, but would that be so bad? You said it yourself, you hate Christmas.”
“Maybe I’d agree with you if I always felt this way, but I didn’t. I used to love Christmas. I still feel things will get back to normal if I could just feel that way again, and believe me, you have definitely helped.”
“I could help some more, if you want.”
Sasha presses our palms together, tracing the differences in size. “In what way?”
“Well, I feel kind of crass saying this out loud, but I have a lot of money. More than I know what to do with sometimes.”
She stiffens in my arms. “No.”
“But—”
“No. Thank you. It’s a lovely, generous offer, but I have to do this on my own.”
You don’t , I want to tell her, but deep down I know it’s a lost cause.
Instead, I mouth a kiss to her temple and hope that’s enough.
The next day, I spend the morning fake smiling my way through Gran’s annual Christmas WI event at the manor, distracted by Sasha and her anguish as she admitted everything.
I’m annoyed at myself too, that I didn’t properly absorb what she said to me all those weeks ago. She told me she had a lot on her plate and I’d asked what in the most blasé way possible, like it was incomprehensible that she could be wrestling with a multitude of troubles.
Not knowing whether there will even be a shop to open next year…
Worrying I’ve let my grandmother down…
It was right there the whole time.
I feel like such a dick.
After I’ve showed my face for a respectable amount of time to the ladies of the WI, I head to the village, stopping by Walmsley Blooms to buy another bouquet of red roses.
Nia beams at me the entire time she wraps them in a cone of floral paper, and says, “I told her you’re a catch.”
Whatever the hell that means.
“What are you doing here?” Sasha asks a few minutes later, accepting the bouquet with a smile I’m not sure I deserve right now.
“I came to see you,” I say, slowly making my way through the minefield of tinsel and hanging baubles. “See how you are.”
She finishes refilling a basket of tree-shaped candles and stretches on tiptoe to steal a kiss. “You’re sweet. I don’t know why I ever thought you were an asshole.”
“Well. That’s nice. I think?”
“Opinions can change!”
I can’t argue with that.
“So, how’s it really going?”
“We’re plodding along,” Sasha admits, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know why I said ‘we’.”
“It’s because you still think of this as your nan’s place, and maybe that’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe you need to make it your own. As long as the heart of a place is the same, you can still honour your nan’s legacy, even if you make some changes. You can live with the memory of a person, but not their ghost, sweetheart.”
She ponders this, letting her gaze drift across the shop floor. “I guess I’ve been nervous to try because she was so beloved. I still get return customers popping in and asking after her, even now.”
“And how lovely is that. To make that much of an impact.”
“Exactly, so you understand why making this work is so important to me.”
“Of course I do.” I guide her close, right into the spot I’m now certain was made for her, and tuck her under my arm. She slots perfectly and lets her head drop against my chest, fiddling with one of my shirt buttons.
The impulse to throw cash at the problem is still overwhelming. But I have a feeling she’d never talk to me again, and that’s not something I’m willing to risk.
I’ll have to think of another way.
The bell jingles, breaking the peace and our connection. I hang back to watch Sasha deal with a couple of customers, smiling as best I can when they glance over at me hovering in the corner like some kind of grumpy bodyguard.
It’s taking longer than I anticipate though, so I grab a candy cane off the tree made of sweets just to have something to do. I peel off the plastic wrapper, pop the end in my mouth and suck on it. Hard. The way I sucked on her stiff little clit last night, and the night before that.
I’m not sure where that thought comes from, but now my dick is swelling uncomfortably in my jeans. It’s like nought to sixty with this woman.
“Are you enjoying that?” Sasha asks, and when I look up the shop is empty again and she’s staring at me with a mix of amusement and intrigue, like she thinks I’m up to something but doesn’t know what exactly.
I pull out the candy cane with a pop. “Yep. Want a taste?”
“What flavour is it?”
I lick my lips, rolling the taste over my tongue for a bit. “Strawberry.”
Sasha’s gaze drops to my mouth. “My favourite.”
Inching closer, I tip her chin upwards and feed the candy cane into her mouth, letting her suck it down all the way to the curve.
She holds my gaze the entire time, makes a hum like it’s delicious, and her cheeks hollow as I drag it back out. There’s a knowing glint in Sasha’s eye as I run the edge across her lips until they’re sticky and candy-cane sweet, and she can’t resist the impulse to lick it away, take another taste, drive me fucking wild.
I toss the candy cane on the counter, needing to touch her properly.
“The things I want to do with this mouth.” I brush her bottom lip as it parts on a breath. “Can’t wait to see you on your knees for me.”
