Page 69 of This Violent Light
“I didn’t expect you to keep it,” I tell him. “I assumed it was a lie.”
He doesn’t respond. He tilts his head, waiting.
“You mean it, don’t you?” I ask. “What you’ve said about keeping me alive, about letting me leave after it’s done?”
“Yes,” Sebastian says. “I swear it.”
“I was going to try to escape,” I tell him. I’m not sure why I’m honest, but when his jaw tightens, it relieves pressure in my chest.
His emotions are so clearly visible on his face. Frustration. Annoyance. Anger. Maybe even fear. And yet, he keeps it carefully contained. He doesn’t move beyond that flicker in his jaw, that strain in his expression.
“I won’t,” I tell him. “If you truly mean what you say, I’ll stay. I swear it.”
Sebastian’s green eyes darken again, and his attention lowers to my mouth. It’s brief, but I see it, the way he’s forcing himself to hold back. I’m standing before him in thin shorts and a small tank top. He can most likely see the outline of my nipples, hardened, desperate for his touch.
“Good,” he finally says. His voice is deep, gravelly, calling me toward him like a siren’s song.
I step closer. My hands shake as I press them against the naked planes of his chest. I curl my fingers against his collarbone, pulling him across the threshold of his room, into the hallway.
“Are you going to kick me?” he asks, the question a barely-there whisper.
“Kiss me,” I say. In the morning, I might be embarrassed at the neediness of my own voice.
Right now, I’ll do anything to close the gap between us.
So, while he’s still cautiously watching me, gauging my words, I close the distance myself. I surge into him. Crash my chest against his. Let the cool press of his skin surround me.
I kiss him like I’ve only allowed myself in my mind, as if we’re not captor and prisoner, but star-crossed lovers. I’m overeager, messy, frantic. His lips are soft, and his tongue tastes like cinnamon. He takes either side of my face, tipping my jaw up, opening me to him. Our teeth clank, fighting for control.
I don’t realize we’ve moved until his door slams shut. Then I’m pressed against it, his wide palm tracing my curves from the hollow of my throat, over my breasts, settling on my hip. His other hand is still on my face, tight over my jaw. He crowds against me, slowing the kiss to a tortuous stop.
My hands claw down his back. He’s as close as he can physically be, but it’s still not enough. I dig my nails into his shoulders. I tip my hips toward his and let out a frustrated yelp when he shoves me back against the door.
“Don’t rush me,” he says. His lips trail from the corner of my mouth to my jaw and over my pulse, disappearing as quickly as they land. They’re already moving back up, gentlynipping the bottom of my ear. He pulls back, eyes flickering over my face. “I’ve dreamt of this, Grace. Let me savor you.”
Then his mouth is on mine again. He sweeps a hand into my hair, twisting it around his wrist. With a sharp tug, he lengthens my throat. His tongue trails down, down, down.
I squirm, too desperate to feel embarrassed. I’m moaning, honest-to-god whimpering as he teases me.
“So fucking sweet,” he whispers, just before tugging my tanktop down, exposing my breast. He runs his thumb over my nipple, staring intensely.
“Please,” I whimper. “Sebas?—”
He captures my nipple between his teeth and traces it with his tongue. I’m a shivering, panting mess. I can’t think. Can’t speak. Can’t do anything other than moan as he lavishes my breast with attention. I sag against the door, watching as he moves to the opposite side.
His hands roam down my body, sliding my tank top and shorts off, leaving me completely bare before him.
“Perfect,” he says. He’s on his knees before I can ask, before I can beg. “So fucking pretty, little witch.”
His lips brush my clit, and my hips instinctively jerk. He smiles, kissing one side of my thigh and then the other. He kisses everywhere except where I’m desperate for him. I can’t take it. I won’t?—
I grab his hair, tangling my fingers to the root, and shove his head where I want it. He could easily resist me, but he doesn’t. He smiles against my center, deep green eyes studying my face.
“Whatever you want, Grace,” he says. His hot breath tickles my clit, has me digging my fingers tighter against his head. “Take whatever you want.”
He sucks my clit into his mouth, and my eyes roll back.
I gasp, writhing as his hand slips between my thighs. Hefucks me with his finger, incessantly, unrelenting, matching the same punishing pace as his tongue. He’s devouring me, and I’m bucking into him, hoping he will.
