He reaches up to tug it away. “Fuck that, let me hear you.”
I know it’s just us here. I know from the tour earlier that his mom is so far away, a gun could probably go off in here and no one would know. Nevertheless, when he sinks a finger into me, tongue working over my clit, it’s still hard to push away the instinct to muffle my whimper.
Because this is Sebastian between my legs, it’s almost like he takes it as a challenge, holding my gaze as he tongues at my clit in a rapid bout of flicks, finger pumping in and out of me.
It’s not long before I give in, completely unable to hold it back anymore. I dig my heels into the bed, head thrown back into the pillow as loud cries spill from my lips, arching into him. He grunts against me when my fingers fist into his hair, but I know it’s not out of pain. He pulls back every few seconds to watch his finger moving inside me, muttering strained curses, before diving right back down to assault me with more of that wicked tongue torture.
Mere minutes later, I come with a sharp gasp, so surprised by the intensity of it that I have to fist my hands in the bedsheets just to feel any sense of being grounded. Sebastian is ruthless as he chases me through the shudders, watchful eyes flashing with heat, working me like an instrument until I’m a mess of squirming whines.
I collapse into the bed, breathless, like all my strings have been cut, but Sebastian is anything but. His movements are tightly controlled as he rises back up onto his knees, shoving his boxers from his hips. I watch in a daze when his hard cock springs free, bouncing with his movements as he yanks them off his legs.
His eyes travel down my naked, spent body like a trail of flames. “Fuck me, you’re so hot like this.” His hand runs up my thigh, over my hip. He must have found that box of condoms at some point, because he’s holding one in his other hand. “You’re hot all the time, but like this, all fucked out from my tongue, in my bed? Goddamn, girl.”
He’s still transfixed when he rips open the wrapper, resting back on his heels to roll the condom over his erection. It’s a smooth, practiced motion, and when he gives his covered dick a stroke, I tug his hand away, replacing it with my own.
Fuck, he’s big.
“Fuck, you’re big.” I instantly regret saying it. The boneless, ‘fucked-out’ feeling is nice, but the part where I lose my own brain-to-mouth filter leaves something to be desired.
His mouth curls into that slow, self-obsessed grin of his. “Think I’m hung, huh?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve only touched a couple dicks before.”
He bends down, meeting my lips with a slick, open-mouthed kiss. I think I can taste myself on his lips, his tongue, and the spark in my belly is already trying to come back to life. “Come on,” he says, nosing beneath my chin. “Can’t you indulge my ego, just this once?”
I fight down a smile, feeling ticklish when his fingers graze too lightly over my ribs. “I already said you were big.”
He reaches between us to run his fingers through my slickness, saying, “Doesn’t matter. I can already feel how wet you are for me.” He sinks a finger into me again, slow and testing, and I can feel his cock surge in my hand. Despite the playful mood, there’s no missing the tightness of his jaw, or the way he impatiently knees up into the cradle of my legs, brows crushed together. “You feel ready. Are you?”
I take a deep breath, carding my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “I’m ready.”
I feel him take himself in hand, guiding his dick to where I’m wet and open for him. Despite my assurances, he still watches me closely as he pushes forward, sinking his dick slowly into me.
It’s nothing like that first time, which had felt a bit like being split open—a long, arduous sting that never quite ended. With Sebastian, it’s like being filled up, holding something inside me that I hadn’t even realized was missing.
My jaw falls slack on a gasp at the feel of it, and he breathes out a low, “Fuck yes,” as he sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch, until there’s no space between us. He rests low on his forearms, letting me feel our chests pressed together as I get used to the stretch of him. Curling an arm over my head, he sweeps my hair back, planting a sweet, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“You good?” he asks, and even though his eyes are lazy with that lust-sex-glaze, lips loose as they pluck leisurely at my own, I can tell from the way his muscles flex and roll that he’s holding himself back. “Need a minute?”
I shake my head, clutching his hips between my thighs, hands clamped tight around each of his biceps. “Just start slow.”
He doesn’t mention the tremble in my voice, and I’m grateful. I wouldn’t know how to explain that it’s not nerves. It’s the complete lack of them. It’s the way everything feels so confusingly right. It’s the feel of his body against me, inside me, and how I’ve spent so long with that constant, gripping pressure in the pit of my chest that it’s only now I realize that I don’t feel it anymore. Not like this. Not with him.
His first thrusts really are slow—these long, dragging motions that make me feel every single inch of him. He shifts to one elbow, ducking his head to watch himself move against me and letting out a soft groan at the sight.
Palming the outside of my thigh, he asks, “Wrap your legs around me.”
When I do, winding them around his waist, he sinks even deeper, his jaw going taut. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
I gasp out his name when his hips meet mine again, the pressure creating just the right amount of friction to make an entirely new spark of heat roll up my spine.
“Yeah,” he breathes, kissing me as he repeats the motion, but faster, a little harder, like he’s seeing how far he can take it. Pretty fucking far, if the way my hips buck back against him is any indication.
He gets his arms beneath me, around me, and suddenly heaves us back. I shoot out a hand to steady myself, but there’s no need. He’s got me in his lap now, one large palm pressed between my shoulder blades, helping me find my balance.
It takes a moment to adjust, winding my arms around his neck, but he’s looking at me so desperately, a lock of hair fallen in his eyes. “Oh, god,” I breathe, surprised at the way rocking against him like this is seriously doing it for me.
The hand on my back curls around my shoulder, bearing me down with each rock. “Yeah, just like that,” he says, bringing his other hand to my ass, guiding my rhythm. He captures my lips in a searing kiss, never closing his eyes, even as mine flutter. “You feel so fucking good. Show me, baby. Show me how hard you want it so I can fuck you right.”
I want to tell him that it’s okay. That I can take it. That I’m not scared anymore—not of this. Tomorrow will be a different story. Once we’ve done it—once we’ve had each other like this—will come the worry, but for now?
For now, I want everything.
He grunts when I meet his hips hard, the sound of our skin clapping loud between us. He bites out a low, “Fuck, Sugar,” fingers digging into my ass when he meets my next thrust, jerking me into his body. He sucks a kiss into my neck, breaths coming harder. “You want it like that? You want it hard?”
“Fuck yes,” I grit out, wanting to feel it—all of it.