Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
You did not wake up today to be fucking average.
You are fucking amazing—rock that shit!
—From Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations
Remy
Remy stepped out of the thong—the first she’d ever worn and likely the last. The fabric in her crack made her uncomfortable, as did the sensation of her bare cheeks on the fabric of her dress.
Sebastian’s reaction, however, had her reconsidering that decision.
Feeling like a siren—another first—she held it in front of her, the garment hanging from her fingers the way her shoes had dangled from Sebastian’s earlier.
Eyes smoldering, he grabbed her wrist—firmly but gently—and lifted it so the skimpy lace was just in front of his nose.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “So sweet. I love how you smell. But I want the real deal, Arabella, not just the scent of you on these sexy panties.”
Arousal flooded her body, her knees threatening to buckle. Ok. She was totally wearing a thong again for him. Her heart thudded in her chest and Remy could feel her body readying itself for Sebastian, heat and damp pooling between her legs. Never in the history of ever had she been so.
Damn.
Turned.
On.
“Then a little less talking and a lot more action, Sebastian.” The words may have been bold, but her tremulous smile and shallow breathing told the true story. She was pulsing with desire…and utterly terrified. Of this moment. Of Sebastian. Of not being nearly enough.
Of letting him down.
The only thing giving her courage right now was the evidence of Sebastian’s own arousal jutting out.
“How about you sit on the edge of the bed for me, Angel?”
Her toes sunk into plush carpet as her body obeyed the sinfully irresistible command. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the bed, facing him—crossing, uncrossing, and crossing her legs again.
“You had it right before. Uncrossed. You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of seeing that pretty pussy, would you?”
Oh, God. Was it possible to come from words alone? In addition to Doug—who she would evict from her mind right the fuck now—Remy had had a dozen or so sexual partners over the years. And she’d even managed to orgasm with most of them.
But no one had ever had this kind of impact on her mind and her body. She was practically panting.
His gaze ate her up, and she had to force herself not to slam her legs closed. “I love that tidy little landing strip, Arabella. Now open those legs wider and make room for me.”
She complied, battling deep-seated nerves the way she always did when facing imposter syndrome.
“That’s it, my queen. Good girl.”
A part of Remy wanted to protest that she was a woman, for fuck’s sake. She’d hated being referred to as a girl professionally—something that had happened way too many times by sexist colleagues. But Sebastian calling her his ‘good girl’ in the bedroom landed just right.
He shrugged off his tattered shirt, lips twitching into a smirk.
Then he flicked the button and unzipped his black linen pants, kicking them off and leaving him in just black boxer briefs with—holy hell—a massive bulge.
Sebastian Wheatley was packing. Once again, her core clenched, begging to be filled.
He moved closer and knelt between her legs. The heat kicking off his body amped her arousal even higher. Remy watched as he leaned forward, her eyes fluttering closed as he dragged his nose up her slit, inhaling deeply.
“When I die,” he murmured against her, “I want this to be the last thing I smell.”
Remy wanted to giggle at the notion, but then he nuzzled his nose against her clit and her mind went gloriously blank except for the only thing that mattered—Sebastian between her legs. Touching her softly. Too softly. Remy lifted her hips, seeking more pressure.
He pulled back—the cruel bastard—and winked at her.
“Ah, ah, my queen. This isn’t your OR. You’re not in charge here.
This is my territory. This beautiful, wet pussy is my domain.
I may be your consort in the world, pledging my loyalty to you as your liege man of life and limb,” he whispered, pressing kisses along the inside of her thighs while avoiding the area she most needed his touch.
“But in here, unless I say otherwise, I’m in charge.
Now, drape one of those exquisite legs over my shoulder. ”
She lifted her leg, awkwardly placing it as directed. Sebastian smirked and pulled her forward, bringing up her other leg as well so his face was millimeters from her drenched core.
Oh fuck. “Please,” she heard herself whimper.
“Such pretty manners for your liege man, Arabella,” he whispered, and then dragged his tongue from her opening to her clit, circling it, sucking, and then impaling her with it, gliding it out of her center and thrusting it back in.
Her hips writhed of their own accord and he clamped an arm across them, ratcheting her need with her inability to lift them. Remy had never relinquished control in the bedroom. There was no safety in that. But with Sebastian, there was no other choice but to let go. “More, please.”
“As my queen wishes,” he growled into her core, then resumed flicking and sucking her clit, shifting his rhythm and intensity with such skill she could only lose herself in the sensations.
Every bit of her awareness was centered on Sebastian’s mouth between her legs…and the building crescendo he was orchestrating. Licking, sucking, flicking, circling.
“Sebastian,” Remy cried out. “Please—I need to—I have to—”
“Eyes on me.” He burned her with the potent, smoldering gaze she’d tried so hard to fight. Lost in the heat, she capitulated, giving herself over to him. With a low growl, Sebastian tugged her clit between his teeth—just enough, stealing her breath—and sucked hard.
Remy fractured, screaming his name. And soared.