Chapter 13 #2
“Maryann,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. A slow, reckless smile curved her lips. “How delightful that I’ve rattled you.”
She shifted toward him, the blanket sliding against the grass.
Then, before sense could stop her, she leaned in and kissed him.
It was not gentle. It was a claiming—wild, breathless, full of all the longing she had tried to bury.
Her mouth met his with urgency, tasting warmth and heat and the faint trace of sherry on his lips.
He made a low sound in his throat, something between a groan and a sigh, before his restraint shattered.
Sebastian’s hand came up to cup the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the tender curve beneath her ear.
He deepened the kiss, parting her lips and coaxing her to meet him—slowly at first, then with rising hunger.
The world narrowed to the taste of him, the rough slide of his tongue against hers, the steady pound of his heart under her hand.
The night around them vanished. There was only his mouth, his warmth, the way her body melted against him as if she had always been meant to fit there.
His fingers threaded through her hair, loosening the pins until it tumbled free.
She gasped against his lips, and he caught the sound, devouring it.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Her lips tingled, her body trembled with awareness, and she could still taste him—dark, intoxicating, sinful.
“Maryann…” His voice was rough, uneven, the sound of a man fighting a battle he was losing. “Bloody hell…”
She looked up at him, her eyes luminous in the firelight. “Sebastian,” she breathed, his name on her tongue like a plea and a promise.
And in that charged, trembling stillness, both knew something irrevocable had just shifted between them.
“I want you so damn badly,” he said gruffly, voice raw. “But I will not offer marriage—”
She laughed softly, the sound low and wicked. “How arrogant. I do not believe I asked you.”
Before he could reply, she leaned in and kissed him again.
The night itself seemed to shudder around them.
Her mouth was hot, desperate, full of hunger and unspoken longing.
She kissed him as though tasting something forbidden, and he met her with equal fervor, every restraint he’d built between them unraveling with each breath.
Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the hard planes of his body beneath his shirt.
His taste—smoke, sherry, and something uniquely him—stole her breath.
He drew her against him, deepening the kiss until she felt it in every part of her being, until reason and consequence were both lost in the wild heat of the moment.
The world disappeared. There was only his touch, his hands framing her face, sliding into her hair, his body pressing against hers as though he could not bear a single inch between them. Her pulse raced, matching his. The scent of summer grass, and his skin surrounded her, dizzying and sweet.
“Maryann,” he breathed against her lips, her name roughened by desire.
She looked up at him, her face flushed, her eyes luminous in the firelight. “Sebastian…”
He tumbled her gently back against the blanket, bracing himself so his weight didn’t crush her. Their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. The moment hovered between passion and tenderness, a fragile, reckless thing neither of them dared to name.
She could feel the thunder of his heart, the tremor in his body as he fought for control. Her fingers curled around his shirt, silently asking him not to stop.
He kissed her, and she opened to him, her body yielding instinctively to the weight and heat of his.
The night felt wild and breathless, spun from starlight and fevered longing.
Her heart was full of him—his taste, his scent, the roughness of his breath against her cheek—and she wanted to lose herself in it, to be the weakness he could not master, for he was already hers.
All the pent-up need that had simmered between them broke loose in a rush of reckless, chaotic desire.
The world narrowed to the sound of their mingled breaths, the soft rasp of fabric, the ache that trembled through her with every kiss.
When at last their mouths broke apart, she drew in a sharp breath and pressed trembling fingers to his lips, as if to steady both of them.
“I want you, Sebastian,” she whispered, voice husky with emotion. “I want this.”
Her heart pounded an exhilarating, terrifying rhythm—one that felt like surrender and freedom all at once.
He shifted, pushing up her gown, baring her legs and then her thighs.
One of his hands smoothed down her belly, brushed lightly over the curve of her hips, then delved between her thighs, finding a spot so sensitive that she gasped.
Maryann’s breath turned ragged and she cried out when he placed his hands under her hips and arched her up so that her sex met his mouth.
The shock faded under the bright flash of pleasure. He used his mouth on her with decadent sensuality, teasing and sucking her flesh, leaving her weak, an awful, wonderful feeling of need writhing low in her belly. Maryann felt dazed with arousal, a fever of need igniting in her body.
Another violent shock went through her, hot and delicious, when he slid a finger deep inside her sex. Oh God, this feeling of fullness and pleasure was nerve-wracking.
Just as she thought she could bear no more, he withdrew his mouth and his finger, leaving her aching and empty.
A whimper of protest escaped her lips, but he was already moving over her, his body a warm, solid weight that both comforted and thrilled her.
The cool air was replaced by the heat of his skin, and she felt the hard, silken length of him press against her inner thigh—a promise of what was to come.
“Look at me, Maryann,” he commanded, his voice a low, rough gravel.
Her eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, fluttered open to meet his. In his gaze, she saw not just hunger, but a raw, possessive tenderness that stole her breath. He positioned himself at her entrance, and for a heart-stopping moment, he simply waited, letting the tension coil tight between them.
Then, with a single, relentless surge of his hips, he was inside her.
A sharp, breathless cry was torn from her throat as he filled her, stretching her, the pain sharp and jarring. He stilled, allowing her body to adjust, to accept the intimate invasion, his forehead damp against hers.
“Sebastian,” she gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as though to anchor herself against the tide of sensation.
He pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth, his breath unsteady against her skin. “I’ll make it better,” he murmured, the promise low and rough before his lips traced the trembling line of her jaw.
His hand delved between their joined bodies, his fingers unerringly finding the swollen, sensitive bud that ached for him.
The first deliberate stroke against that hyper-sensitive flesh drew a sharp, guttural moan from Maryann’s throat.
He rubbed it again, and again, a relentless, focused friction that sent sparks of lightning through her veins.
Her entire body tensed and then began to quake, her hips bucking against his hand, no longer just wanting but needing more—needing the release that only his ruthless, perfect touch could provide.
The world narrowed to this single, shocking point of connection, a feeling so profound that it bordered on pain before melting into pure, undiluted pleasure. She bit his shoulder to stifle the scream as pleasure crashed over her senses.
“Please,” she gasped, the word a plea for movement, for friction, for more.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that was both a claiming and a worship.
Each thrust was a deliberate stroke, stoking the fever inside her until she was mindless with it.
Her nails dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders, which she felt so vividly through his clothes as she met his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his.
The decadent sensations he had wrought with his mouth were nothing compared to this.
The night air was filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing, the soft, slick cadence of their bodies, and her broken moans of his name.
The pleasure built, tightening low in her belly, a coil winding itself to its breaking point.
“I feel you,” he groaned against her ear, his pace quickening, becoming more urgent. “Let go for me, Maryann.”
A wave of sensation crashed over her, so violent and absolute it shattered her world into a million points of blinding light. Her back arched off the blanket as a raw cry was wrenched from her, her inner muscles clenching around him in a series of relentless, pulsing waves.
Feeling her climax, his control shattered.
With a final, deep thrust and a groan of his own, he spilled his seed deep within her, his own release a powerful, shuddering answer to hers.
He collapsed atop her, his full weight a welcome anchor as they both spiraled back down to earth, spent and trembling.
For a long while, there was only the sound of their slowing breaths and the frantic beating of their hearts, slowly settling into one tranquil rhythm.
Sebastian shifted slightly, not withdrawing from her, but gathering her tightly against him, his lips pressed softly to her damp temple.
In the quiet aftermath, tangled together in the ruins of her gown and the warmth of the blankets, Maryann did not speak.
She held on to him. This was her choice, and she would never regret it.