Chapter 28
Olivia
Stuck On You - Giveon
My brain’s lagging, still malfunctioning from whatever the hell that just was.
Every nerve is on fire, every breath ragged, like my lungs are trying to piece themselves back together.
Sebastian shifts back on his knees, chest rising hard, mouth damp, and fuck…
it’s the hottest sight my eyes have ever landed on.
How is it legal for a man to look like that? It should be criminal.
But I’m not done. God help me, I’m not even close to done. And there’s no bloody chance he is, either. I sit up and meet his eyes. “We’re not finished,” I say, my voice wrecked from moaning his name but somehow still holding an edge. A challenge. A promise.
That smirk, that dark, lazy, ruin-me smile, slides across his face. “No?”
“No.”
“You’ve got that look again,” he says, voice a little deeper now.
I feign innocence. “What look?”
“The one that gets me in trouble.”
I bite back a smile. Because he’s right. “But you like a little trouble, right?”
“Sweetheart,” he drawls, voice smooth like silk, “I fucking crave it.”
His shirt hits the floor in one smooth move.
Muscles flex beneath the dim light, every line of him carved in shadow and temptation.
My stomach drops—hard—because holy hell.
He’s sin and self-control wrapped in the same body, and I can see both fraying.
My pulse hasn’t stopped racing since he first touched me.
That cocky tone does dangerous things to my insides.
I huff, biting my lip, trying not to show just how undone I still am.
Bastard.
I should be the one protesting. I am the one who just shattered for him. But I want more. I want all of him. I want to see what he looks like when he lets go completely. His eyes dip down my body, heat pouring off him in waves. “So fucking greedy.”
“Not denying it.” My heart tries to punch its way out of my chest.
And then—
He pushes his trackies down, and my brain blanks.
No boxers. No fucking warning. Just all of him, hard and heavy and absolutely unapologetic. The sight alone makes heat tighten low in my stomach. There’s nothing gentle in the way he stands there—just raw masculinity, quiet control, and a challenge written in every line of him.
God help me, I want to touch him.
This is happening.
I’m not new to this, but nothing has ever felt like this.
It’s wild. Reckless. Like I’m standing on the edge of something dangerous and stepping into it anyway.
My skin still sings from before, hypersensitive and humming with tension.
He fists himself lazily, cock in hand, eyes locked on mine like he’s watching every thought as it hits me.
“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me how much you want this, Trouble. I need to hear it.”
This man. This devastatingly beautiful, infuriating man has me begging, and the worst part? I don’t even care. My chest tightens. “Please. I want…” I pause, swallowing. “I need more.”
Sebastian’s eyes burn when he looks at me, and his mouth twitches. “You’re so fucking pretty when you beg for me, Liv.”
That name. The tone. The goddamn ownership in it. It ruins me. His fingers hook under my jaw, tilting my face up, and our mouths crash together—messy, uncoordinated, and filthy in the best way. I don’t know who started it.
“Up,” he mutters against my mouth, all heat and husk. “Turn around.”
Maybe it’s the bossy tone. Maybe it’s him. Either way, I move slowly, sliding off the bed. The moment my feet hit the floor, his hand finds mine, guiding me without a word, until we’re standing in front of the tall mirror leaning against the wall. It’s angled slightly beside his tallboy dresser.
I turn toward the glass, heart pounding, skin hot, and then he’s behind me. “I want you to watch.” His voice is rough against my ear. “Want you to see what you do to me.”
God help me. That voice alone nearly has me coming again. My thighs press together instinctively, chasing any kind of relief. But he’s already there, lacing his fingers with mine and pinning our joined hands to the dresser.
“Bash…” I whisper, breath caught in my throat.
His chest brushes my back, and I feel the heat of him everywhere. It’s overwhelming. Every nerve is alive. Every exhale is shaky. Then Sebastian stills. “Fuck,” he mutters. “No condom.”
A flush rises up my spine, not from embarrassment, but something else. Perhaps from the thought that he hasn’t needed one. Not recently, for that matter. And it shouldn’t matter, but it does.
“I’m on the pill,” I manage, the words catching in my throat.
Silence follows. A heavy, pulsing kind that hums between us like static. Then he moves, hands shifting, followed by the blunt, hot pressure of his cock nudging me exactly where I need it. Then his lips are at my ear, voice a dark whisper that curls through me.
“Hold on, sweetheart.”
It’s all I can do.
A gasp rips from my chest as he pushes into me in one deep, claiming stroke—so thick, so sure, that the breath punches right out of my lungs. Oh. God.
Every inch of him fills me completely. Every thrust stretches me wide, making me feel deliciously full.
My knees wobble, hands bracing against the dresser as he leans in, chest against my back, one hand sliding down to find my clit.
His rhythm is slow and deep at first. Each thrust is maddening.
Precise. Skin meeting skin at a pace that forces these obscene little sounds from my throat that I don’t even recognise as mine.
I tip my head back, eyes fluttering shut, already spiralling.
“Eyes up, Trouble.” His voice cuts through the haze.
One hand leaves my waist to grip my chin, angling it to the mirror.
I see myself first—lips parted, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.
They move to him, and the look in his eyes is downright filthy.
Possessive. So fucking hot, it makes my toes curl.
He doesn’t let up.
Doesn’t break pace.
Every thrust sends a fresh wave of heat through me. Every movement of his fingers on my clit tightens the coil low in my belly. I grip the edge of the dresser, like it might anchor me, but nothing can hold me now. I don’t want to be steady. I want to fall. Straight into this. Into him.
The mirror fogs from our heaving breaths, but I can still see him watching me.
“Come for me,” the words scrape out of him. I almost do
I hold off, nails biting into the wood, and rasp, “Only if you come with me.”
His next thrust is brutal. Perfect.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “I’m right there, Trouble. Right fucking there.”
His arms hold me tight. One sprawled across my stomach, grounding me. The other moves from my clit to wrap around my throat—not tight, but firm.
Enough to remind me who I belong to.
“Let go,” he mutters, his voice all gravel and heat. His mouth brushes my jaw, teeth grazing the skin. “Come with me.”
And I do.
God, I do.
The orgasm hits me hard, tearing a cry from my throat as my body seizes around him. My vision turns white. Every nerve lights up. I’m undone all over again.
Sebastian groans, and the sound vibrates through me, stealing whatever breath I had left.
He thrusts once, then again, deeper, harder, until his body locks tight against mine.
I feel every pulse of his cock as he comes, buried to the hilt, warm release spilling deep and slipping down my inner thigh.
His whole body shudders, the force of it crashing through both of us.
We remain in place, chests heaving, his arms wrapped tight around me like he’s never letting go. My knees feel useless. My body’s boneless. But Sebastian holds me, anchoring me against him like it’s the most natural thing.
“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing his lips over the curve of my shoulder.
I manage a breathless laugh. “You just made me see stars. I think I’m more than okay.”
He chuckles low, presses a kiss to my neck, and mutters, “You are trouble.”
“Your trouble,” I counter back, smirking at our reflection in the mirror. To my shock, he doesn’t argue.