Page 19 of First Comes Marriage

“Ha! I knew it!” she crowed, swiping open the message from her sister.

“What does it say?”

She grinned as she read the message aloud. “What the actual fuck?”She glanced at Sebastian and they both burst out laughing until she was nearly doubled over the bar, his arm appearing across her back, fingers digging into her hip to hold her up.

“Mission accomplished?” he asked.

She lifted her glass, clinking it against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

Their laughter died as they returned to their drinks, his hold on her slowly loosening. When she thought he was about to pull away, he instead gripped the edge of her stool and spun her to face him.

“Want to really make her mad?”

“Vindictive Sebastian is fun,” she giggled. “What did you have in mind.”

He stared at her for a long moment, studying her eyes, and she started to wonder if he’d forgotten that it was his turn to speak. Or was it hers? She’d had more margaritas than she’d ever consumed in one sitting and it had to be long past dinner time by now. Maybe she was supposed to say something and she’d forgotten? She opened her mouth and he pressed a long, thick finger against her lips, his expression growing stern.

With his other hand Sebastian waved his phone towards the bartender. Phillip must have taken the phone because Sebastian’s hand slid into her hair, pushing it behind her ear and trailing down the curve of her skull to grip the back of her neck. Her eyes darted between his, taking in the deep concentration there, the way his gaze flitted across her face, over the bridge of her nose, down the line of her jaw.

“Sebastian?”

“If you were really mine, I’d need your mouth on more than my neck,” he said, the sound deep and low as it dragged across her skin, drawing her nearer. “I’d need to taste those pretty lips.”

He pressed his lips to hers and her mind filled with static. The world tilted on its axis, and she reached up to grip his wrist, steadying herself with his solidness. He kissed with that same predatory grace she’d clocked earlier, slow and deep, like he was pulling her through water, drugging her with each movement of his mouth over hers. When his tongue slid against her own, a slow glide of velvet teasing her, she whimpered and leaned closer. The hand on her nape was firm, though, and he held her in place, kept her exactly where he wanted her as he obliterated her senses with his kiss.

She was drunk on him, on his scent and his touch and the expert movement of his mouth—or maybe that was the tequila talking. It didn’t matter. She felt like she was floating, fizzy and bubbly and lighter than air, and at the same time she’d never felt more aware of her own body, of the tingling heat crawling up her spine and the deep, pleasant ache gathering between her legs.

When he pulled away, she leaned forward, chasing his lips. She would have fallen out of her seat if he hadn’t still been holding her.

“Did you get it?” he asked, though he kept his eyes—and hands—on her.

“Oh, I got it alright,” the bartender replied with a chuckle, setting Sebastian’s phone down on the bar in front of them.

They stayed like that for what could have been seconds or hours—she didn’t know. She’d lost all sense of time, of what was up and what was down. Finally, his lips pulled into a slow, sexy smirk, and she felt her mouth mimicking the movement.

She laughed, still holding his wrist, and delighted in the way his smile grew. She slid off her stool and stood between his thighs, watching in fascination as his eyes grew darker. “What next?”

Chapter Seven

Baz’s head felt like it was full of bees.

He’d only just woken up and already he wanted to go back to bed. Well, technically, he hadn’t left bed yet, but that was beside the point. His dry mouth tasted like sweaty gym socks, his stomach lurched at the mere suggestion of sunlight coming through the opening in the curtains, and the left side of his body was unreasonably heavy.

Wait.

He opened one eye a sliver, barely enough for the sunlight to shoot spikes through his skull. His left side wasn’t heavier than usual—it was serving as a body pillow for the tempting redhead in bed next to him. A very familiar tempting redhead wearing nothing more than a plush hotel bathrobe and last night’s smudged makeup. At this angle, the generous curves of Sabrina’s breasts threatened to spill out of her loosely tied robe. She sighed happily in her sleep and snuggled closer, the movement shifting the opening of her robe.

How had he ended up in bed with Sabrina Page?

He remembered finding her in the bar, the conversation, too many glasses of Scotch. The feel of her wiggling in his lap, her breath on his neck, the little sounds she’d made against his lips when he’d kissed her.

Christ, I kissed her.

He remembered wanting to kiss her again, wanting to do more than kiss her. At some point they’d left the bar. Flashes of holding her hand as they stumbled down the sidewalk, the bite of concrete beneath his hands when he’d pushed her up against a wall and kissed her again just to hear more of those goddamn noises.

But he didn’t remember a thing after that.

How had they gone from the sidewalk to twined together in bed?

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