Page 78 of First Comes Marriage

And she was pretty sure he loved her too.

Baz put the car in park and, without a word, walked around to her side of the car. He opened her door and slid off his suit jacket, then bent over so he could drape the jacket over her shoulders, laying the lapels to conceal her nakedness. He held out his hand to her, waiting for her to accept it, to follow him. It was the easiest decision of her life.

Inside the condo, he threw the deadbolt on the front door and backed her up towards the large windows overlooking the bay where they’d had sex that first time. He gestured up and down at her dress. “Off,” he said as he began rolling up his sleeves. Which was really not fair of him. How was she meant to preserve any pretense of control when he was flashing his forearms at her?

She shed his jacket, shimmied out of her dress and bra, and stood in the darkened condo in front of him completely naked. Somehow she felt more exposed than she’d been on the beach.

He circled her like a hunter circling its prey, his eyes assessing every inch of her. In front of her again, he asked, “Did you like driving home with your tits out for anyone to see?”

“No,” she shot back. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was fighting him, why she felt the need to push back. Shehadliked it. She’d liked it so much she wasn’t quite sure what that said about her.

He smirked and cupped her hard between the legs, dragging his middle finger through her slit. He tsked. “Your pussy says otherwise.” He continued to stroke her in shallow passes of his finger, a tease, just enough to remind her of all the ways hewasn’ttouching her. He leaned forward and growled at her ear, “I think you loved it.” He pressed the pad of his finger againsther clit, grinding down against the swollen spot, and a bolt of electricity shot down her thighs, buckling her knees. “I think you’re this wet right now because you wanted someone to see.”

Then his hand was gone and she practically cried from the disappointment. “Please, Sebastian,” she moaned.

“What do you need, wife?” He stepped back, unbuttoning his shirt as though he had all the time in the world, as though she weren’t a shivering, shaking mass of nerves desperate for relief. “Tell me, Sabrina. Tell me what you want from me and it’s yours.”

She glanced at him, dizzy with need, and yet still somehow certain that they weren’t only talking about sex. He shucked off his shirt and moved on to his belt, his pants, stepping out of his shoes, losing one piece of clothing at time until he stood in front of her equally naked, his hand slowly pumping over his cock. It was obscene how hard he was again already, though not as obscene as how badly she wanted to drop to her knees and beg him to fuck her.

“I’ll give you anything, wildflower,” he said, his voice raw as he stared her down. “Everything. It’s yours. But you have to trust me. And tell me what you want.”

She tore her eyes away from his. “I want you to fuck me. Make me come.”

He sighed, as though he were disappointed in her answer, then he advanced on her, throwing her over his shoulder. She released a startled yelp, but he was already moving towards his bedroom. He threw her down on his bed and climbed over her. She hardly registered the sound of the condom packet opening before he notched his tip at her entrance and filled her in one smooth glide that drove all the breath from her lungs.

“Is that all you want?”

He hooked her legs and lifted them over his shoulders, his hands wrapped around her calves as he drove into her in slow, even thrusts. The new angle was better than anything they’ddone before and the edges of her vision went blurry. He blew out a harsh breath through his nose as though he’d realized she was too far gone to answer him, too lost to the sensations zinging along her nerve endings.

“I’ll make you come,” he promised, the words a low, gravely sound that scraped over her skin. “I’ll make you come until you think you can’t come anymore. And then I’ll make you come again. Do you know why, Sabrina?”

“Why?” she panted as the orgasm began clawing its way up her over-sensitized nerves.

“Because you are my wife.” He pressed his thumb to her clit and began working her hard and fast in time to his thrusts. As the first orgasm crashed over her, he fucked her harder, never faltering in his rhythm. “Because I’m not done with you yet, Sabrina. I’ll never be done with you.”

He slowed the movement of his thumb, but kept it pressed tightly against her, as she shook around him. She cried out his name, her toes curling. Everything in her centered on the place where they were connected, where he was carving his name so deeply inside her she knew she’d never be able to forget how it felt to be his. As her heart rate slowed, he began moving within her again, stroking her twice as fast, twice as hard.

“That was one.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

“I’m telling you, my penis was crooked.” Kyla cocked her head to the side and lifted a finger, bending it to the left, as though that were an adequate representation of the clay phallus she’d created during the breakup party earlier.

Her friend Jo, a willowy honest-to-God model with a platinum blonde pixie cut, leaned across the small table at the back of the dive bar they’d gone to after the breakup party and bent Kyla’s finger even further. “It’s not crooked, but it kind of hooks to the left. Plenty of people like that kind of thing.”

“The point wasn’t to make the perfect penis,” Sabrina reminded them. “There is no such thing as perfection in art.”

“But there is such a thing as the perfect dick,” Jo said. She gestured to Kyla’s still bent finger. “And that was not it.”

Kyla dropped her hand and reached for her drink, her cheeks turning pink. “I have no need for perfection in clay when I have the perfect real thing at home.”

“Kyla Philomena Mitchell-soon-to-be-West!” Jo exclaimed with a delighted cackle.

“Not my middle name.” Kyla shook her head and took another sip of her drink.

“It’s too bad Ben’s dad isn’t hot,” Jo mused as she dunked another mozzarella stick in marinara sauce. “I could havetaken a page out of your book and banged my ex’s dad. But Mr. Lewis is short and balding and I’m pretty sure he has a chronic case of pink eye.” She wrinkled her nose and took a bite of the mozzarella stick before aiming it accusingly at Tessa. “And my dad doesn’t have any hot friends, either. What good are you two? How’s a girl supposed to follow in your sickeningly-in-love footsteps?”

“Tessa’s dad is still single,” Kyla offered.

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