Page 66 of Release Me

I swallow and find that my throat is suddenly dry. “So you do want to be my boyfriend?”

As quickly as he advanced on me, he retreats, leaving me flustered and needy next to the eggplant while he smirks. “That’s where we’ll start.”

My mind swirls with a million responses to his statement, but none of them leave my lips. I watch in stunned silence as Sebastian continues down the aisle, proceeding to grab items from the grocery list that exists in his head, wondering how the hell I went from running from this man to running after him, desperate for him to elaborate on a topic that just yesterday I was afraid to broach. When I catch up with him, he’s adding a piece of ahi tuna to the cart.

“What are you making?”

It’s not the question I want to ask, but I don’t have the mental fortitude to process the answer to the one bouncing off the walls of my skull. If boyfriend is where we’ll start, where does he think we’re going to end up?

“Cobb salad with seared ahi,” he says. “Is that okay with you?”

Truthfully, I don’t have an appetite, but he seems determined to feed me, so I nod. “That sounds good.”

It also sounds quick, which means we can eat sooner and move on to other more interesting things like kissing each other senseless. Being this obsessed with his kiss feels a bit juvenile, but I don’t care. When I was working as an escort, I never allowed my clients to kiss me. It was the one bit of control I had over my body, the one place they couldn’t touch, the one thing they couldn’t have when they were already taking everything else. Somewhere along the way, I forgot kissing was a thing people enjoyed, that it was a thing I could enjoy. But the second Sebastian’s lips collided with mine, that desire, that craving for the gateway to true intimacy came alive again. And it isn’t just a want anymore, it’s a need that pulses inside my body, incessant and loud as Sebastian pays for the groceries, demanding and impossible as we enter my apartment.

Sebastian must feel it too because the second we’re inside, he catches me by the waist and pins me to the wall. The bags in his hands fall to the floor, and a perfectly good avocado rolls underneath my couch.

“You keep staring at my lips,” he says, and the heat in his voice tells me the groceries won’t be making it to the kitchen and the only meal in my future is the man in front of me, which is fine because I absolutely want to devour him. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“Yes.” I’m breathless, aware of every inch of his body that’s pressed into mine, of the way his pupils dilate when my heavy breaths cause my breasts to rub against his chest. “And this time, I don’t want you to stop.”

“Careful what you wish for, precious,” he whispers just before he swoops down and takes my mouth for the second time today. This kiss is different from the one we shared in Zoe’s office. More passionate, more thorough, more…everything. Sebastian urges me to open for him with a nip to my bottom lip that makes my knees weak. Literally. I feel them buckle and my ankles wobble, but I don’t care about falling physically when I’m already in the midst of an emotional free fall.

This man just brings it all out of me. Everything I’ve trained myself not to feel, not to want, not to hope for, it doesn’t just exist with him, it blooms. It grows. It thrives, turning sweet and fragrant like ripe grapes on a vine that only fall when they’re overflowing with goodness, ready to be picked up and made into something new.

When Sebastian picks me up, prompting me to wrap my legs around his waist, I wonder if I’ll be transformed at the end of this, if his reverent hands and adoring tongue will make me into something new too. If this moment of gentle desire will erase years of abuse and exploitation and what feels like a lifetime of being coveted but not cherished, kept but not loved. If anyone’s touch can do it, Sebastian’s can.

He moves us away from the wall, maintaining the kiss while he takes determined strides down the hallway to my bedroom. I shed my blazer and all my inhibitions during the short trek, leaving them to linger on the floor with my questions and doubts.

I want this.

I want him.

Those are the only things that matter.

Just as I make my peace with that decision, Sebastian pauses and pulls back. We’re right outside my bedroom door, and I know what this is—a check in, a moment to pause and reflect. He searches my face, the question written in the wrinkles between his eyebrows.

“I’m sure, Seb.” And to prove just how sure I am, I roll my hips into the tip of the thick erection he’s been strategically holding me above. The contact sends a rush of liquid heat to my core and makes Sebastian curse.

“Don’t do that, Nadia.”

He sounds like he means it, but he moves me down his body, aligning the parted lips of my throbbing sex with his dick. Sparks of pleasure trail down my spine, and I chase them with slow rocks of my hips that drag my pussy up and down the bulge behind the seam of his jeans . Sebastian groans and leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. His locs brush my collarbone, and I’m hit with an image of him above me, his bare chest to my bare chest, my legs wrapped around his waist, the tips of his locs grazing my collarbone every time he works his length in and out of me.

“Take me to bed, Sebastian,” I beg, completely unconcerned about the note of desperation in my voice. “Please. I promise you I’m not going to regret this.”

His jaw is clenched and his eyes are on fire, but he doesn’t refuse me. I don’t think he can because he wants this as much as I do. He surges forward, using his foot to push the door open and stepping into my most sacred space. It feels right to be doing this with him here, in the home he found for me, in the space he made it possible for me to have. A wave of gratitude rushes through me, making my chest tight.

Sebastian lowers me to the bed, and as he stands over me, his black jeans tented because of his helpless reaction to me, muscles tight with anticipation, I feel like a star at the center of his universe. And when he kneels at the edge of the bed, removing my shoes and then my pants and corset until I’m naked, wet and wanting, I’m certain that’s exactly how he sees me.

Even with the scar.

“You’re exquisite,” he breathes, his lips running a trail up my right leg, going from my ankle to the top of my thigh where the raised skin and jagged edges reside. “It’s not fair for you to be this fucking gorgeous.”

Him saying that when he’s literally looking at the part of me I’m most self conscious about is both confusing and gratifying. I lift my head from the mattress, gazing down the line of my body to find him already looking at me.

“Let me see you.”

Within moments of the words leaving my mouth, he’s on his feet, pulling his black t-shirt over his head to reveal a wide chest and biceps that are even more impressive outside the expensive fabric I’m sure he has tailored to enhance their appearance. Next, are his shoes, then his pants, and finally the black briefs containing his erection. When those hit the ground, all of my breath leaves my body and my eyes go wide.

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