21. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SEBASTIAN
She passed out.
I’ve had sex with many women. Great sex. Bad sex. Mediocre sex. Rough sex. Vanilla sex. You get the point.
Never, in all that time, have I had a girl pass out mid thrust.
I don’t know if I should be mortified or flattered.
I’m going to go with flattered, because as soon as Victoria falls limp, I explode into her. I swear to Christ, I have never had so much cum spill out of me. It was the most awkwardly wonderful experience of my life.
“You killed her!” Mary gasps dramatically and I have to roll my eyes as I carefully shift the unconscious girl so she is lying down on the bed.
I press my fingers to the side of her neck for good measure, feeling for the soft thrumming of her pulse before I settle back against the headboard.
Running a hand through my hair, I steal another look at Victoria..
She’s a sight to behold, one I don’t want the rest of the room to see. It’s selfish and possessive, and I give no time before covering her with the robe as a red-haired girl hurries over to press the warm towel against her abused pussy. Poor thing’s face is as red as her hair.
I swear to fuck - if she passes out too, I will lose it.
“She just passed out, it’s normal.” My feet hit the floor and I tie my robe, gaze finally turning to my wife. Her face is also red, not from embarrassment.
It’s fury.
“Normal?!” Mary shouts, and I resist the temptation to place her into the same slumber as Victoria, only I’d use my hands.
I’m well aware it isn’t normal, but I’d rather not give Mary the satisfaction to. Especially not when my ego is so inflated…making a woman pass out from sheer pleasure… or she had a panic attack.
Again, I am sticking with my cock being a god.
“Mary, enough.” My head pounds, the headache brewing full force in my temporal lobe. I need a drink.
The small makeshift bar in the far corner of the room calls to me.
Moving without falter, I take one of the shallow glasses and pop the top of the slim nosed decanter containing prepared bourbon.
Amber liquid fills the glass a quarter of the way, topped with a single rounded ice cube.
I take a sip, then finish off the freshly poured drink without bothering to nurse it.
My gaze settles on Mary, though my mind is elsewhere entirely. Her cheeks are flushed with rage and her plump lips utter words I don’t have the mental energy to counteract. With a final fleeting glance to the brunette on the bed, I leave.
Soft purrs vibrate against my thigh from the small white cat curled up dazed and unfazed. Tomato. My sort-of-adopted cat, worse than the devil himself. Literally.
Still, I love the damn thing.
He lives in the garden, the same place I had found him when I was a boy. Originally, I thought he was brown from how dirty he was. Even now, there is a muted, muddied color stained into his white fur. I was nine when Tomato crawled out of the blueberry bushes, crying bloody murder.
“Old fucker,” I murmur to the cat, my lips twitching. His blue eyes lift to mine, as if he knows I’m teasing him, and his mouth opens into a yawn. Warmth spreads through my chest as Tomato’s front paws push against the fabric of my khaki trousers, kneading affectionately.
“He’s still here?”
The soft voice is laced with surprise.
He’s still here?
My eyebrows furrow and my chin tilts upwards to see an equally confused expression.
“I live here.” I stare at Victoria. “My cock must have turned you delusional.”
Victoria’s eyes widen, her pretty pink lips part, and the innocent action has my cock twitching against my zipper.
Down boy.
Tomato jumps up, his back arching in a frightened way as his hackles rise. Dramatic fucking prick. He hisses, then cries out with a loud mewl before leaping off my lap.
I’m waiting for a reaction, but it doesn’t come. There’s a sensation in my chest, pulling tightly into a fist, I quickly link to disappointment. Am I seriously disappointed that Victoria didn’t snark back?
She kneels on the ground, her soft lips lifted as she runs her petite fingers through the cat’s fur. My mouth opens and a ‘don’t’ plays on my tongue. Why hasn’t the little fuck scratched her? I’ve watched Tomato lunge at the gardeners before for simply getting too close. He’s not a friendly cat.
At all.
“He’s a beast, be careful.” Victoria looks up and smiles. Really smiles.
She’s beautiful.
“He’s perfect,” she hums, her hands scooping Tomato to tuck him against her
Overwhelming panic has my hands shooting out, ready to grab Tomato. “No, he’s going to—” The words are lost. Nothing happens. The metallic smell of blood doesn’t come. No attacking, no scratching, nothing. What the fuck?
The silence is oddly comfortable. Questions buzz around my mind and the peace feels loud.
Are you okay? I’m well aware you are mental, but I still need to know. Does your pussy hurt or are you just prone to passing out from overstimulation? Are you going to pass out the next time I inevitably have to fuck you?
The most important question lingers at the forefront of my mind: how the fuck are you holding my feral feline, and alive to tell the tale?
“Your peonies are dying.”
My fucking what?
“They need a lot of water. I can tell from looking at them that they haven’t had any in over a week.”
Absolutely fucking insane.
“Is there actually something wrong with you?” Victoria’s caught off guard by the question; for a brief moment I regret asking. Maybe she was dropped as a child.
“Excuse me?”
The fire rages back and roars to life. Fuck. This girl has no idea what that does to me. I want to fucking ruin her. Maybe I am the one who’s mental.
“My cat,” I say, gesturing to the sleeping ball tucked in her arms. Her eyebrows pinch together.
“He’s a wild animal.”
“He’s a domesticated cat who lives in your garden.”
My eyes narrow to mirror hers, and my jaw ticks. “Wild animals live in gardens all the time.”
“Do you have a bowl of food and water out for him? A bed, perhaps, in that little shed over there, which happens to have a cat door cut out in the actual door?”
“Yes…”
“That’s domestication.”
A triumphant hum vibrates through her throat as her index finger taps the tip of Tomato’s nose before the cat is set onto the ground. He stays pressed to Victoria’s leg.
“The peonies won’t bloom properly this autumn if your gardener neglects them. Just saying.”
It takes everything in me to stay seated on the bench as she excuses herself, vanishing into the vine-draped harbor that winds back to the palace.
What the fuck just happened?