an ‘I’m losing control and slipping through a loophole’ kind of way.
When I keep my mouth clamped shut, he bites down on the sensitive flesh of my lip. The sharp movement nearly rips the skin and draw my blood so he can suck on it.
Feast on it.
Assault it.
I open with a start, in equal measure due to his actions and my reaction. Sebastian doesn’t slow down, doesn’t take a breather, and he uses the chance to plunge his tongue inside.
If I thought his lips were tender, I take it all back. They’re as merciless as the rest of him. He kisses like he plays, razing through my defenses, seizing the opportunity and scoring, over and over.
He doesn’t only kiss, he’s out to devour me. To paint black stars in the midst of the bright white lights. His tongue ravages my tender one until no air is allowed into my burning lungs. Until I’m wheezing, silently begging and imploring.
For what, I have no clue.
In just a fraction of a second, his hold on my waist is the only thing keeping me standing.
It’s like a foreign entity has possessed my body and I’m caught in a trance. Partly because I want to end it and partly because I don’t ever want this to be over.
The two facets clash and claw at each other, creating a suffocating tension in the confines of my shriveling heart.
I’ve never been touched like this, as if I could be swallowed whole any second. As if his large strong hands could hold my face—and other parts of me—hostage. As if his body could easily overpower mine and force me to submit.
And the scariest part isn’t the confusion that accompanies those thoughts. It’s the sharp tingles between my legs. It’s the dipping of my stomach that matches his maddening rhythm.
It feels like hours have passed when he releases my lips, a small trail of saliva sticking between us as he pulls back. A strange sound echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine.
His tropical eyes cage me for the second time tonight, only this time, the mask he always wears doesn’t hide the fire in them.
Like fireworks.
Or maybe a volcano.
Either way, it’s at the point of eruption and I don’t want to be there when it happens. I don’t want to witness the moment when the perfect star actually shows to the world that he’s not so perfect after all.
And yet, I’m held prisoner by the power of his presence, entranced by the smallest details. Like the way sweat trickles down the side of his face, giving him the aura of a warrior. The way the black line shadows the color of his eyes. Or how his spicy scent mixes with sweat in a masculine kind of way.
Even the imperfection of his damp hair that haphazardly falls across his forehead looks flawless.
Sebastian swiftly shifts his attention to the side and that’s when I’m struck by the fact that he just kissed me on television.
Fuck.
The reporter is saying something, but it filters through my buzzing ears. Not only because embarrassment is whirling through me, but more due to the fact that I’m caught off guard. That I didn’t see the situation coming and couldn’t act accordingly.
Sebastian doesn’t let me go and I don’t struggle. One, I’m still in some sort of a haze. Two, it’d draw more unwanted attention to myself. Three, it’s fruitless to compare his strength to mine.
As I wait for the reporter to go away, I can’t help inhaling his scent into my starved lungs. There’s a high note of bergamot, pepper, and amber. Mixed with sweat from the game, he smells like a fighter. I can’t help imagining him crushing someone in his path.
Or me.
My core clenches at the thought and I quickly shove it back to where it came from. But it doesn’t completely go away. It remains there, lingering, biding its time, and taunting me with endless options.
And now, I think I’m in serious trouble because this scent? Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to erase it from my memories anytime soon.
The reporter finally leaves with a knowing smirk in our direction, but Sebastian’s grip around my waist doesn’t ease. If anything, he tightens it further until I wince.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, finally snapping out of whatever spell his scent just cast on me.
His eyes twinkle under the lights as if he’s finding pleasure in whatever show he’s putting on. “Which part? Kissing you? Or doing