“Or this is the perfect time.”
“You’re nothing like the other girls I’ve known.”
“If you’re about to insult me, remember that I have your cock in my hand.”
“Fuck.” He thrust his hips in a way that seemed involuntary. “Say that word again.”
I’d meant it as a joke, which was the only reason I’d blurted out cock. But he was asking me to be serious now, and there was something more urgent in the way his eyes devoured me. Apparently, there was a thin line between teasing and cock-teasing. “You go first.”
“Cock,” he said.
“No.” I smiled at his earnest expression. “Finish what you were saying.”
“Since I met you, I’ve been feeling . . . more like myself than I have in a while. I put on an act to try to impress most women. Not you.”
I would’ve been impressed if I’d held him earlier, all smooth skin, steel, and girth on my palm. “And?”
“Because of that, I can be myself. I am myself. But what about you? Do I make you better?” He paused. “Can you see yourself with me?”
If I wasn’t mid-handjob, I would’ve hugged him. It was such a sweet, honest question to not only wonder, but ask. “The fact that you care enough to bring it up is your answer. Of course you’re good for me too.”
“How?”
It was a lot to ask when I just wanted to finally consume and be consumed. There was urgency in his question too, though. How had he made me better? For one, I’d begun to wonder if I still needed the security of putting on a personality to get through the day. “Where others see weakness, you see kindness,” I answered quietly.
“I do,” he answered. “An abundance of it.”
“You’ve shoved me out of my comfort zone. You might think I do that on my own, but I was in a rut before I met you. I just didn’t want to admit it. Now, I want more. You improve my life because you challenge me—and because you have a nice cock.”
He took a sharp breath, nudged my legs wider, and kissed me harder than before. “Condom,” he grated out. “Back pocket.”
I felt around his ass for his wallet, tossing it aside once I’d extracted the condom. “Can I put it on?”
“I don’t know, can you?” he asked, maneuvering out of his jeans. “You have such small hands.”
I watched in awe as he stripped down to a pair of white boxer briefs, his erection straining against the cotton. “Tell me you’re wearing a cup,” I said.
“A cup? Why would I . . .” His brows knit as he looked down at himself. “That’s all me, Georgina.”
It was bulging, reaching for me, almost hostile. I’d obviously been distracted when I’d had my hands down his pants just now or I would’ve feared for my safety. “Welcome to the major leagues,” I murmured as I opened the foil packet.
He laughed, his eyes glued to me as I reached into his underwear and began to roll it on. The period and parentheses that normally softened his face faded, leaving the sharp jawline and focused eyes of a man who knew what he wanted—and was looking right at it.
He scanned my body. “So many,” he murmured.
So many. I knew at once what he meant, because until tonight, it was one of the only comments he’d ever made on my appearance. “Counting the number of offending freckles?”
“Offending?” he asked.
“That day at the park, you were disgusted by them.”
“I don’t remember what I said, but I was hardly disgusted.”
“Word for word, ‘You have all these little fucking freckles. It’s like someone sprinkled you with cinnamon to serve you up as breakfast.’”
He laughed as if I’d repeated a joke back to him. I kept a straight face. I’d been annoyed by it then, and I was annoyed now. I covered my chest. “I’m sorry if you don’t like them, but they’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t like them?” He was still laughing. “God, I guess in a way, I don’t. Because I love them.”
“That makes no sense.”
“If I sounded angry when I said that, it was simply because they weren’t mine.” He moved one of my hands away and traced a fingertip over my collarbone. “I didn’t have access to them, and I wanted it.” He kissed a few of the spots that dotted my chest, and I moved my other arm away. “I knew it,” he said with reverence. “You taste like cinnamon too, on a cold night.”
I squirmed under his regard. “All this time, I thought you hated them like my ex.”
“Now I know he’s braindead. I’ll only hate them at work, when they’re driving me crazy from across the conference table.” He worked his way up my neck and ran the tip of his nose along the bridge of mine. “When I want to kiss the ones here. And count the ones lower, on your knees.”
“I don’t have freckles on my knees.”
“You have a few,” he said. “I looked that first morning. They’re so fucking sexy.”
“Sexy?” I asked a little louder than I meant to.
“Mmm. During tomorrow’s morning meeting, I’ll be fantasizing about my mouth on each and every one of them. I’ll taste cinnamon.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist and slid my toes under the waistband of his boxer briefs. “Can we take these off?” I whispered.
He pushed them down, removing the final layer between us. I couldn’t look. It’d been so long since I’d been with anyone, and just the outline of him was intimidating.
Sebastian positioned the head of himself between my legs. “You are so . . .” He stared down at me. “Whatever words exist past beautiful.”
“And you call yourself a writer.”
He pressed into me. “Dazzling. Strong. Beautiful ad infinitum.”
I inhaled deeply. Sebastian was big, and Lu had been correct—I might’ve been revirginized. At least, it felt that way in the moment. I couldn’t take him all at once, but “beautiful ad infinitum” wasn’t a bad way to be opened up, to marry big and small, hardness and softness.
Once he was halfway in, he drew back and pushed deeper. “Is it too soon to ask about the Double-Fisted Flying Squirrel?”
I couldn’t keep the smile from my face and my body eased for him. “Ask all you want.”
His expression turned serious. “You good?”
He was offering the intimacy I needed from him. We had inside jokes about things like sex positions and faux dates. Even cinnamon on a cold night could make me laugh as I swooned. I put my hand to his cheek and nodded. “I’m happy to be here.”
“I like that.” He grazed the tip of his nose against mine. “Happy to be here. So am I.”
We met lips, my mouth mirroring his for a slow, sexy kiss. As my body warmed to him, he began to move inside me, easy at first until his glides became thrusts. He got up onto an elbow and glanced between us. Knowing he was watching us come together exhilarated me. It was the cease-fire to end all battles. His abs flexed as he dropped his mouth to mine and picked up his pace, pounding into me. Wrapped up in him, I arched my back, my orgasm building until it was suddenly there, bigger than life, looming on the cusp. Had I ever come this soon? Ever been so lost in someone else? I curled my hands into his chest. “Don’t stop,” I breathed. “I’m there. I’m here.”
“Already?” He paused, then pulled out and sat back. “We’ll have to teach you some self-control.”
I got up on my elbows, panting. “What are you doing? I was on the edge!”
He gave me a rakish grin. “It’s going to be a long night, honeybuns. You can hold out a little longer.”
Nicknames wouldn’t get him out of this one. I threw a pillow at him, and he caught it, laughing as he said, “You just gave me an idea. Turn over.”
I flipped onto my stomach—anything to get the train back on its tracks. Sebastian situated the pillow under my hips and moved higher between my legs, thumbing me open from behind. “Nice and pink and wet. Christ, so wet, Georgina. You want an orgasm?”