He plants a hand on each of his knees, levering himself up. “Come on, I have a blanket in the back seat.” Not knowing what the hell a blanket has to do with anything, I follow him mindlessly to the car. He opens the door for me, and I climb inside. A moment later he’s inside, slamming the door behind him, shutting out the cold. On the floor is a canvas bag. He unzips it and pulls out a soft thermal blanket.
Raising an eyebrow, I can’t help but ask, “Do you use this often?”
“My mom made me put it in the car when I bought it. She got stranded in a snowstorm in high school and almost froze to death.” He takes the bag and folds it over, creating a pillow, and props himself back against the door. “Of course, it doesn’t snow much down here anymore, but she worries a lot, and it’s just easier to give in if it’ll give her peace of mind.”
That admission is why, under all that pretty, entitled, tough-guy exterior, Sebastian is hard to read. One minute he’s a pushy, demanding brat, and the next he’s doing something sweet like feeding stray kittens or humoring his mom.
Once he’s situated, he says, “Come lean against me.”
I drag my eyes down his body, dubious. “Like, my back against your chest?”
He reasons, “It’ll help warm you up, and there’s like, two solid layers of clothes between us. Three with the jacket.”
I take a deep breath, and scoot my butt back, nestling myself between his legs. He then reaches over us, covering both of our bodies with the blanket. To be honest, I’m not even sure I need a blanket at this point, my skin is so overheated from the anxiety and embarrassment of it all. I still haven’t fully leaned back, my back and arms stiff and rigid, but I also feel the radiating warmth of him behind me. Sebastian’s skin is always so warm, like a human heater. And there’s also his scent; the combination of clean, soapy boy, and the oil and grease from the garage. My body, like always, is at war. I’m caught in an internal battle of want versus fear, when his deep voice fills the car.
“All I’m going to ask you to do is trust me.”
I do as he asks, feeling a little better after talking it out. I believe that Sebastian wants to treat me right. I’m just not sure he can. I look down and see that his hand is passively by his side. He hasn’t made a move yet, which is reassuring. Running my hands down my thighs, I take a deep, steadying breath, and fully lean back.
“You okay?” he asks. I nod, taking another breath and settling against the lean length of his body. We sit there for a moment and I feel his breath on my neck and hear my heart pounding in my ears.
It feels nice to be against his body again and I exhale shakily. “So, what’s your big idea?”
“You take the lead.” He holds up his hands, fingers wiggling. “Hold my hands and just put these babies wherever you want. I’ve seen you touch yourself, Sugar. You know what feels good and what doesn’t.”
All I’ve really wanted for weeks now is to feel Sebastian’s hands on me, so it’s not like I don’t want to try. Resigned to this all going horribly once again, I reach up and place my palms on the back of his large hands, linking my fingers through his, bringing them closer for inspection. They’re warmer than my own, rougher, and even though he washed them, I can still see the faint lines of grease under his nails. His knuckles are still busted up from that night of the race, and he’s got a thin scar beneath one of his nails, jagged and pale. His fingertips are wide and blunt, raspy near the thumb, like there’s an old callus.
For once in his life, Sebastian is completely passive as I observe his hands. The only movement I feel is the rise and fall of his chest behind me. Slowly, I move his hands down to the top of my thighs, over the blanket still separating us, and rest them there.
My breath stalls in anticipation of the dread that always hits, but this isn’t so bad. It’s not even against my skin, and Sebastian is still—so still that it feels like he’s stopped breathing, too. Reluctantly, I grip his hands and