Chapter 16
Sixteen
SEBASTIAN
Time stops. The cabin disappears. There’s only Bailey. Her mouth, soft and tentative against mine, the slight tremble in her fingers where they grip my shirt.
The bitter taste of pine needle tea on her tongue mingles with something sweeter. Something I shouldn’t want but can’t resist.
A log shifts in the fireplace, sparks crackling like tiny fireworks.
The sound breaks the spell, and I pull back.
Her eyes capture the flickering flames, turning ordinary green into something extraordinary—flecks of gold dancing amid emerald, questions swirling in their depths.
My fingers still curve around her waist, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric.
“I can’t give you a relationship.” The words scrape my throat. They need to be said, even if saying them feels wrong.
Her lips curve into that crooked smile that’s haunted me since the airport.
“Never thought you were offering.”
There’s no judgment in her voice, no expectation. Just honesty. Raw and direct, as always. No calculated hurt, no manipulation. Just Bailey.
Then she leans forward, eliminating the space between us, and thinking becomes impossible. The careful walls I’ve built crack and crumble as her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp. My body responds, heart pounding against my ribs, hands sliding under her shirt to find warm skin.
She gasps against my mouth. The small, honest sound undoes me more than any practiced moan ever could.
I drag my tongue along her collarbone, tasting salt and sweetness and the indefinable essence that is Bailey. Her pulse races under my lips, strong and rapid. My hands map her ribs, her back, her hips. Memorizing every inch like I’ll be tested later. Maybe I will be. Maybe this is the test.
She weighs nothing in my arms as I lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist, her mouth never leaving mine. The few steps to the bed feel endless. Her teeth graze my bottom lip, and I almost stumble. No one has ever affected me like this.
The old mattress creaks beneath our weight as I lay her down. Moonlight streams through the window, painting silver patterns across her skin. She looks up at me, eyes dark with desire, hair spread wild against the pillow.
I hover above her, drinking in every detail.
The way her chest rises and falls with quick breaths.
The slight tremble in her hands as they grip my shoulders.
The flush spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath her shirt.
The contrast between us strikes me—her chaotic beauty against my perpetual control.
She’s about to shatter that control completely.
“Sebastian.” My name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a curse rolled into one. Her hips arch up, seeking contact. The movement draws a groan from deep in my chest.
Her shirt comes off, revealing smooth skin and simple cotton beneath. My hands shake as I trace the curves of her breasts through the thin fabric. She arches into my touch, impatient as always.
“Too many clothes,” she mumbles against my mouth, tugging at my shirt. I help her, breaking contact just long enough to pull it over my head.
Her fingers trace the edge of the bandage on my arm, feather-light, concerned. The touch sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with pain.
“It’s nothing,” I say, catching her hand before she can worry more. “Vegas saved me.”
Her eyes meet mine at the mention of her sacrificed snow globe, and something unspoken passes between us.
A smile spreads across her face—not her usual rapid-fire grin, but something quieter. Something meant only for me.
Her hands explore my chest, curious and eager, mapping old scars and the contours of muscle. When her fingers brush a sensitive spot near my hip, I catch her wrists.
“Slow down.” My voice sounds rough, strained with the effort of restraint. “We have all night.”
“Don’t want to.” She nips at my jaw, teeth grazing my stubble. “Been slow all day.”
I press her hands into the mattress above her head, holding her still. “Bailey.” Her name comes out like a warning, a promise.
She wiggles beneath me, testing my grip. “What happened to ‘just once’?”
“Just once,” I agree, trailing kisses down her throat, sending her pulse jumping beneath my lips. “Doesn’t mean we have to rush.”
I ease her pants down, my eyes fixed on the bandaged leg, the memory of her pale face when she passed out still raw in my mind.
“Stop.” Bailey tugs my chin up, forcing me to meet her eyes. “You’re staring at my ankle like it might explode. Unless you’re planning to fuck my ankle—which, weird kink, but I’m not judging—it’ll be just fine.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “Only you would make that joke right now.”
She grins, all mischief and desire. “Only you would think about my ankle when I’m half-naked. Priorities, Sebastian.” She hooks her good leg around my waist, pulling me closer. “I want you. Now. Not after you’ve performed a full medical examination.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I mutter, still hesitating.
