Page 61 of Second Sin

When he lifts me, it’s without effort. And when he lays me down, it’s with a reverence edged in desperation.

He hovers above me, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a war with himself.

I pull my blouse over my head, unclip my bra, and toss it on the floor.

His gaze drops to my chest, and a groan rumbles in his throat.

“Jesus, Olivia.”His eyes flicker across every inch of my skin like he’s memorizing it.

Then he lowers himself, one knee sinking into the mattress beside my hip. I feel his breath at my collarbone—warm, uneven, and intimate. He hesitates for a single, torturous beat before his hands are on me.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth down my neck, my shoulder, my breast. I arch into him, panting. Fingers shaking, I slip beneath his waistband, desperate to feel more—every inch of him.

When I reach for his cock—bold and aching—he curses again and flips us so I’m straddling him. I find his belt and work it open, slow and steady. His gaze rakes over me, jaw clenched, muscles drawn tight, storm-dark eyes barely holding on. I unbutton his jeans, drag the zipper down, and he helps me push them off. His briefs go next, and when I free him, I hear his breath hitch—a sound so raw it makes my knees weak.

I wrap my hand around his cock—thick and hot, the weight of it heavy against my palm. He’s long, the kind of length that makes my thighs clench. A bead of cum glistens at the tip, catching the light as my thumb brushes over it, smearing the heat across velvet skin.

He groans, bucking slightly.

“Liv—”

“I want to taste you,” I whisper.

The words hang between us. Heavy. His throat works around a swallow, the rise and fall of his chest sharp with effort. And then I slide my palms down, over the sharp lines of his abdomen, until my knees sink to the floor between his.

It’s not just about him. Not just about pleasure. It’s about control. About need. About claiming something for myself—for once. I’ve spent so long holding everything together, being careful. Safe. But tonight, I want to take. I want to feel his body unravel because of me.

He leans back, eyes locked on mine.

It's slow. Intentional. I want to remember every sound he makes. Every time his control slips.

When he fists the sheets and grits out my name, I smile. But before he can lose himself, he grips my arms and hauls me back up.

“Not like that,” he rasps.

He lays me back against the pillows, eyes locked on mine as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my jeans. He peels them down slowly, then follows with my thong, baring me completely. His mouth trails kisses from my knees to the inside of my thighs. His fingers part me, gentle and firm, and his mouth follows.

"Sebastian," I cry out, my hips lifting, his name a plea.

He takes his time. Every stroke of his tongue, every rasp of his stubble against sensitive skin winds me tighter, pulls me closer to the edge.

I’m trembling, gasping, nearly undone. He moves up and kisses me, his mouth on mine, his heavy cock pressed against my thigh, throbbing and hot.

His fingers curl in my hair, and he holds my gaze.

Waits.

“You're sure?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

He fills me slowly, every inch a stretch I feel in my spine. My hands find his back, drag down the curve of muscle, anchoring me to something real. Something alive. He groans into my skin like it costs him everything to hold back.

It’s deep. Intimate. Perfect.

I cling to his shoulders, fingers digging into hard muscle as he moves inside me.

Our eyes lock.

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