Page 77 of The Bourbon Bet
But my yearning outweighs my fear, and I pull him closer. “I’m sure,” I whisper, hoping he can’t hear the quaver in my voice. “I want this. I want you.”
He captures my lips in a kiss that sears me to my soul. I cling to him, pouring all my longing and unspoken apologies into the slide of my mouth against his.
I’ll find a way to cut the strings Thorne has attached to me, a way to be worthy of the trust and affection shining in Sebastian’s eyes. But for now, I’m surrendering to the heat of his touch and the promise of a future where secrets no longer stand between us.
Chapter Thirty
Rosalia
Sebastian kisses me deeply, and I wrap my legs around his waist. My small apartment, which is usually a sanctuary of books, soft throws, and quiet solitude, now pulses with a different kind of energy. This modest space that has sheltered me through so many lonely nights is suddenly alive with desire. The dishes we washed gleam on the drying rack, forgotten witnesses to this transformation of myprivate haven.
I’ve dreamed of this moment, of continuing where we left off in his hotel room. In truth, these thoughts have occupied my mind much longer than just last night, even before our first date. But lately, the hunger for him consumes my every thought.
His lips brush against my ear, a cascade of sensation travels from the spot. “Do you have any idea,” Sebastian whispers, each word scraping low in his throat, “how much I’ve been thinking about this? About you?”
He slams his mouth against mine, pinning me to the counter. His hands grip my waist, fingers pressing deeper with each second. I barely recognize this man. Gone is the careful, measured Sebastian. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven bursts.
“Wrap your legs tighter,” he orders, the bass in his command rippling through my belly.
I comply immediately, clinging to him as he carries me from the kitchen. My nails claw at his shirt, desperate to feel skin. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I stutter, each syllable rushed and broken. We careen into the hallway wall, neither willing to separate long enough to navigate properly.
He laughs, and the sound dissolves into a groan. “Patience, darling.” But his pupils have nearly swallowed the brown of his irises. “I plan on savoring all of you.” His fingertips brand my thighs, pressing deep into my muscles.
“I don’t want patience,” I gasp. My fingers slip and fumble at his belt. “I can't—I need—”
“Tell me,” he demands, forehead pressing against mine. His stare burns through me, the room tilting as my balance falters. “Tell me what you want, Rosalia. I need to hear you say it.”
My heart hammers so hard my ribs ache. “I want you. All of you. Please.” The plea escapes before I can stop it.
He pins me against the door frame, molding his perfect body flat against mine. He presses his palms flat beside my head and stares at me. His chest heaves and sweat beads at his temples. “Your wish,” the words are barely controlled, a tremor running through them, “is my command.”
He swings me around and we tumble onto the bed, limbs tangled. Between desperate kisses, fabric tears and falls away—my shirt, his belt, barriers disappearing as fast as our restraint. His precise touches grow wild, erratic. Every trace of his careful technique dissolves into something rawer, hungrier.
“Sebastian,” I whisper, digging my fingers into his bare shoulders when his hand slides between my thighs, running along the lace edges of my panties.
He stops. “Keep going?”
I can only nod; words are impossible. My fingers tremble against his skin as I reach for him. “Don’t—don’t stop,” I stammer, the breathy sound foreign to my ears.
He groans my name, sliding his hand inside my panties. My body jerks upward, needing more of his large and talented hands.
I touch him through his open slacks, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, rhythm stuttering. “Jesus Christ, Rosalia, I can’t—” His mouth crashes back to mine, all teeth and tongue and ragged breaths.
“I need to feel all of you,” I gasp through our kisses.
His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, and his movements sharp and desperate. “I’m going to unravel you,” he growls, the vibration against my collarbone raising goosebumps across my skin. “Piece by goddamn piece,” he promises.
Between my thighs, he moves with purpose, one hand removing my leggings while the other caresses me, drawing a cry from my throat that echoes off the walls. My fingers twist in his hair, yanking hard.
“Please,” I gasp, the sound barely human. “Sebastian, please—”
Moving down my body, he pulls my panties and leggings to my knees. He positions himself at my core, and coherent thought is impossible. His mouth devours, licking and sucking until stars explode behind my eyes. I pant his name like a prayer, mindless with ecstasy. Rational thought surrenders to pure sensation as he drives me higher and higher with his mouth and tongue until I snap, my orgasm exploding through me.
I bow off the bed, pulling at his hair. He doesn’t let me come down until the pleasure is too much, and I twist away, letting him go.
He kisses my upper thigh. “Condoms? Or do you want to stop?”
“Umm, I’m not sure…” Do I have any? I’d gone on a handful of dead-end dates since moving here. None had led to sex.
