Page 75 of The Pretender

When the cloth is tossed behind Sebastian’s head and his eyes hood with something like torment and want, I finally speak. “If you fucking stop again, I will punch you in the face.”

My comment catches him off guard, and he pauses.

Shit. He’s going to stop and more than likely leave and go home, leaving me stranded until I can get Aspen or Drew to come get me.

After what seems like a few tense minutes, Sebastian finally throws his head back and laughs this big hearty chuckle.

I grin, relieved that he didn’t toss my legs off his shoulders and tell me where I can take my violent self.

But then his laughter suddenly stops, and his gaze drops to mine.

Oh shit. Not good, Vee. This is the part where he leaves.

His hands go to my hips as he leans over me, my knees going to my chest with his movement. “Cute,” he muses, burying his face in my hair, right under my ear. “Here you are, legs spread, and under the weight of my body and you think you’re in the position to demand anything from me.”

Oh.

Well.

That’s a little dominating.

I think I like it.

A bite of pain sends a shudder and a gasp through me as Sebastian nips the skin of my neck, replacing the burn with a soft kiss.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long…”

I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself, but I want to hear more. So long you say?

“Every day—” Another bite. “—watching you—” A kiss to ease the sting. “Hating you.”

Oh, well, this is not the direction I imagined this going.

“How did I miss it?”

His kisses are becoming erratic and sloppy, but they’re moving down my body, and right now—yep—that one was on the nipple.

“I’m going to rip this fucking shirt off your body.” He’s gone from sexy neighbor to growly neighbor in mere seconds. You would think that would turn me off. It so doesn’t.

I simply help him tearthis fucking shirtfrom my body. It doesn’t rip because, really, this isn’t a movie and it hasn’t been precut to do so, but he eases it up, snatching it off of me and tossing it where I hope I can find it later.

He takes his time on my bra, though, pushing me back down and giving me a thorough once over. “I figured it would be flannel,” he notes, smoothing his hand over the black satin, cupping my breast in his palm.

I close my eyes, letting the flannel comment go, mainly since his hand is on my breast. I repeat, his hand is on one of my girls. No man has ever touched my boobs before. Ever. Thomas didn’t even bother taking my shirt off when he nearly hyperventilated, while shoving his dick in.

“I hate you.” I moan. “Do the other one now.”

Okay, so I didn’t let the flannel comment slide and I know he went all Hulk-like earlier when I demanded he not stop again, but, this time, he actually does as I ask, somewhat. Instead of moving to the other side, he pulls the cup down and replaces his hand with his mouth and really, I vote this is where his mouth stays forever.

My eyes pinch shut, and I suck in a breath, my stomach concaving from the sensation overload. “Oh my gosh, why didn’t you tell me you were so good at this?” I mumble. “I think this should be the kind of things friends share with each other instead of rumors and subscriber stats.”

Something like a snort comes from above me before he grows tense under my hands and says seriously, “Amongst other secrets friends should share.”

I slide my hand up and down the expanse of his back as a silent apology. I can’t change the past. What I can do is let him love on me until we both feel better about those secrets.

After several blessed minutes of lavish attention to one boob, Sebastian finds his way to the other, only pausing to readjust my legs twice when they slip off his shoulders.

“I want to touch you,” I say into his hair, noting the soft, damp strands against my face.

---