Chapter 33 – Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I wake up to the light touch of her fingertip, trailing over my skin.
She’s tracing my tattoos, following the geometric shapes and fractals, starting at my shoulders, then moving slowly down my chest. I keep my eyes closed and breathe deep, letting her touch explore me without alerting her to the fact that I’m awake.
It’s infinitely more difficult to do when her hand drifts lower.
Opening my eyes just a fraction, I peek at her through my lashes. Fuck, I wish I were wearing my glasses. I want to see her clearly, the crisp lines of her features, not a blur of colors and abstract shapes.
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep here last night. I’d planned to leave as soon as Sydney drifted off, to let her rest. But too many late nights, too much stress, too much of fucking everything lately, and before I knew what was happening, I’d fallen asleep with her nestled in my arms.
It was easily the best night’s sleep of my life.
Sydney’s breath quickens when she slowly—oh so slowly, like she’s scared of getting caught—peels the sheet down off my hips.
Even with my poor vision, I can make out enough to see the way her lips part in surprise as she stares down at my cock.
Her fingers pause at my hips, her gaze locked on where it lies against my stomach, already so hard it almost hurts.
“You can touch it if you’d like,” I say, my voice husky, a combination of sleep and desire. Sydney yanks her hand back with a squeal, sitting up and pulling the sheets off me to cover herself.
“Sorry,” she breathes, and I can’t stand not being able to see her features clearly for a second longer. Propping myself up on my elbow, I lean over the bed to reach for my glasses. I find them on her bedside table, next to the vibrator she used on herself last night, and slip them on.
“Should I be the one apologizing?” I ask, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice. “For interrupting your somnophilia?”
Sydney’s brows lift. “Somnophilia? What’s that?”
I can see her clearly now, every perfect line of her, every color from the blush in her cheeks, every inch of golden skin that’s not hiding under the sheet she has clutched to her chest. “The desire to engage in sexual activity with someone while they sleep.”
Her nose scrunches adorably, and she gives me an incredulous look, her lips curving to form a smile. “That’s not really a thing. Is it?”
Oh my sweet, innocent Sydney.
It’s going to be such a pleasure to teach you how to sin.
“It is,” I assure her, sitting up. I reach out to give the sheet she’s holding so tightly to herself a light tug. She lets it fall, and it pools around her knees where she’s kneeling on the bed.
Perfection. Moving closer to her, I slide my hand up her ribs. She fits my palm like she was made for me.
“What do you call it?” she asks so softly I almost don’t hear her.
I follow her line of sight to my cock and quirk a brow at her. “I’ve never seen fit to give it a name.”
“No, I mean—” She blushes harder, and makes a beautifully pitiful noise when my hand cups her breast. “The, uh. The piercing.”
Oh. I glance down at the ring at the head of my cock. That.
“A reverse Prince Albert,” I inform her. My thumb brushes her nipple, and her breathing stutters. They’d look good pierced, wouldn’t they? With a single silver bar through each one? Just imagining it makes my cock twitch.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
My hand drifts lower, down the plane of her stomach. Lower, until my fingers are between her legs, sliding over her clit. I shift closer to her, nuzzling the space where her jaw meets her neck.
“You tell me.” My lips brush against her throat when I say it, and she swallows. “Did it hurt?”
Her gasping moan doesn’t feel much like an answer. But her hips are moving, following the slow circle of my fingers, chasing my touch.
“I should shower. I need to—” Her voice breaks as I slip a finger inside her.
“No. I don’t want you clean,” I murmur against the skin of her neck. I want her just like this, still wet from last night, dripping from the combination of the two of us.
She squirms. “But I… I need to get to work, I—”
“No.” I press my thumb to her clit, and she trembles, biting her lip to keep quiet. “I’m not finished playing with you yet.”
“Oh God.” Sydney’s head tips back, hips bucking against my hand.
She’s so easy to read, so fucking responsive to my touch. Every breath, every movement, tells me exactly where she needs it. It’s mesmerizing, fucking enchanting, to watch her.
“That’s it,” I encourage her when her breathing hitches, and her legs start to shake. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, just like that. Soak my hand like a good slut.”
It takes so little to make her come. She grips my arm when she falls over that edge, shuddering against me, and it’s the most irresistible thing I’ve ever seen. I drink in every second of it, memorizing the way her face flushes, the way her eyes go hooded, and her gaze loses focus.