“Sebastian,” she breathes, then slowly licks the pad of my thumb.
The sensuality makes my dick twitch.
Fuck.
Her eyes flare and she knows what she’s doing to me. She fucking knows.
I drag all that fresh shine and the faded red stain of her lipstick across her mouth until it meets her cheek, making a real mess of her. My grip is probably too hard now, but I can’t help it. I’m feral for this woman, my desire base and animalistic in some way, sizzling in my veins.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” I ask her. “You’d like to choke on my cock. I know you would. You’re as filthy as me.”
She half moans, half whines, the pitch all strangled in her throat. Her legs press together, clearly trying to alleviate the gnawing, insistent ache in her cunt, and my need burns hotter, brighter than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I don’t know how I went from sucking on a candy cane to this, but I want to rut against her wet pussy and jerk all over her ass, slide my cock between her tits until she sucks on it. I want to fuck her until those green eyes roll and her toes curl, and she forgets her own goddamn name, forgets everything and anything but the feel of me inside her. I want to spread her apart, print her skin with my fingers and tongue, trace every curve like a map of all the places I’ve been.
Sasha whispers something, but I’m too caught up on all the ways I can force her to her knees, maybe scoop up all that glorious hair so I can watch her mouth swallow my cock. I want her eyes to water with it, until she feels me in her throat.
I bite back a groan at the vividness, the way I can almost taste it.
It’s gonna happen. I’ll make it so.
“What did you say?” I manage, though I’m not sure how. My dick hardens, pressing against my jeans, and it’s taking everything in me not to reach down and adjust myself.
“My stock room is upstairs,” Sasha says again.
“Okay…”
“It’s quiet and no one goes in there but me.”
“I don’t follow.”
She bites her lip and drags her fingertips along the line of my belt, the slight pouch of my stomach above it.
“You mentioned wanting me on my knees for you, Sebastian.”
Fuck yeah.
If I wasn’t already hard as a fucking rock, I would be now. “You want to do this here?”
Her slow nod makes my inhale sharp. I glance at the street, the world drifting by outside, but I’ve already made up my mind.
“Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll lock the door.”
I expect some rebuttal, but Sasha lifts her apron over her head and dumps it on the counter. Then, when I think she can’t possibly turn me on more, she does what she’s told, sending me a sizzling glance over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs.
I watch her ass eagerly before racing over to flip the lock on the door and turn over the sign marking it closed.
This whole thing is crazy, sneaking off in the middle of the day like overeager teenagers, but the image of Sasha on her knees for me, swallowing the length of my cock, is too colourful to ignore. We’ve set this thing in motion now, and nothing will get me to stop.
The stock room is bigger than I thought, almost the same size as the main floor below, and crammed with shelves of festive stock and boxes of other holiday storage.
Sasha’s waiting for me, halfway through tearing the Christmas jumper over her head. Her hair crackles with static and she gasps at the sight of me watching her already, waiting, clearly not anticipating I’d get here so fast.
Nothing can keep me away.
“You started without me?”
“Just… saving some time.”
Her body darkens with my shadow as I trace the solid cup of her red bra, making her shiver. It’s not her usual lace, and I’m annoyed I can’t see the tease of her nipples through the material.
“But undressing you is a pleasure I want to savour.”
Her tits heave. “Then I’ll let you do the rest.”
She’s wearing a skirt today, a dark green corduroy thing that hits the best part of her mid thigh, the real meat of it, where the flesh dips and reddens under the pressure of my fingertips.
I unzip it and let it fall to the floor.
There are tights too, black but transparent enough to see her pale skin, and dotted with little red-ribboned sprigs of mistletoe, and I refuse to believe she really hates Christmas when she willingly dresses like this.
“Do you like these tights?” I ask, mapping the elastic digging into her waist, following the seam as it trails down from her belly button and between her thighs.
Sasha shudders at the sensation. “I… I guess?”
“Can you replace them?”
“Uh… if I need to.”
“Good.”
I fist the material either side of that teasing centre seam and rip it apart, tearing the tights right down the middle.
Sasha gasps, staring at me and then her tights, a mix of awe and arousal dancing across her beautiful face.
She’s soaking through her underwear and I can’t resist sliding my hand inside and cupping her cunt, getting myself all slick with her, fingering her just so but not enough.
She clenches at my flannel shirt for balance, rocking into it. Her mouth parts and her breath grows hot and loud, and I’m out of my mind with wanting her.
