Chapter 8 #2
"It appears to me," Sebastian said slowly, "you were unable to find a suitor who is both present and perceptive. So you struck a tragic bargain. You tolerated his constant absence simply to savor the fleeting moments of connection he rarely provided."
I swallowed. "That’s a nice theory, Doc." My voice was steadier than I felt.
Sebastian was quiet for a moment. "And now?"
"Now what?"
"Do you still love him?"
The question hit like a punch. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Did I? "I don’t know," I admitted. "Maybe. But not the way I used to."
I tugged on a greasy lock of hair, annoyed.
Sebastian unfolded a paper with deliberate slowness. "What you got there?" I asked, dread curling in my stomach.
His brown eyes flicked up. "Your past."
I crossed my arms. "Enlighten me, Doctor."
He cleared his throat. "Amanda Weaver. Age eight.
Removed from parental home due to neglect.
Placed in first foster care facility." A pause.
"Age ten. Second placement after foster father’s arrest for domestic violence.
" Another pause. "Age twelve. Third placement.
Ran away. Picked up for shoplifting. Juvenile record begins. "
My molars ground together.
"Age fourteen. Fourth placement. Expelled for fighting. Age fifteen—"
"I get it," I snapped. "You found my rap sheet. It is supposed to be sealed, but you got it. Congratulations. Gold star for you."
He didn’t stop. "—fifth placement. Arrested for possession. Age sixteen. Sixth placement. Arrested for grand theft auto."
I laughed bitterly. "Wow. You make it sound so glamorous."
His jaw tightened. "This isn’t a joke, Ms. Weaver."
"Fuck you. And call me Mandie."
"I told you, it is more appropriate this way."
"Yeah, you told me. You gonna tell me I need to find Jesus next?"
He crumpled the edge of the paper slightly. "Maybe what you were missing all your life was a role model. The odds were against you from the start."
I barked a laugh. "Oh, here we go. Daddy issues. Of course, that’s where you were heading."
I tugged at my hair again in frustration.
"Why do you keep doing that?" he asked, irritated.
"Doing what? Saying it like it is?"
"Why are you obsessively preening at your hair?"
I stopped, embarrassed. "Because this fancy superhero clubhouse has a plumbing issue. The water pressure is weaker than a drink at Disney World. I can't get my hair clean."
His nostrils flared. "Don’t be flippant."
"Or what?" I taunted, tilting my chin up. "You’ll spank me, Daddy?"
Something dark flickered in his gaze. The air thickened, charged with something that wasn’t just anger. My breath hitched. His voice dropped, rougher than before.
"Maybe if you had a daddy who spanked you, you wouldn’t have such a smart mouth. Maybe you never would have gotten in those fights, used illegal substances, or stolen a car."
The words landed like a slap. My chest burned. I stood frozen as he leaned in, his cologne wrapping around me.
"Maybe you’d behave like a good girl," he murmured.
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant hum of the Keystone. My face was hot. My hands clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.
I stood up and turned on my heel before I could say something I’d actually regret. Do something I’d regret. I didn't do it fast enough. I straddled his lap, kissing him as deeply as I could. We both savored the moment.
The second my lips crashed into Sebastian’s, I knew I’d fucked up.
Not because I didn’t want it, because oh, I wanted it.
I wanted the way his stubble scraped my chin, the way his hands instantly gripped my waist like he’d been starving for this, but because the second our tongues tangled, something in him snapped.
One minute, I was riding his lap, my thighs squeezing his hips, my fingers tangled in that slicked-back hair of his. Next, his palms were flat against my chest, shoving me back so hard I nearly toppled off the couch.
“That was a mistake,” he growled, his voice rough as he jumped to his feet. His brown eyes burned into mine, dark and stormy, the kind of look that should’ve made me shrink back. But fuck that. I wasn’t some scared little girl.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, smirking even as my pulse hammered in my throat. “Yeah? Felt pretty intentional to me.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what the hell you’re playing with.”
“I know exactly what I’m playing with. And you’re the one who keeps pretending he doesn’t want to fucking break me. You and your stupid code of ethics can go to hell.”
