Sand can be made solid if it’s hot enough.
The kiss I give him isn’t anywhere as gentle as it should be. If it hurts the soft, bruised parts of him, then he doesn’t show it. Instead, he pushes me back against the tiles, licking hotly—frantically—at the crease of my lips.
He tastes like warmth and blood, thumb digging almost painfully into my cheek as he deepens the kiss. With a level of coordination he shouldn’t rightly possess, he reaches behind him to shut off the water, emptying the room of every sound that isn’t our harsh breaths and sucking mouths.
“Sorry,” he mutters gruffly into the kiss, and at first, I have no idea why. Even if I weren’t distracted with the way his hard cock is driving into my hip, I still wouldn’t make sense of it. Not until he adds, “Come to bed with me.” He dips down to suck a kiss into my neck. “Please?”
I swallow, stomach twisting at the implication. “You want to fuck me,” I guess.
He breathes out an eager, “Yeah,” like I’m suggesting something that hadn’t even occurred to him. “I could fuck you.” He returns to my mouth, teeth tugging at my lip. “I could definitely fuck you.”
I jab my thumb into his side, curving an eyebrow at his responding flinch. “You’re a walking bruise, Bass.”
“Shit.” He blinks his wet eyelashes down at me, like he’s remembering it all. “Well there’s nothing wrong with my dick. Let the rest hurt. I don’t give a shit.” He slots his thumbs into the hollows of my hips, bumping the aforementioned uninjured dick against my belly.
He captures my mouth in another scorching kiss, but his hands are moving me, guiding me from the shower. It’s not until I almost trip over a lacrosse stick that I realize he’s walked me all the way into the living area of his suite.
“Shit.” He steadies me with an arm around my waist, yanking me up against his broad body. Into my neck, he promises, “The bedroom is cleaner.”
I let him guide me there.
Barely getting a look at the bed, I fall onto the mattress—a double, the spoiled jerk—and he’s not far behind. He surges into me, hips slotting neatly between my legs as he mouths down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
He ducks his head to clamp his mouth around my breast, licking a wet path around a peaked nipple. I push my head back as he takes the other in a warm, damp palm, cupping it. The feel of it is nearly unbearable, something sharp and bright igniting across my nerves, in the pit of my core. I bite my lip on a moan when his hand wedges itself between us, long fingers finding my clit.
And then, he winces.
“Son of a bitch.” It’s only now that I’m noticing the fresh bloom of a bruise on his ribs, mottled shade of ominous purple. The momentary spike of pain makes it easier from me to roll him, settling over his hips. By the time I do, his grimace is already smoothed out and he’s muttering, “Yeah, yeah,” and grabbing a thick handful of my ass. “Like this.”
His eyes are bright and impatient as I dig a condom from a box shoved haphazardly beneath his bed. I take so long ripping open the wrapper that he finally just snatches it from me, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it over his thick, flushed cock. He holds it there for me, fist loose around the base, as I slowly lower myself onto it.
He peers down his body to watch, breathing out a low, “Holy fuck.”
It’s different from the last time, having the power here, making my own pace. Control. Sebastian is tense beneath me, but also contrastingly soft, pliable. His palms run slow, deliberate circuits over my hips, my tits, around to my ass for a massaging squeeze.
I feel so full of him when I finally settle, jarringly aware of his hot gaze on me. It glides over me in phases, those blue eyes taking in the way my chest contracts with an exhale. He grabs my dog tags in a loose fist, eyes meeting mine when he tugs me down for a long, languorous kiss. It’s better like this, pinning him down, forcing him to let someone else do the fighting for once.
His body is a wide expanse of well-toned perfection, and I take a moment to appreciate it. His abs quiver when I give a shallow rock, disjointed breaths jerking his chest as he rubs two rough hands up my flesh. All the reluctance from before is gone now, replaced by this clutching, handsy mess of need I somehow find myself in commanding.
I roll my hips, and then rock back into him, wondering breathlessly, “Is this…?”
“Christ, yes.” His eyebrows pinch together in pleasure. “I’ve been dying to get inside you since that night we—” His words bite off with a grunt, head thrown back when I try a slightly more ambitious roll of my hips.
It’s easy once I do, finding what feels good here. A slow, punching rhythm that makes the friction against my clit send shivers rippling down my spine. Sebastian touches me everywhere, hands gliding across my sides, around my back. Every now and then, he’ll grab a handful of something soft—my breast, my ass, a fistful of hair—and buck his hips up into me.
It gets hard being quiet when he does that, planting his feet on the bed and fucking up into me
. He swallows my cry with a kiss when I can’t anymore, curling a hand around my shoulder to take control, driving me down into his hard thrusts.
My orgasm approaches like a runaway train, making my toes curl with every crash of our hips. It’s powerful enough to take my breath away, chest seizing on a gasp as I tighten around him, face buried in his neck. He spits a low, guttural curse, arms trapping me against his chest as he drives his dick into me, over and over.
It almost hurts when he comes.
He squeezes me, the raw power of his arms seeming barely contained as he jerks up into me. It’s over too soon, and from the way he finally loosens his grip on me, only to slide a slow palm down to my ass, tells me he feels the same.
We don’t part for a long moment, the two of us wound together, body to body, breath to breath. And when we do separate, it’s only long enough to clean up and get back under the covers. The thought of being away from him, away from the feel of him is too much—something I truly never thought I'd say or feel. I tuck against him, back against his chest, his arm holding me close. Just before I close my eyes, I hear him mumble, “I love you, Sugar Voss.”
I turn to tell him the same, but exhaustion has won over and I let it take me, too.