Every vacation. I don’t fucking care, just as long as I do it with you.”
I search his eyes, and the thing is, that sting is still there, like a scab on my heart. It’s the reminder of his words, still stirring the nagging doubt that I’m not enough—not for him. That he’s too fine to hold, like grains of sand running right through my fingers. That he’ll get bored of me, distracted by something shinier.
But scabs can heal, and if I don’t shine brightly enough, then maybe I’ll just burn.
Sand can be made solid if it’s hot enough.
The kiss I give him isn’t anywhere as gentle as it should be. If it hurts the soft, bruised parts of him, then he doesn’t show it. Instead, he pushes me back against the tiles, licking hotly—frantically—at the crease of my lips.
He tastes like warmth and blood, thumb digging almost painfully into my cheek as he deepens the kiss. With a level of coordination he shouldn’t rightly possess, he reaches behind him to shut off the water, emptying the room of every sound that isn’t our harsh breaths and sucking mouths.
“Sorry,” he mutters gruffly into the kiss, and at first, I have no idea why. Even if I weren’t distracted with the way his hard cock is driving into my hip, I still wouldn’t make sense of it. Not until he adds, “Come to bed with me.” He dips down to suck a kiss into my neck. “Please?”
I swallow, stomach twisting at the implication. “You want to fuck me,” I guess.
He breathes out an eager, “Yeah,” like I’m suggesting something that hadn’t even occurred to him. “I could fuck you.” He returns to my mouth, teeth tugging at my lip. “I could definitely fuck you.”
I jab my thumb into his side, curving an eyebrow at his responding flinch. “You’re a walking bruise, Bass.”
“Shit.” He blinks his wet eyelashes down at me, like he’s remembering it all. “Well there’s nothing wrong with my dick. Let the rest hurt. I don’t give a shit.” He slots his thumbs into the hollows of my hips, bumping the aforementioned uninjured dick against my belly.
He captures my mouth in another scorching kiss, but his hands are moving me, guiding me from the shower. It’s not until I almost trip over a lacrosse stick that I realize he’s walked me all the way into the living area of his suite.
“Shit.” He steadies me with an arm around my waist, yanking me up against his broad body. Into my neck, he promises, “The bedroom is cleaner.”
I let him guide me there.
Barely getting a look at the bed, I fall onto the mattress—a double, the spoiled jerk—and he’s not far behind. He surges into me, hips slotting neatly between my legs as he mouths down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
He ducks his head to clamp his mouth around my breast, licking a wet path around a peaked nipple. I push my head back as he takes the other in a warm, damp palm, cupping it. The feel of it is nearly unbearable, something sharp and bright igniting across my nerves, in the pit of my core. I bite my lip on a moan when his hand wedges itself between us, long fingers finding my clit.
And then, he winces.
“Son of a bitch.” It’s only now that I’m noticing the fresh bloom of a bruise on his ribs, mottled shade of ominous purple. The momentary spike of pain makes it easier from me to roll him, settling over his hips. By the time I do, his grimace is already smoothed out and he’s muttering, “Yeah, yeah,” and grabbing a thick handful of my ass. “Like this.”
His eyes are bright and impatient as I dig a condom from a box shoved haphazardly beneath his bed. I take so long ripping open the wrapper that he finally just snatches it from me, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it over his thick, flushed cock. He holds it there for me, fist loose around the base, as I slowly lower myself onto it.
He peers down his body to watch, breathing out a low, “Holy fuck.”
It’s different from the last time, having the power here, making my own pace. Control. Sebastian is tense beneath me, but also contrastingly soft, pliable. His palms run slow, deliberate circuits over my hips, my tits, around to my ass for a massaging squeeze.
I feel so full of him when I finally settle, jarringly aware of his hot gaze