Page 42 of Taken Off Camera
Sebastian continues his journey downward, mapping my body with his lips and tongue. When he reaches the waistband of my underwear, he glances up, seeking permission again. The sight of him between my legs, scars illuminated in the soft light, steals my breath away.
“Please,” I whisper, lifting my hips in invitation.
His fingers hook into the waistband, tugging the lace down my thighs and off. Cool air kisses my heated skin for only a moment before Sebastian’s mouth engulfs me. The wet heat around my dick sends sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, and my fingers tangle in his short hair.
“God, Sebastian,” I gasp, hips bucking.
His hands spread over my thighs, holding me in place as his tongue swirls around the head of my dick. The gentle pressure of his palms grounds me, preventing me from thrusting too far into his mouth. His technique speaks of experience, each movement calculated to drive me higher without pushing me over the edge, and a spark of jealousy fills me over his past partners.
His hand moves between my thighs, rolling my balls before moving farther back, and I moan as I spread my legs. “Yes. I want you inside me.”
The first finger breaches me slowly, my slick easing the way. Sebastian’s mouth never leaves my dick, creating a counterpoint of sensations that has me writhing on the sheets. By the time he adds a second finger, I’m panting, my body strung tight between the dual points of pleasure.
“So wet,” Sebastian murmurs, curling his fingers to stroke over my prostate.
The pressure sends a bolt of white-hot pleasure through me, and my back arches off the mattress. My fingers grip the sheets, knuckles turning white with the effort of holding back my release. Sebastian’s rhythm grows more insistent, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to push me higher.
“Sebastian, I’m close,” I warn, my toes curling.
He responds by taking me deeper into his throat while sliding a third finger inside me, stretching me further. The combined sensations overwhelm me, and my vision blurs at the edges as heat coils at the base of my spine.
Release crashes through me with an intensity that steals my breath. My body tenses, back arching as waves of pleasure radiate outward from my core.Sebastian works me through it, swallowing around my length, his fingers still moving inside me until the aftershocks fade into trembling sensitivity.
Then he straightens and uses his slick soaked fingers to stroke himself to completion, his eyes on me the entire time.
Afterward, he grabs tissues to wipe us clean. Then he climbs back up my body, kissing my sweat-dampened skin. When he reaches my face, I cup his cheeks, both the smooth and the scarred, and pull him into a deep kiss, tasting myself on his tongue.
In the quiet aftermath, with Sebastian’s heartbeat steady against my chest, I trace the path of his scars with gentle fingertips. Each ridge tells a story of pain and survival, of a man who expected rejection but found acceptance instead.
The room settles into a fragile kind of silence, broken only by our breathing and the faint tick of the radiator. Warmth still hums in my veins, but beneath it I sense Sebastian’s restlessness in the way he keeps glancing toward the window, the way his body tenses even as he holds me close. For him, trust and vulnerability aren’t just luxuries, they’re risks.
And risks always demand vigilance.
The mattress shifts as Sebastian grabs a blanket topull over me, then kisses my temple. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He rises, his pants still undone as he strides out of the bedroom. As sounds come from the bathroom, I grab a soft pair of lounge pants off my floor and tug them on. His sounds move to the kitchen as he opens cabinet doors, followed by the faucet running in the kitchen. When he returns, his clothes are back to rights, and he carries a glass of water.
I lick my lips as I study the front of his pants, where his softened cock bounces. “Did you take off your boxers?”
“They were a little damp.” He flushes as he holds out the glass. “I should buy you more sports drinks. You need to replenish your fluids with something better than water.”
“I ran out of my usual electrolyte powder.” I scoot up to prop myself on the headboard. I take the glass and drain it before passing it back. “I’ll order more with my next grocery delivery.”
“Along with your stock of ramen?” he teases as he climbs back into bed.
“Hey, don’t mock my comfort food.” Without waiting for an invitation, I crawl into his lap to settle between his legs. “Ramen isalsoa source of electrolytes.”
He hums noncommittally as he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens a browser with one hand while tracing circles on my bare thigh with the other.
When he turns the screen toward me, images of security cameras and motion sensors fill the display. “These are the systems my family uses.”
His thumb swipes through various models. “High-definition cameras with night vision capability, motion sensors that send alerts to your phone, and this one”— he taps on a sleek black camera no bigger than a golf ball—“can be concealed almost anywhere.”
I twist to look up at him. “You want to turn my apartment into Fort Knox?”
“After what happened with that package, I need to know you’re safe.” The intensity in his gaze leaves no room for argument. “Especially when I’m not here.”
The memory of those photos sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the bed. Travis was watching me through my window.
