Page 41 of First Comes Marriage

A surprised laugh bubbled past her lips and she thought she saw something like satisfaction flicker through Sebastian’s eyes. “Is that what you’ll say when my parents are awful this weekend?”

All humor fell from his face and one of his hands slid from the counter up over her hip, resting on the curve of her waist. She felt that touch everywhere, the heat of it burning through her thin t-shirt and pulsing low in her abdomen.

“Why would they be awful?”

“Because I’m not like my sister.”

His gaze darted across her face like he was memorizing her, until finally he met her eyes, studied her like he could hunt out her secrets if he looked at her closely enough. Maybe she wanted him to.

“Do you want to be?”

“Sometimes.”

“Would it help if I told you that I’m glad you’re not like her?”

“Only if you meant it.”

His other hand slid into her hair, curling around the nape of her neck and tilting her chin up to meet his eyes as he stepped closer. Her thighs parted for him and he stepped between them without hesitation as she rested her own hands on the bare skin at his sides.

“I mean it.”

She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, and she didn’t suppose itmattered. All that mattered was the movement of his lips over hers, the way his hand bunched in the fabric of her t-shirt while the other used his hold in her hair to bring her face closer, to angle her the way he wanted. His tongue teased at her lips and she parted for him eagerly, welcoming him closer as she slipped her hands around his back and pulled him against her.

He kissed deeply, with his whole body. How had she not noticed that the last time he’d kissed her?

Because you were drunk.

But they weren’t drunk now.

He held her still, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he loosened his grip on her, and she loved it—the idea that he wanted to keep her close, the way he molded himself against her, the push and pull of it. She loved it all.

His lips pressed to the delicate spot on the underside of her jaw, trailed down her throat and across her collarbone.

“These goddamn freckles,” he rumbled against her skin, his tongue darting out to flick at the offending marks.

She laughed, the bubbly sound dissolving into a moan as he dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. “I’ve always hated my freckles.”

He nipped at her again, harder this time, and she yelped in surprise. “I fucking love them,” he growled.

She was lightheaded, whether from the lack of oxygen—that happened when you breathed too hard, right?—or from his words, his cardamom scent surrounding her, she wasn’t sure. And she didn’t care. He loved her freckles. Sebastian Grahamlovedher freckles.

His lips returned to hers, and the hand on her waist slid around to her lower back. He guided her back, his weight pressing her down over the marble countertop as though he’d crawl on top of her right then and there. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles behind him. It was all happening too fast and not nearly fast enough, and the marblewas cold but Sebastian was delightfully warm. He rocked against her and swallowed her moan as the rigid length of his erection ground between her thighs.

A loud crash cut through the haze of her thoughts and they pulled apart, breathing hard. Sebastian scrubbed his hand over his kiss-swollen lips and stepped back until he was leaning against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. On the floor beside the island where Sabrina sat trying to catch her breath were the shattered remnants of their bowls.

“Shit. Where’s the broom?” she asked, sliding off the island.

He shook his head, his eyes locked on the mess on the floor. “I’ve got it.”

“I can help. If you tell me—”

“I’ve got it.”

She took a step towards him, but stopped short when he looked like he’d plaster himself against the wall to preserve the distance between them. Cold fingers of dread wrapped around her throat. “Sebastian?”

He shook his head again, almost as though he were clearing it. “We shouldn’t…” He met her eyes for a moment, a wild, haunted look that she didn’t recognize greeting her. “It’s not a good idea.”

All the air rushed from her lungs at the rejection, the finality of it. “Why not?”

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