That did it. His lips curled, slow and cruel, like a blade unsheathing. “No, Mandie, but I am going to fix that foul mouth of yours.”
His hand shot out, fingers tangling in my hair, yanking just hard enough to make my scalp prickle. “I’m going to fuck that dirty filth out of you like the bad girl that you are. Then I’ll polish you over and over until you’re the good girl you should be.”
A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn’t look away. Couldn’t. The way he said it, like a promise, like a threat, like he’d been waiting to say it, made my thighs clench. My panties were already damp, clinging to me like a second skin.
Before I could fire back, his body ripped. Not like muscle tearing, but like water. One second, he was solid, the next, his form dissolved into a crashing wave. It was cool and warm at the same time as it gulped me up.
The wave was relentless and refreshing, dragging me under. I gasped as the world blurred, the sleek lines of his room twisting into a haze of confusion. My back hit the cold tiles with a sharp slap, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
I realized now that we were in his shower, both of us naked. He was still in water form around me, making it feel like I was surrounded by waterfalls. My skin was soaking as he glided over every surface of me. Fuck, this was amazing.
Sebastian reformatted in front of me, solid again, taller now that I was pressed against the wall.
His slicked-back hair dripped, water cascading over the sharp angles of his face, his broad shoulders.
The shower spray turned his white button-down translucent, with a merciless water storm still spinning around us.
“When I get done with you,” he snarled, caging me in with an arm braced beside my head, “no shower in the world will have the water pressure to please you the way I can.”
He loomed over me, his thigh pressed between mine, his cock hardening into full strength. My breath started coming in short, sharp bursts.
“Big talk for a guy who's nothing more than a puddle,” I taunted, but my voice wavered. The heat between us was a living thing, the steam from the shower curling around us like smoke.
His chuckle was low, dark. “Oh, baby.” His free hand squeezed my ass. “I’m about to show you exactly how big my talk is.”
Water whipped my ass with the force of an ocean wave, sending shocks of pleasure and pain through my body.
"Every bad girl needs to be spanked," he growled.
More hits came, hitting me in a way that felt like my brain was going to jump out of its skull. I’d had lovers spank me before, but never with this precision, this strength, this deliberate. Never in my life had I thought I would be spanked by H2O.
"Now, let's fuck that filth out of you."
His gaze hardened, and I felt myself finally surrender.
His cock aimed at me. It was thick and veined, the head already flushed, the kind of erection that made my mouth water and my pulse spike with something like fear. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I knew what he was capable of. Knew how good he’d feel stretching me, filling me, ruining me.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re soaked, and not just from me.”
I bit my lip to stifle a moan as his middle finger slid inside me, knuckles-deep, curling against my front wall. My hips jerked, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Sebastian...”
“Quiet.” His thumb found my clit, rubbing in tight, punishing circles. “Bad girls don’t get to talk unless it is to their daddy.”
I should’ve fought him. Should’ve told him to go to hell. But the way his finger crooked, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision white…
“Please,” I gasped, my head falling back against the tile.
“Please, what?” Another finger joined the first, stretching me, his palm grinding against my clit. The water sluiced over us, mixing with the slick sounds of his fingers working me over, and his water form kept pouring over me.
“Please, Daddy, fuck me,” I snarled, my voice breaking. “Stop teasing and fuck me already.”
His lips crashed into mine, his kiss brutal, possessive. His fingers pumped harder, faster, his thumb never letting up on my clit. I was going to come like this, just from his hand, and the thought made me furious. I wanted his cock. Wanted to feel him split me open, wanted to be full of him.
As if he read my mind, he pulled his fingers free with a wet pop. I whimpered at the loss, but then his hands were on my thighs, lifting me like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, my heels digging into his ass.
“Hold on,” he ordered, and then he was inside me.
No warning. No buildup. Just one thick, relentless thrust that had me crying out, my nails raking down his back. He bottomed out with a groan, his cock throbbing inside me, stretching me so wide I could feel every ridge, every pulse.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunted, his hips snapping forward, driving into me with a force that had my teeth clacking together. The tile dug into my spine, the cold a stark contrast to the heat of him, the way his body burned against mine.
“You feel that? That’s what happens when you tease a man like me. You get fucked as you deserve.”