With a desperate-sounding groan, I wrench her close and scoop her tits out of the bra cups, rolling one of those hard nipples while we devour each other’s mouths.
I have no idea how long we kiss, but my cock is straining inside my jeans, begging for relief, and at some point I’m forced to tear away.
“Get on your knees,” I tell her, my voice ragged now.
I feel like an animal freshly broken from his restraints as she slides down my body and settles on the floor.
A vixen perched there with her tits hanging out and her tights in shreds, her mouth all wet and red with lipstick and me . One day I’ll paint her with my cum too, make her drip with it.
“Take me out.”
Sasha blinks up at me with a sexy smile, and gropes at my chest and stomach, leaving trails of fire before slowly unlatching my belt.
I give her what she wants, what she’s desperate for, and tear my shirt from where it’s tucked in my jeans, unbuttoning quickly. I leave it on but open to her greedy gaze.
“Is that what you wanted?” I capture her chin. “You wanted to see me.”
“Everything about you turns me on,” she says, holding my gaze as she unzips me, tugging my jeans down enough to pull out my cock. She grips my shaft and gives it the barest squeeze, then strokes from root to tip a few times, slow and teasing, up and down.
I let out a shaky breath. “Spit on it.”
With fire in her eyes she does what she’s told, and spits on my cock.
Twice.
“Fuck yes. Get it nice and wet.”
There’s a tingling in the base of my spine, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I twine all that curly red hair, using it as some kind of anchor while Sasha follows the drops of saliva with her tongue as they roll down my shaft.
She does this a few times, making my cock slick, tracing the veins and sucking at the tip so strong her cheeks hollow.
My grip tightens hard enough to make her moan.
I almost unclench and pull back, but Sasha makes a throaty noise of discontent and urges me closer. She rubs the head of my cock across her lips, and there’s something filthy about the way she slaps herself with it a couple of times, making sure I’m watching before she swallows the entire length.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” My head rolls back with a groan before snapping back almost immediately, not wanting to miss a single second. “Suck me off.”
She pumps me up and down, slowly at first, getting used to the length and girth of me in her mouth. Affection surges inside me, a potent mix with all this lust, and I softly brush my thumb across her cheek, rubbing the hinge of her jaw working so hard around the stretch of me.
Her lips flatten at the sheer strength of all that suction, and my hips move of their own accord until I’m shoving into her mouth deeper and deeper, making her gag and splutter when I hit the back of her throat.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I breathe out, overwhelmed with sensation, my balls drawn tight.
The way her eyes water almost makes me burst.
Saliva drips down Sasha’s chin when she pulls back to gasp a breath. A few greedy gulps of air, she swirls her tongue around my swollen crown, revived somehow, and then she’s choking me down again, working me up and down with a mindless mix of her hand and mouth.
I need to be inside her.
I need to feel the blissful clamp of her sweet cunt.
With all the self-control I possess, I pull out. A whine springs from Sasha’s throat, and I yank her to her feet, kissing her, plundering her mouth with my tongue.
We stumble until Sasha’s back hits the shelving on the far wall, and a load of boxes go flying. I blindly nudge everything aside, too consumed to look, and prop her ass on the nearest shelf.
“I wanted you to come in my mouth,” she says breathlessly.
“And I want to come in your cunt,” I rush out, tearing down her underwear.
Sasha wriggles her hips while I fish out a condom from my wallet and roll it on. She pushes the material down the rest of the way, leaving them hooked around one ankle as she hitches the other leg high on my hip.
“Fuck me,” she demands, wrenching me closer. “Make me come. I need it.”
I feel between her thighs, testing to see if she’s ready for me, thrilled by the way she drenches my fingers on that first greedy swipe. Sasha jerks at the touch against her clit, all swollen and sensitive now, and I notch myself at her entrance and shove inside.
We both moan in utter relief.
I bury my mouth in her neck, grip all that glorious flesh, and then I’m pounding into her. Over and over until her breath snags and her cunt spasms, and the shelves shake.
Sasha screams and stars burst behind my eyes as I explode inside her, jerking and shuddering as everything falls around us, baubles and glitter and swathes of sparkly tinsel until we’re absolutely covered in it.
“Well,” I heave out some time later. “If that doesn’t make you feel festive, I don’t know what will.”
Sasha smacks at my chest and laughs, and the certainty of that sound settles inside me. I want to hear that laugh for more than just Christmas.
Later, when Charlotte squints at me across the dinner table and says, “Dad, why do you have glitter in your hair?” I chomp down on my pizza, struggling not to smile.