Page 41 of The Spice Play

“Yeah, but is he a hockey player?”

“Well, no?—”

“Is he as strong as me?”

“No—”

“Did he fuck you as well as I do?”

Juice entered my nose and poured out my nostrils, burning every step of the way as my surprised snort turned into a snot fest. I covered my nose and mouth and frantically set the glass down on the counter, but Sebastian was already moving, already laughing like a madman, while he pulled off sheets of paper towels and passed them to me.

“Is it safe to assume from that reaction that your answer is alsono?” he asked, a shit-eating grin spreading his cheeks wide as I coughed up the last of the orange juice.

“You’re insane,” I clipped, hocking up orange-juice-tainted phlegm into the sink and feeling the least sexy I’d probably ever felt. He patted my back reassuringly, and if he wasn’t made of literal stone beneath his so-called muscles, I would’ve punched him square in the chest.

“Maybe,” he smirked. “But the answer is…?”

“No, he didn’t fuck me as well as you do,” I mumbled. “Are you happy?”

“Over the moon.” He tucked a stray strand of my hair behind my ear as I wiped my nose with the towels, and I glared at him. “You’ll just have to figure out a way to repay me for my oh-so-generous offer to accompany you.”

“Daddy?”

Seb offered me a quick wink before slipping shockingly easily back intoDad Mode.

————

I didn’t even have to consider sneaking into the house tonight.

I’d thought about it as I showered, wondering if I would look insane showing up the night immediately after and basically begging for him to teach me something, anything, else. I wasn’t sure what the lesson in histeachinghad been last night besides speaking up if I needed something, but he was so absurdly good at picking up on the cues that I hadn’t needed to ask for much at all.

But I’d take whatever he’d give me if it meant he’d touch me again.

And as I paced along the foot of my bed, a towel wrapped around my body and my hair dripping, my phone in hand and my text messages with Seb pulled up in case I found a backbone to actually work up the nerve, a knock sounded at the glass doors in the living room.

As much as I wanted to assume he’d shown up here toteachme again, I tried to consider the possibility that he was after anything else — a hammer, a nail, milk, orange juice, a chat, anything. But as I made my way to the living room and saw him standing on the other side of the door, one hand on the handle and the other in the pocket of his loose pajama bottoms, the smirk that lifted his lips the moment he saw me told me he wasn’t here for any of that.

Butterflies took off in my gut as I hastily crossed the room and flipped the latch on the door. He slid it open.

His hair was air-dried and unstyled, a little mess of brown curls and waves, his cheeks clean-shaven. I wanted to reach out and touch them and drag my fingers along his jawline, but I wasn’t sure where the line was and when it was okay to cross it.

“I wanted to clarify that I’m not actually expecting anykind of repayment from you,” he chuckled, “but it seems like you already prepared for that.”

My cheeks heated as he looked me up and down, my damp hair twisted and hanging limply over one shoulder. “Iwantto repay you.”

He leaned back on the glass door, one hand coming out to cup my cheek and lift my face from my chin. “And what exactly was your plan?”

I chewed the words in my mouth, trying to get them to take shape, but they failed me. I’d practiced it myentireshower — but now my pitch was lost on a dead tongue.

“Come on, Penelope, you were doing so well at using your words last night.” His thumb brushed against my lower lip, dragging it left to right, and my heart rate picked up, spiking as he hooked a hand around my waist and pulled me into him. “Tell me.”

I swallowed down the worry and forced my mouth to move. “I want you to teach me whatyoulike,” I said, my voice feeling small and weak in comparison to his unending confidence.

“I liked everything we did last night,” he mused, sliding his hand around to the front of my body and playing with the edge of the white towel.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

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