Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
What is the most romantic fruit?
A date.
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
“Idid indeed. And I’ve never seen a lovelier woman than my date tonight.”
He finished his ministrations on her zipper, pausing to drag a knuckle along the base of her spine.
Arabella shivered and Bash could only pray she was as turned on as he was.
He’d never considered an artfully slow unzipping such a potent form of foreplay, but the steel in his pants was clear affirmation.
All night, he’d fantasized about taking that bewitching, elegant dress off his bewitching, elegant woman.
Bash would follow Arabella’s cues on her readiness for any kind of physical intimacy, honoring her needs, and always mindful of her thorn-covered walls that he was slowly defoliating.
But he was pretty sure he’d curl up in a ball and weep if she didn’t let him worship her body tonight.
After whacking off in the bathroom, of course.
Something he’d done with increased frequency since meeting his ice queen.
Clamping her dress against her with one arm, Arabella glanced at him over her shoulder, insecurity written all over a face that had come to mean everything to him. “What about that influencer woman you were with? Stanza? She’s gorgeous.”
He smirked. “Poet.”
“Oh, right. I knew it had something to do with freshman year English class.” His queen waved a dismissive hand. One he couldn’t help but notice trembled slightly.
Interesting.
Bash pressed a kiss to one exposed shoulder, then brushed his lips where that satiny shoulder met her neck. Was it weird that he wanted his teeth on that spot? Gently, reverently. But enough to mark her as his.
Inside his slacks, his neglected cock was positively howling for attention. He cleared his throat, mostly as a pause to pull himself together, and turned her gently to face him, careful not to dislodge her arm still grasping the fabric covering her chest.
“Poet was a feast for the eyes, but not for the soul. For a woman to be truly beautiful, the inside needs to be more gorgeous than anything makeup and plastic surgery could accomplish.”
Holy shit. As soon as the words left his mouth—left his heart—he knew them to be deeply true. Maybe that was the reason he’d only ever been in lust. Real love required texture, nuance. Depth.
“Oh,” Arabella breathed, her eyes lowering to his mouth before lifting again.
Heated sapphire eyes pinned to his, she slowly shifted her arm, the dress falling to the ground.
The breath whooshed from his chest. There stood his angel, his queen, regal and bared to him in a black lace thong and nothing else.
Her breasts—smaller than he was accustomed to in his plastic world—were the perfect handful.
Dusky rose nipples furled, and Bash’s mouth actually watered with the need to suck those luscious tips into hardened points.
He flexed and released his hands, fighting the desire to pick her up and take her against the nearest wall.
No, not a hard fuck like that. His queen needed to be worshipped, thoroughly. And then fucked hard.
Bash dragged his gaze from her tempting body to the face that had quickly come to mean everything to him. Steady blue regarded him, not a hint of fear or uncertainty evident. She lifted her chin, eyes flashing with impatience.
“Are you just going to stand there, Sebastian Wheatley? Or are you going to touch me the way I’ve been aching for you to touch me all night?”
Her voice had grown husky with desire. He always loved her voice—so controlled and crisp. But this version of it was his new craving. And it carried the same impact as waving red at a bull.
Bash wrapped a hand around her hip, tugging her nearly naked body to him, pressing his hips against her so she’d feel what she’d done to him.
His cock had been either fully or half-hard from the moment he’d awakened in the morning, Arabella curled on her side facing him an unacceptable distance away, wearing a silk, spaghetti strap nightgown like the ones she seemed to prefer.
When he’d questioned it, she told him she didn’t have nice things growing up.
It was a personal indulgence, and one that necessarily kept her cooler at night.
Well, it may have kept her temperature down, but his had consistently gone the opposite direction every time he saw her slip into bed in one of those tantalizing, simple nighties.
He’d woken this morning at full-staff, the sheet tented, and had to force himself to leave the tempting perfection sound asleep in the king-size bed.
He’d tiptoed into the massive, opulent bathroom that had Arabella’s eyes as wide as saucers the day before, resigned to rubbing one out in the shower.