“What’s the record for how many times a man has made you come?” I ask. I slide my thumb off her clit, but keep my fingers inside her, slowly easing her through the aftershocks.
“W-what?” she asks, still gasping for breath.
I curl my finger, just the way she likes it, catching her around the waist when her legs shake so hard she almost falls back against the mattress. “Give me a number, love. How many times has a man made you come in one night?”
Her grip on my arm is a vise, fingernails digging into my skin. I don’t mind, I’ve never shied away from pain. “I, I don’t know,” she tells me.
“Yes, you do.” I slide my fingers out of her and press them against her clit, a little harder than I should, just a little more pressure than would be pleasurable. “Don’t lie to me.”
She gasps, but her hips roll forward, pressing against my touch. “T-two!”
Only two? A wide, feral smile spreads over my face. Oh, I can beat that. That’s nothing.
It takes longer for her to come this time, but I’m in no hurry.
I alternate between a little too light, and a little too rough, keeping her on the edge, toying with her, until finally she breaks, screaming and clawing at me.
She almost falls again, but I hold her tightly against me, taking her weight.
Her thighs snap together, trapping my hand against her, but I keep playing, pulling every last bit of pleasure from her I can.
She’s a beautiful mess when her pleasure finally subsides. Panting, shaking against me, sweat glistening on her golden skin. My beautiful mess.
“Lie back on the bed,” I order, kissing her cheek and slowly taking my fingers away. I bring them to my mouth, licking the taste of her from them. “Spread your legs for me.”
I expect her to argue, but she doesn’t. She’s still fighting to catch her breath as she positions herself on the mattress, lying on her back and letting her knees fall open.
Fuck she’s perfect. Obedient.
I take my time drinking in the sight of her, committing every inch of her to memory before I crawl over the bed, stopping when I’m kneeling between her open legs. She watches me, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with her breath.
“If you say stop, I stop,” I tell her, holding her gaze. “Do you understand?”
I need her to understand. I need to know I’m not pushing her too far this time. I need to know she wants it, all of it, everything I want to give her.
Even if this is just a taste of it.
Sydney nods quickly, biting her lower lip.
I lean over her, mouth hovering over her nipple. “What do you say if you want me to stop?”
“I’ll say ‘stop,’” she answers.
“Good.” I circle her nipple just once with my tongue before taking it in my mouth and biting down.
She gasps, hips bucking off the mattress. Her hands thread through my hair, grabbing a handful and pulling. But she doesn’t tell me to stop, and when I bite her again, sliding my teeth over her sensitive skin, she yanks on my hair to pull me closer.
She’s too overstimulated for me to use my fingers again so soon. I bite my way down her stomach, leaving suck marks and hickies, stopping when I’m between her legs.
Her fingers are still tangled in my hair when I lick a line up her center, pausing at her clit.
She pulls away from me, just a little, when I close my lips over it, already sore.
But I’m patient, unhurried. I could do this forever.
I could die right now, with her taste in my mouth and my tongue circling her clit, and I would die satisfied.
I have her exactly how I always wanted her—wet, dripping, sweaty, and shaking underneath me.
When she finally breaks, her hips jolt, trying to rise off the bed, and I have to pin her thighs open to keep her still. I hold her in place, not letting up, not giving her even a moment to recover, until she collapses back, gasping for breath.
Fucking exquisite.
She’s liquid, body pliant and boneless, when I crawl up her body to position myself. Sydney’s eyes are closed, and she’s panting for breath, too lost in the aftermath of her pleasure to notice what I’m doing.
I want her to notice. I need it.
“Look at me,” I demand, as I press the head of my cock against her entrance. When she doesn’t react, I reach up with my other hand and grip her jaw, turning her face toward me. “Look at me, Sydney.”
She listens to me, then. Her eyes open, and her lips part as she stares up at me, expression caught between fear and awe.
“That’s my girl.”
I slide my tip over her, wetting it, and hold her gaze. She makes a helpless little noise in the back of her throat, something between a gasp and whimper, when I pause at her entrance.
“Tell me to stop.” My voice is soft. Almost gentle. “Tell me to stop, love.”
She’s breathing so quickly when she answers. “Don’t stop. Please.”
I took my time with her last night. She was so tight, even dripping wet. I didn’t want to hurt her.
I’m not so nice this morning.
Sydney’s back arches off the bed when I force myself inside her, but I keep her jaw gripped tight in my hand, holding her in place.