The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(10)

“I changed my mind. I want you to come again.”

“I’m good, really,” I pant. “Just, uh, feel free to…”

He grins, a slash of white teeth in the semi-darkness. “Oh, I will. But not yet.”

Lifting my left leg, he passes it between our bodies and effortlessly spins me around and up to all fours. All while staying firmly inside me.

He growls approval. “Mmm. Missed that.”

A hand flattens on my stomach and slides to where our bodies join. Knowing fingers find my tight bundle of nerves. And I instantly quicken, my blood fluttering readily to his call. Traitorous body. Applying perfect pressure, he draws back and slams into me. And does it again. And again.

I shout his name, and keep shouting it until my voice is hoarse. Until I shatter, and sob, and he whispers, “So sweet.”

He spins me again, back beneath him. Hands on my shins, he pushes my legs up until my knees press into my shoulders. I gasp at the angle, the feeling of being so totally possessed. Sebastian is the only man who’s ever done this—frankly, he pretty much ruined me for anyone else.

He groans in a certain way that tells me he’s near his own jumping-off point. The tempo of his thrusts increase, become slightly erratic. His arms snake beneath my back, holding me open for him, trapped and close. So close. His nose nuzzles mine. A bead of sweat drips from his forehead and slides across my cheek.

“Candace,” he whispers.

I shake my head helplessly. “Kiss me.”

He does, feeding from my mouth like he’s starving. I offer him everything I can—everything I’m willing to give. He grows even harder, larger. I wait… Yes. He whispers my name over and over as he throbs inside me.





7





Cool ocean air tickles my flushed face. The sky above is clear and dark, with only the barest hint of the coming dawn. A few pale stars wink on the horizon and in the distance, placid waves murmur happily as they reach the shore.

Sebastian is asleep in the bedroom behind me—sprawled like a contented jungle cat, one arm flung over his head. When I could no longer stomach watching him sleep, I pulled on a robe and came out to the deck.

After we came down from our post-coital high, I’d not-so-subtly encouraged him to leave. He’d merely laughed, spread my legs, and gone down on me until my feeble protests turned to eager pleas. Even sweeter than I remember. My Candy.

With my brain reset by a third mind-blowing orgasm, I’d returned the favor—and been immediately reminded of how incredibly hot I get having him in my mouth. Finally, with a hoarse shout, he’d grabbed me, rolled me beneath him, and rode me to his own release.

The breeze off the ocean picks up. Goose bumps lift on my bare legs, cooling the heat in my blood.

I shiver and hug my arms to my chest, feeling an odd mix of lassitude and anxiety. I never want to see him again. I never want him to leave. The latter impulse has the flavor of old desire and need. I remind myself that we’re not the same people anymore.

I am not the same girl who almost fell in love with her brother’s best friend. Who came to crave his touch like an addict. Because that’s exactly what Sebastian is—my addiction. And despite careful maintenance, it’s never totally faded. I’ve relapsed before, in fact. Only once in the eight years since our week together, but it was a doozy.

Summoned, the memory comes, as clear and cutting as if it happened yesterday.

I was in Los Angeles when my mother died. Although we all knew her cancer was at a critical state, my father convinced me to finish out my final semester. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have listened. I’ll always regret not being there at the end.

I flew home to Boston immediately after hearing the news. Sebastian was waiting for me at the airport, visibly uncomfortable and barely able to meet my eyes. I wasn’t surprised, or maybe I was too numb to care. No one knew about our brief affair two years prior, so he wouldn’t have been able to refuse picking me up on those grounds. Or any grounds, really.

We didn’t speak on the half-hour drive to the house. I remember it being late at night, but retain few other details of the trip. What I do remember is how being near him had slowly burned through the heavy cloud of grief. His scent; his body so close, sharing air with mine.

He carried my bag to my old bedroom for me, setting it on the bed. But when he turned to leave, I impulsively closed and locked the door. What kindled in his eyes brought me a potent wash of relief—he wasn’t immune. I was still alive, and Sebastian still wanted me.

“What are you doing, Candace?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing. Make me feel something besides pain, Bast.”

He’d been on me in seconds.

And gone before morning.

“What are you doing out here?”

His voice halts my walk down the lane of fucked-up memory. I shiver as his arms come around me from behind, his chin resting comfortably on my head. It’s too much, too casually intimate—I feel strangled. I pull away and walk back inside.

Dragging hands through my hair, I stare at the rumpled bed. I’m assaulted with vivid memory. Helpless to resist the visual stimuli, my body awakens, flowering and readying itself for him.

I dig my fingernails into my palms. “Sebastian, you need to leave.”

“Don’t do this,” he says softly.