Page 31 of Twins to Tame Him

Anticipation throbbed within her as he pulled her in the opposite direction of the villa. Running on the slipping sand, with waves lapping at her feet, with her hand tucked into his, Laila felt this...figment of joy like she’d never tasted before. It was in the back of her throat, in her chest, in her belly, in all of her, like a warm pulse. And she wanted to hang on to it, nurture it until it became a living flame that would suffuse her entire being.

Shockingly enough, Sebastian brought her to a large outhouse-type structure almost half a mile along the beach, with lots of glass walls and a high roof, answering another question that had been eating away at her. It was a recluse artist’s painting cabin, Laila thought, staring eagerly at what lay beyond the small entry area where there were a bunch of unused easels and various shelves with pots of paint.

“This is your space,” she said inanely.

A grunt was his answer.

Her curiosity lasted a bare second as Sebastian cupped her face with both hands and kissed her senseless. There was something new in how he kissed her, his hands roving over her body, his large, lean frame caging her against the glass wall. “You wore this dress for me?” he said, licking into her mouth.

“I wanted to corrupt you just a little,” she whispered, clinging to his mouth.

When he reached for the threads of her dress strings at her nape, Laila patted his hand away. “This is my show,” she said, feeling his gaze on her skin like a laser beam of want and heat. “Hands in the air, please.”

He grabbed onto the beam above him, his lean hips thrusting forward in a “do your worst” pose, and she thought she might just die from the decadent sight he made. Reaching him, she unbuttoned his linen shirt—full of paint splotches—and then pushed it off his broad shoulders. If she hadn’t been completely bamboozled by the man’s sex appeal three years ago, she’d have noticed that he didn’t have a wastrel playboy’s body, or face or hands. He was all raw, rough masculinity, a man who used his body both as a weapon and a shield.

Leaning down, she pressed a trail of kisses down his chest and licked the slab of thick abdominal muscles as if he was her very own ice cream cone.

His hands went into her hair, sinking deep to hold her still. “Is this allowed, Dr. Jaafri?”

“Yes,” she said, breathing it into his taut skin. Then she dragged her teeth over the same trail, marking him.

Then she undid his pants and snuck her hand in to cradle his shaft. God above, he was so hard, and he was all hers. She bit her lower lip as she fisted his erection, remembering the feel of him moving inside her. “Tell me what you like. Show me how to make this so good that you’re as desperate for me as I’m for you.”

Head thrown back, muscles bunched in his neck, he was all harsh masculine beauty that even her logical mind glitched. A rough grunt fell from his mouth as she rubbed a thumb over the soft head. “Squeeze harder. Move your fist up and down.”

Laila complied and soon, he was thrusting his hips into her hand, in a sinuous dance she was leading, and she’d never felt more feminine, more in touch with her own wild cravings, just more...alive. And she wanted more. With her other hand, she pushed his pants farther down, before sinking to her knees.

She felt his shock in his stillness, rather than heard it. Pupils blown, breathing ragged, he looked...like one of those sculptures by some great Renaissance artist. And yet, Sebastian was gloriously alive, able to feel the full spectrum of emotions unlike any other man she had ever met.

“You don’t have to do this, Laila,” he said, a ragged edge to his tone that said how much he did want it.

“Have you known me to do anything that I’m not into, Sebastian?” she said, teasing him with firm strokes. And then she licked the thick head experimentally. “Tell me, Sebastian. You promised you’d grant me this.”

“Why?”

“Because I want the knowledge that I broke your control.”

“You do it every day as you smile at me over the breakfast table with our sons in between us, agapi mou.”

Her breath hung in her throat as she wondered if she read more meaning into those guttural words. “I want your pleasure at my hands, and your ruin, too. For making me think I was party to cheating. For making me guilty for reliving that night. For...”

For giving her what she hadn’t known she needed, she finished to herself.

He smiled and Laila knew he understood this compulsive need to push past any previous limits with each other. To earn surrender in new ways. That he was here with her, and not just the convenient mother of his sons.

His fingers sank back into her curls and gripped the back of her head with a possessiveness she reveled in. Who knew sex could be so fun and primal and...raw?

“Open your mouth wide and take me in. Tap my thigh if it’s too much. And remember, agapi, breathe through it.”

Laila followed his instructions and soon, he had her how he needed her. She heard his pithy grunts and his filthy curses and his ragged breaths and instinctive thrusts. When she stole a look at him, she saw this painfully beautiful, increasingly complex man rendered in strokes of stark need. And seeing him like this...was as arousing as it was revealing, for it destroyed all the lies she’d told herself about relationships and romance and sex and...love. Lies she’d spun about why she’d surrendered so easily to him three years ago.

It made her realize that at heart she was very much a simple woman with simple desires, that she’d hid behind formulae and calculations and models, that she’d buried to feel right within how she was built and thought.And somehow, Sebastian was the key to unlocking it all and there was no end to all the things she wanted to experience with him, that she wanted to make him feel.

Tears smarted when he went deep with one long stroke and breath was a mirage. Her knees felt the hardness of the rough floor, her cheeks the burn. Laila dug her hands into his thighs and doubled down. The sound of his shaft hitting the roof of her mouth was so erotically filthy that it made her core drip with need. Then he was pulling out of her mouth, and her to her feet, which were barely steady. Before she could protest the abrupt non-finish, he was kissing her, one hand sneaking under her neckline and tweaking her aching nipple.

“Come over with me,” he said, rough fingers pulling the hem of her dress up over her thighs, delving deep into her folds with a gentleness that might break her. Then he hooked one finger inside her, hitting that perfect spot, and Laila thought she might be seeing stars. “Cristos, you’re so...responsive.”

They came together like that, watching each other, stroking each other, chasing each other’s pleasure. Laila dug her teeth into his bicep as her climax ripped through her, turning her limbs into liquid sensation, and felt the hot lash of his climax on her belly. His satisfied grunt was a sound she wanted to hear again and again. Breath seesawing out of her mouth, she fell onto him—damp and sweaty—while he wiped her belly with the edges of his shirt.

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