Page 62 of Sebastian

He hums, pressing against my hole while tightening his hold on me. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

“Christian.” It comes out shaky this time as my whole body vibrates under his touch.

“I fucking love how you say my name.”

“Christian!”

“Sebastian.” He pulls his hand away from my ass to push our underwear out of the way. “Give me your hand.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. I let Christian guide my hand to our cocks. Combined they’re so thick I can’t quite touch my thumb to my middle finger. I try anyway, squeezing tight, using our pre-cum to ease the friction as I jerk us off. Christian goes back to fingering my hole.

His cock is hard, yet velvety soft, and when it slides along mine, it sends a zing of pleasure ricocheting through me before eventually settling in my balls. The pressure builds as we rut together, as we rub ourselves over one another.

“Fuck, Sebastian. I’m so close.”

“Me too. Fuck. Oh god.”

We press our foreheads together, both breathing hard. Our breaths mingle, and the sweat from our bodies mix in a slippery, sopping mess.

“Sebastian,” Christian grits out between clenched teeth. “Fuck, fuck!”

He kisses me, shoving his tongue into my mouth while his fingers push into my hole. The dual invasion is all I need to tip over the edge and Christian’s right behind me.

We come. Hard. Thrusting against each other as we both ejaculate into my hand. It goes on and on and on until my lungs scream for air and my brain starts to short-circuit. Still, I cling to Christian, trying to wring out every last ounce of our combined orgasm.

We lay like that for a long time. Our cocks soften in my hand. Christian’s fingers are still toying with my ass. We’re covered in a stew of bodily fluids. I’ve never felt so sexy and so wanted in my entire life.

The words hover on the tip of my tongue. I want to say them so goddamn much. To whisper them against Christian’s lips, so he can taste how much I mean them.

But I don’t. Those three little words can flip entire worlds upside down, and the thought of losing Christian chills me to the bone. I’m not brave enough to risk it. Not today.

We fall asleep like that. Gross, but holding each other. I repeat the words over and over in my mind—I love you. I love you. I love you—and hope that somehow, someday, Christian will feel the same about me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHRISTIAN

“You look happy.”

I glance up from my phone to find Donnie smirking at me.

“Okay.” I try to wipe the smile off my face and fail spectacularly.

“It’s Sebastian, isn’t it?” Donnie pulls out the other chair and sits down with me at the table in the staff break room—uninvited.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Donnie shakes his head. “Nope. All the spin classes are done for the day. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

I go back to my phone and the brand-spanking-new Instagram account I’m trying to figure out how to use. I know it’s a publicity tool and attracting as much attention as possible is the whole point of having it. But it still feels weird. I find myself constantly thinking about when and where to take pictures, and what the captions under the pictures should say. How much should I put out there? What’s too much?

This must be what’s going on inside Sebastian’s brain all the time. Why he always has his phone in his hand, why he’s always thinking about what would make a cute photo. Frankly, it’s exhausting, always having to live life under a microscope of your own making. I don’t know how he does it.

And then there’s the type of attention I’ve been getting. I’m not talking about the weirdos sending me dick pics or the trolls who claim I’m going to hell. It’s not even the fans who go a little berserk over every picture I post—those I recognize from back in the day.

It’s the industry people, the people I used to work with. I haven’t spoken to most of them in the last ten years and some I barely remember. They’re all coming out of the woodwork like we’ve been best friends since forever. They leave comments like they know me personally. They send me messages wanting to start up conversations. The more direct ones straight up ask whether I’m free for whatever project they happen to be working on.

I’m getting serious flashbacks of those last few years where it was grind, grind, grind, smile, smile, smile, and all the while I was kind of dying inside. I can see how easy it would be to slide right back into that life like I never left it. But if I’m serious about helping Sebastian with this, about lightening his load, then I need to make sure I don’t. I won’t be much use to anyone if I end up drowning right next to him.

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