nice and toasty—Caroline always builds the best fires, and shit around here got a lot better when all the guys finally accepted it—but I can still feel Sugar’s shiver at the lick of cold wind across her back. I peel off my wool coat and drape it over her front, and for once, she doesn’t fight. She just curls her fingers in it and lets me make her feel good.
She doesn’t even resist when I wind my arms around her middle, arms warm against her narrow, bare waist. It’s nice, not having to worry about touching her as little as possible. She’s pliant like this, a soft, malleable thing in my arms. I watch her face, the way the fire cuts against her cheekbones, eyelashes fluttering above them, when I reach for her tits. I know she’d taken that bra off in the car. I caught more than a flash of glowing skin and dark nipple as she shed it.
They’re soft and heavy in my hands, warmer than the rest of her, and when her eyes blink open, catching mine, I’m expecting her to give me a little smile before saying something vaguely violent.
Instead, she just says, “Your hands are nice.”
I give her tits a little squeeze. “Yeah?”
“I always thought so.” She hums in response to my hands’ massaging. “When they’re not hurting, that is.”
I frown, ducking my head to press my lips to her temple. “I wouldn’t hurt you again.”
“I know.” She arches her back into my palms, seeming uncaring that I’m just sitting here playing with her tits in front of everyone, squeezing them together. “Vandy told me. She said you’ve been different.”
“Different?”
Her nipples are hard, but she doesn’t have that heavy-eyed, horny look. When her eyes meet mine, they’re just curious. “Because you aren’t always angling for a fight with other guys anymore.”
“Oh.” I stare thoughtfully into the fire as my hands work her over. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been feeling that itch as much.”
“She thinks it’s because of me.”
I give her tits a little squeeze. “It is because of you.” At her confused look, I quietly elaborate, “It feels like… having a stuck throttle. I’m always trying to find a place to point the car, trying like hell to decelerate for a bit. I usually end up crashing, which technically works. The car stops, but it’s this split moment of chaos and twisted metal and destruction. But being with you is like having a wide open, uphill road.” I sweep my thumbs over her pebbled nipples, watching her closely. “Deceleration without the crash.”
That shit sounded like the deepest, most profound thing I’ve ever said.
For about five seconds.
Then I bury a laugh into her hair. “That sounded stupid as fuck. Ignore it.”
“No,” she just says, brows knitting together. “Is it weird that it actually made perfect sense?”
“Not if you’re as stoned as we are.”
She sends me the loosest, most beautiful smile. “I’m glad to be your uphill road, Sebastian Wilcox.”
I press a soft kiss into the skin beneath her ear. “Thank you.”
Mom’s having a good day.
I can tell when I walk into her rooms, package shoved beneath my arm. I’d come to drop off the Porsche and pick up the Shelby before heading over to the garage for the day. I’ve just about finished with the mechanical repairs on the Mustang and need to get started with the interior. I’ve already set up a date with the best upholsterer I know, fully prepared to pay out of pocket. There’s no avoiding it.
“Sebastian!” Mom says, rising to greet me. Her eyes are wide and clear, smile coming easy today. “I was hoping you’d drop by soon. Everything’s so quiet around here without you kids kicking around.”
“Feeling good today?” I ask, pleasantly surprised.
“Fantastic,” she replies, patting my cheeks. “Here on business?”
“Just swapping cars. And I wanted to give you something.” It’d been propped against my door this morning, no note.
Mom looks appropriately surprised when I hand it to her, turning it over in her hands. “Oh, I hope you didn’t buy me anything. You know I have enough—”
“It didn’t cost a single dime,” I assure, dropping onto the sofa. “It was actually a gift from someone else.”
She opens the paper with a curious expression that instantly softens when she sees the contents. “Sebastian, it’s lovely! Is this…?”
“Abbadon,” I explain. “Might finally get to catch her soon.”
“My word, look at this!” She holds up the framed photograph. “It’s such a good picture. So professional-looking!”