“Sebastian.”
“I don’t think I can ever stop,” I said. I liked being with Celia. Liked watching her as she came up with a thousand ideas and ways of doing things. But fucking her? That was close to heaven.
“Don’t,” she bit out, dropping her head. “Ever.”
My hand braced on her hip, we moved together like we’d been lovers for a lifetime. It was like she knew, somehow. Just a slight twist of her hips and her choking out my name. Or a clench of her pussy and a sexy, desperate glance over her shoulder. She understood everything I needed to rachet up my pleasure, knew what would have me fighting off my orgasm, trying to regain control.
I never did.
Instead, I inched relentlessly closer to another climax.
She arched her back, shuddering, and collapsed against me, her legs shaking and her hands reaching for me. I kept fucking and fucking and fucking, desperate to make it last as long as possible just in case she disappeared back to wherever goddesses come from.
Just as I couldn’t hold back another second, she pushed back hard and fast and I emptied myself into her.
I was still dizzy on the feel of her around my cock, still lightheaded at her softness in my hands and her sweet cries when she came, when she pushed away from me. And dropped to her knees.
She was just so fucking perfect. And it was almost too much.
Except it never would be.
I pulled off the condom and I didn’t even feel the air hit my cock before her mouth was around my crown, licking and sucking, feeding on me like she’d been denied for a lifetime.
She pulled back. “I love your cock. Like maybe even more than Christmas.”
I chuckled and threaded my hand through her hair. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
Her hot breath got me hard just when I would have put money on not being able have an erection again for a month because I was so spent. She took me so deep I almost came again as I hit the back of her throat. She pulled back, her teeth grazing my shaft. The sound of her wet tongue sent heat up my spine like lightning.
As she kneeled, head back, breasts high and firm, her hair streamed behind her like a waterfall pooling on the floor.
I cupped her head, enjoying the sight of her reddening lips as my cock pushed into her. She looked up at me, her eyes locking on mine. I wondered if I’d ever be able to look away.
Her hands on my thighs, she alternated between taking me oh-so-deep and working my crown like she was in my mind. I wasn’t sure if it was her wet chin, her watering eyes, or her insistent tongue, but I was lost to this woman.
Completely and utterly lost.
I stepped away from her and lifted her to her feet, setting us both down on the bed. Again, I rolled a condom over my throbbing cock. I wanted her. I wanted to come inside her again, but I wanted her body meeting mine when I did.
I slid up into her and my entire body relaxed as we stroked and kissed and soothed each other. The frenzied fucking had passed and we moved languidly together, as if in some pre-rehearsed routine where each of us knew the steps. Within just a few minutes, I could tell that Celia was about to climax—not because she was scratching at me and screaming my name but because of the way her body tightened, almost imperceptibly; because of the way she looked at me, all openness and vulnerability.
We came at the same time, clutching at each other, sensation just as savage and uncontrollable as each time before, but somehow more focused and concentrated and most of all, shared between us.
She sighed as she pressed a kiss against my chest. “You’re amazing.” Her tone was dreamy and soft.
“You’re everything.” I’d never known anyone like her. Anyone so tough but soft. Anyone so desperate but determined. Anyone so fucking sexy. And kind. And passionate. And sweet.
And mine.
Eighteen
Celia
I should be exhausted because it was so early. I knew I should sleep—we both should—but a warm, naked Sebastian was more than a little distracting. Far from being tired, I was now wide awake; my blood buzzed in my veins as my mind cycled through yesterday, last night, and what was going to happen today. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was just gone six in the morning.
“You still have that bin bag of your ex’s stuff?” Sebastian asked out of nowhere as we lay staring at the bedroom ceiling. I hadn’t even realized he was awake.
“Yeah. I’ll probably put it out for the bin men after Christmas.” I would find the courage to do it sometime before next Christmas. I hoped. The more it sat under the kitchen table, the more significance the bag full of bric-a-brac took on. What was I trying to achieve by keeping it?