"Strange, no. But you've spent two months side-eyeing my work and now you want to talk about my methods of addressing microvascular congestion. No, that makes perfect sense."
He bent down, nipped at my jaw. "Will you tell me the next time you use them? I've never seen it."
"Never? How is that possible?"
He tucked himself into the space between my ear and shoulder. "They don't let me out much. I've spent the past fifteen years parked in emergency and trauma." He sucked at my skin, growling deep and low like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Then, "How do you feel about breakfast?"
"I am the pickiest eater you've ever met and eating with me will make you miserable. You'll never want to go anywhere with me again."
"Seeing as I'm miserable as a baseline, let's go up to the restaurant. They have a huge breakfast buffet. I ate enough for five people yesterday. You'll find something you like. Then I'll decide where I want to go with you."
"I'll probably find a piece of toast and some tea, and you have to swear to me you won't comment about me only eating toast when there's every breakfast item in the known world available to me. It makes me very twitchy when people invite themselves to talk about what I do or do not eat, and eating while anxious fucks up everything for me. I'd rather eat nothing than end up with reflux all day."
He kissed the corner of my mouth. "I won't say a thing. I swear."
"Okay. We can get breakfast, then." I ran a hand down his flank. "As soon as you get off me."
He growled into my neck. "Yeah, you must've missed the part where I get you before I get breakfast."
"You've mentioned nothing of the sort."
"Didn't think it needed to be said." He shifted, rocking his shaft against me. "What do you think about that rain shower outside?"
I glanced to the double doors leading out to patio. "I don't know. Is it private?"
He jerked a shoulder up. "Let's find out."
And that was how we ended up outside, giggling and naked under the shower enclosed with vines, hedges, and weathered, old fencing. "I've never done anything like this," I admitted, my hands on his chest as water sluiced over us.
He was hard against my belly, but there was no rush. We'd rushed last evening—and several times in the night. We didn't have to do that today.
"Can't say I have either," he said, a wide, true smile on his face.
That was what did it for me. The smile. It was such a rare sight from him that I couldn't help but drop to my knees. A full breath passed before he understood my meaning and then he reached for me, his hands curling around my upper arms and a growl in his throat.
"No, no, no," he said. "Sara. No. Get back up here."
"Are you saying you don't want this?" I asked, wrapping my hand around his length. Whether he intended to or not, his hips jerked forward and his crown tapped my bottom lip.
"I won't have you gagging," he said.
"I know my limits." I brushed my lips over him, barely a touch, and received another sharp jerk in response. He wanted this. The agonized groan that followed was proof. "Trust me to take care of myself while I take care of you."
He shoved his fingers into my hair. "Promise me you won't try to swallow."
I took him into my mouth, the luxurious weight of him heavy on my tongue and the unbelievable stiffness stretching my lips wide, leaving me to hum in agreement. I stroked his base hard as I worked the head, the water pouring over us making everything superbly slippery. The hold he had on my hair was not gentle, not at all kind, and the feral groans moving through him matched that.
I slipped a hand between his legs as he mumbled a string of obscenities that made no sense though the way he spoke it, like a series of rough, unapologetic slaps to the ass, was exactly right. I gave his balls a minute of my attention before skimming my knuckles along his crease.
A breath shuddered out of him and his cock surged into my hand. I tasted warm salt on my tongue. "Fuuuuuck. Since when do I like that?" he gasped.
He reached down, cupped my jaw. With his thumb, he traced the stretched line of my lips. I peered up at him, met his dark, hooded gaze, and traveled over that pleated entrance again.
"I think it's you I like," he wheezed as he took half a step back. "Fuck, Sara. I'm—oh, fuck, yes. Now."
As he thrust into my fist, I stroked him hard with both hands, one twisting over his head and the other tight around his base. He covered that hand with his, angled himself away from my mouth. For a man who was about to come all over my tits, he was too thoughtful. Too damn considerate. He wasn't even selfish when he was getting a blowjob and that sent tears to my eyes.
This would be so much safer for me if he was truly an asshole.
His eyes widened when the first spurt hit my chest. He swallowed thickly, his gaze skating between my hand, the puddle between my breasts, and my face. At the second spasm, he groaned out a glorious "Fuuuuuuck" and reached for my arm, but he didn't have the coordination to get me off my knees. If I wasn't busy hiding my tears in the spray of the shower, I would've laughed at that. After the final series of spurts hit, he managed to get a hold of my arm and yanked me to my feet. He crushed me into a hug and held me to his chest, his fingers doing wicked things to my clit while he murmured into my ear about how I was so good, so very good.
If I could live in this rain shower—in this perfect little minute where nothing was wrong and everything was as it should be—I would. I'd give up everything for this moment to be my life rather than one accidentally happy morning.
Sebastian grabbed a plate from the stack at the start of the buffet and extended in my direction, but snatched it back at the last second. "I know I said I wouldn't say anything but I have one question."
I groaned, crossing my arms and slouching into a sulk. "You swore."
"Yeah, I know I did." He motioned to the mile-long buffet snaking around the room. "Can you tell me your thought process as you go?"
I eyed him skeptically. "You want to know why I choose something or skip it?"
He nodded, held out the plate. "Yeah."
"Why?"
He grabbed a plate for himself. "Because you've already brought me into the croutons and candied ginger crazy. Why stop there?"
"All right," I muttered. "But I don't want your opinions."
"We'll see how I do with that," he replied, shuffling toward the first table. "I'm assuming you're a pain in the ass about eggs."
"And you'd be right." I grimaced at the trays in front of us. "Eggs Benedict is a fast nope. The sauce is too rich for my stomach and I don't do ham. Hard-boiled eggs are obnoxious."
"Obnoxious? That's bold."
"They're just not an option. Soft-boiled can be okay, but hard are a nightmare. Scrambled eggs, sometimes, but I have to see them. I can't order them off a menu. I have to confirm they're not too runny, too cheesy, too herby. Any of that would be a bad idea." I reached for the serving spoon. "I can give these a try."
When I was finished, Sebastian took the spoon from me and heaped scrambled eggs on his plate. It was an actual heap. At least three eggs could be accounted for in that heap. "You could be more of a pain in the ass. I expected a lot more from you."