She rolls her eyes, then flips us, pushing me onto my back with surprising strength. She straddles me, thighs clamping around my hips, the heat of her core pressed against my erection.
Pain flashes across her face for a split second before she masks it, settling more firmly against me. The friction tears a groan from my throat.
“Bailey—”
“Shh.” She presses a finger to my lips. “I survived wolves and a plane crash. I think I can handle a little enthusiastic sex.”
My hands find her waist, steadying her. “Enthusiastic, huh?”
“Well, I was hoping for enthusiastic.” Her fingers walk up my chest. “But if you prefer boring, missionary, lights-off sex, I suppose—”
I surge upward, capturing her mouth mid-sentence.
Her surprised gasp vibrates against my lips before she melts against me, her tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke.
My hands slide up her bare back, over the delicate ridge of her spine, the subtle shift of muscle beneath smooth skin.
Her nipples harden against my chest through the thin fabric of her bra, the sensation making my cock pulse beneath her.
“Better,” she gasps when I release her mouth to drag my lips down her throat. “Much better.”
My teeth graze her collarbone, and she hisses, arching into me. “More of that,” she demands, rolling her hips against mine. The friction makes me groan.
“Bossy,” I mutter against her skin.
“You like it,” she counters, grinding down again. My hands tighten on her hips involuntarily.
“Maybe I do.” I suck a mark into the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder. She gasps my name. The most perfect sound I’ve ever heard.
Her bra strap slips off her shoulder. I trace it with my tongue, reaching behind her to unclasp the garment. It falls away, and I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can only look at her, golden in the firelight, wild and unafraid.
“Sebastian?” Uncertainty creeps into her voice as my silence stretches. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it. You’re fucking perfect.”
A blush spreads down her chest. “Says the man who literally looks photoshopped.” Her fingers trace my abs. “Seriously, do you have individual ab workouts scheduled in your calendar? Monday: upper right ab. Tuesday: lower left ab. Wednesday—”
I flip us again, pinning her beneath me, careful of her injured leg. My erection presses against her core through the thin barrier of our remaining clothes. The pressure is exquisite torture. “You talk too much.”
“Make me stop.” Challenge flares in her eyes, lips curved in a dare.
I take the dare, lowering my mouth to hers. Her lips part, eager and demanding. My tongue slides against hers as my hand palms her breast, thumb circling her nipple. It tightens further under my touch, and she moans into my mouth. I swallow the sound, greedy for every unfiltered noise she makes.
Her nails score my back, leaving what I know will be red welts. The sharp sting only heightens everything, adding a perfect counterpoint to the pleasure. Unlike the careful, manicured nails that never left a mark on me before, Bailey’s blunt fingernails brand me, claim me.
“These. Off. Now.” She tugs at my pants, impatient, demanding.
I comply, kicking them away, then hook my fingers in her underwear. “These, too?”
“God, yes,” she breathes. “Unless you want me to beg, which, not gonna lie, might be hot, but also might drive me insane, and I’d probably say something weird about—”
I silence her with a kiss, dragging the cotton down her legs. Her skin burns beneath my touch, a restless energy barely contained.
“I need you,” she whispers against my lips. “Please, Sebastian.”
My mouth traces over every curve, every dip of her body. She shivers under my touch, gasps when I find sensitive spots. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, my hair, anywhere she can reach, never still, always moving, always reaching.
“Sebastian, please...” Her voice breaks on my name, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my groin.
She’s beautiful in the moonlight, all soft curves and shadow. No posed seduction, no calculated moves. Just pure, honest desire. For me. Not Sebastian Lockhart, CEO. Just Sebastian, the man who fought wolves and carried her through the snow.
Bailey’s hand touches my cheek, drawing me back to the present. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes search mine, seeing too much as always, missing nothing. “Do you want to stop?”
I pause, letting my forehead rest against hers, breathing her in. “No.” My fingers trace the curve of her hip, reassuring us both. “Do you?”
“No.” She shifts beneath me, but her gaze stays locked on mine, clear and direct despite her desire. “But you look like you’re about to regret it.”
Fuck. No. I focus on her face—the slight furrow between her brows, the way she bites her lower lip.
“No regrets.” I brush my thumb across her cheek, feeling its warmth, its softness. “You’re so beautiful. Perfect.”
Her smile spreads slow and real, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Not perfect.”