I nod, pushing past the twist of anxiety in my chest. “Show me.”
He peels off my leggings, struggling to get the tight fabric over my feet. “Fucking spandex,” he mutters, before going back for my panties. His frustration makes me laugh, easing a bit of the intensity. I do trust Bass, more than anyone else, but letting him take control of my body like this is hard for me. It’s the loss of control and security, sure. But it’s also something new to begin craving. Something new to miss when it goes away.
Despite my agreement, my body fights against me like usual, knees clamping shut once I’m bare. Bass sits before me and kisses each knee before stroking up and down my legs, coaxing them to part. “Can you relax for me?”
I take a deep breath and let my legs fall apart, one against the couch, the other on the seat. This time, he runs his hands up my thighs, eliciting a spark that travels to my core. He switches to gentle kisses, while kneading his fingers into my thighs. I focus on his shoulders, the way the muscles tense and retract, the tattoo inked around his collar. I feel his eyes on me like a branding iron when they rise to my center, a soft groan pouring from his chest.
“So fucking hot, Sugar.” His eyes flick up to mine as he moves closer, and when his tongue flicks out and swipes against my clit, I seize and grab for his thick blond hair.
“Oh!” I gasp, pulling harder. He hums in response and flattens his tongue, coating my pussy with wet warmth.
It’s hard to reconcile, the squirming feeling of wanting to both let him in and shut him out. My knees keep wanting to close, even though my hips happily writhe into him, giving him more of me. He takes it in stride, curling a hand around my thigh and easing it away, spreading me, tongue working me over in expert ways.
He whispers things as I watch him, breathless and captivated. “So fucking gorgeous. Do you like that?” Some of it is completely nonsensical. “I want to, but I won’t. I’m not gonna ask.” Sometimes he’ll mutter a low curse and reach down to squeeze the tent in his pants. Mostly, they’re sweet things, though. Sweet and dirty things. “Been thinking about this for days. Always so fucking hard for you.”
When his fingers join the party, two sinking right into me as his tongue works my clit, my knees don’t even think of closing. They just spread wider and wider, until I’m nothing but an open mess of whimpers for him, hand fisting into his hair.
Fear fades into a tingling, good sensation and I lift my hips into his face. Sebastian reacts by sucking my clit with his open mouth, and it’s all so good, so right, that whatever I’d been worried about, whatever part of my body had been not cooperating, completely vanishes. I barely have time to enjoy the weightlessness of it—the ‘oh god, I’m coming’ part of it—as the orgasm rolls over me quickly, furiously, and I buck into him with a loud cry.
Sebastian breathes hot and heavy against my body until the spasms stop. Then he jolts to his knees and unbuttons his jeans, reaching inside. Through the foggy, post-orgasmic haze, I watch as he runs his hand over his erection in jerky, fast strokes. When he slides a finger back inside me, hooded eyes fixed to where it disappears, still gripping his cock, I don’t even have the presence of mind to feel weird or self-conscious about it.
His eyebrows sort of collapse as he fucks his finger into me, like he’s imagining it’s not his finger doing it. Like he wants to fuck me so bad that it doesn’t even take much to pretend this is his cock.
He doesn’t ask, though.
Maybe all that talk before wasn’t so nonsensical, after all.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him do this, but we’re long past the slow foreplay we’d experienced that night in his room. He’s so close I could touch him if I wanted to, almost hovering over me, and if I could, I’d catch up to his quick movements. But by the time I shake out of the haze, he’s pulling his finger out of me, jaw tensing, eyes slamming closed as he heaves forward. His hand jerks to a stop. “Fuck,” he grunts, spilling over his fist, dripping hot and sticky on my stomach. His eyes open and he looks down with a grimace. “Fuck. Fuck, Sugar, I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, pushing up to watch the hot cum dribble down my belly. I reach for his neck and pull him down. “It’s fine.” I kiss him, because it is fine. The fact that he did that for me, and that I got to see him go there... it isn’t even gross. If anything, it just makes me like it even more, wearing him like this. Marked, again.
Bass grabs the discarded blindfold-shirt and uses it to clean himself, then me. When he returns to me, settling back between my legs, head resting on my chest, a stillness settles over us. We’re still breathless, my knees bracketing his ribs, and when I run my fingers through his hair, he hums.
“This is probably super shitty timing,” he says, propping his chin between my breasts to gaze up at me. “Because we’re down in a dungeon, and I just jizzed all over you like a goddamn animal—” He laughs when I clamp my hands over my face, groaning. He reaches up to tug a wrist away. “But the fact that you trusted me enough to come with me, to let me do that, even though you…” The skin around his eyes goes tight, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “And because you’re not scared off by literally everything about me, I just…”
“Just what?” My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can’t help but wonder if he can feel it.
Blue eyes bore into mine when he says, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Sugar.”
My mouth parts in shock, chest blooming with a sudden, fierce heat. He stares back at me, frank and sure, like he’s not even waiting for me to say it back. Like I could ignore it and it wouldn’t bother him one bit.
I don’t.
Voice trembling, I reply, “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”
Some girls would get mad about the words ‘I think’ being added into it, but I get it. Love doesn’t come easy to people like us, especially when it’s muddled inside all these feelings—all these fears. What do I know about love?
His eyes, reflecting the flicker of candlelight, say the same thing.
“Don’t move,” I whisper, keeping still as possible as my hand roots around on the floor in front of the couch. Sebastian, who probably hasn’t stayed still a day in his life, does exactly that. And when my hand grabs hold of what I’m looking for, raising it between us, his only reaction is a slow, soft blink.
The camera’s click is the only sound in the room.
It’s true. I know fuck-all about love. What I do know is that Sebastian makes me feel safe. He makes me feel beautiful and sexy and strong, like I’m not just someone to be suffered. Like I’m someone to be wanted and had and cherished. I just hope that I give him back as much as he gives me.
“If it snows, are you still going home?” Georgia asks as we get ready for class. It’s Wednesday and the memorial is scheduled for tomorrow. Of course, the weather forecast is terrible—the first and probably only time this year we’ll get something like snow. Down here though, it’s more likely to be ice that results in power outages and slippery roads. You’d think my mom would change the day for the memorial, but I doubt even a nuclear winter would compel her. As if my dad will know we had to change dates.