Though nothing could truly abate his desire for her.
Before quietly closing the bathroom door, he’d paused to drink in the sight of her like a man possessed.
Taking in every unique detail that made her special.
That made him more sure every moment that what began as a crazy fake relationship had bloomed into the real kind that had always eluded him but he’d privately yearned for.
Now Arabella was finally in his arms, and the need coursing through him went far beyond lust. Though that was present in full-force, too. He longed to bring her physical and emotional ecstasy. Light up her body in a way he suspected no one had. And take himself along for the ride.
“Sebastian…do you—don’t you want me?” The tremor of doubt in his queen’s voice was a dagger to his heart.
He groaned and pulled her tighter, frustrated that his own runaway brain had sown any seeds of worry in her.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anyone, Arabella,” he rasped, leaning back and lifting her chin between his thumb and forefinger so she could see the truth on his face.
“I want us to lose ourselves in each other. Forget who we are or what we’re supposed to be.
Strip us down to our barest selves, where the only thing that matters is how we make each other feel.
I want to worship every inch of your body and bury myself inside you until both of us are sweaty, spent, and wrecked in the best possible way. ”
I want to love you with my body the way I do with my heart. Completely, divinely, forever.
But he couldn’t say that aloud. Not yet, anyway.
Arabella’s pupils were blown wide, the black almost eclipsing the blue. “What are you waiting for then?”
Christ, the smoke in her voice was enough to make him explode in his pants. He fought for control as he endeavored to remove the last barrier between them. “I need you to say yes, Arabella. I need to hear you say you want this.”
“Yes, Sebastian. Yes. I crave you. Need you inside me. I need you to make me feel good. Need to get lost with you.” There was no hesitation, no fear. Just firm resolution lacing every gorgeous word.
Arabella leaned back, playing with the buttons on his linen shirt. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. Bash was about to press his lips to hers when the sound and sensation of garment rending stunned him.
She’d ripped his shirt open.
“Wha—that was bespoke. My deft surgeon can’t undo a handful of simple buttons?”
Bash was just teasing, but his heart soared with powerful emotions.
And his dick was a hard rod in his pants.
Never, ever, ever had he wanted to be inside someone the way he longed for that intimacy with Arabella.
And the fact that she wanted it just as much?
Wanted him? It was almost enough to steal his breath.
Almost. Because even though he was infinitely more vulnerable in this moment than he could fully comprehend, Bash also recognized—with a deep sense of awe and empowerment—the sheer kismet in the moment.
This wouldn’t just be a joining of bodies, though he knew theirs would be earth-shattering.
It was so much more. It was destiny, emerging from emptiness to fill them completely.
“Sebastian.” Arabella framed his face between her hands, the arousal straining her voice into husky decadence tugging his focus back to the moment. “Do you really care about your shirt right now?” she murmured, lowering her hands beneath the tattered edges of his shirt.
She ran the tips of her fingers across his chest, causing goosebumps to erupt across his exposed skin. One imperious eyebrow rose, but Bash could see the passion blazing on her face.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the shirt, Arabella,” he gritted out, fighting every animal instinct roaring within him—both to declare his true feelings…
and to bury himself inside her. And that part needed to happen now.
Only…carefully. Thoughtfully. Bash knew that despite her show of confidence, his queen would need him to go slow.
“Now let’s remove that pesky, delicious thong. Slowly, please.”
Arabella’s elegant throat bobbed, and he could practically hear the swallow in the quiet, bubble-like silence of the suite. She bent forward, her breasts swaying invitingly, and linked those talented fingers into the lacy sides.
“Eyes on me while you do that, Angel.”
Her eyes snapped back to his and held as she eased the thong down her slim legs.
Daily swimming toned her body, but he loved that she still had softness to her.
Gentle curves and the grace of a woman’s body that had seen and done life.
So different from the hard, tanned bodies that used to excite him. No longer.
He’d seen the light. And her name was Arabella Remington.