The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(9)

I move into his personal space, my nipples grazing the leather of his jacket. They harden to tight points; he notices and goes still. Sucking in his unique fragrance, I palm his crotch and look up through my lashes.

“What I think is that we’re wasting time.”

His eyes flash, the only warning I have before he bends, grabs the backs of my thighs, and yanks me from the floor. My legs instinctively wrap around him. Large hands cup my ass and grind me against the fly of his jeans. I moan unabashedly at the heat of him straining against the denim.

“My little spinner,” he breathes, eyes on where our bodies connect.

I point behind him. “Bedroom’s that way.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, and then his mouth is on mine.

There’s no soft seduction necessary for us, just heat and teeth and tongues. The passage of years hasn’t dimmed the chemistry between us. The opposite, in fact. He tastes the same and different. Darker. Better. I yank at his jacket, wanting to find out what else about him has changed.

“Are you still a screamer, my sweet Candy?” he growls into my mouth.

I don’t bother replying—the question’s rhetorical, anyway. He hikes me up higher, breaking the seal of our kiss to fasten his mouth on a nipple. My head falls back, my throat opening on a savage moan. White noise crowds my ears as my heart pumps furiously; I undulate against him like the wanton I am.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” I whine, and redouble my efforts to get him out of his jacket. But it’s an impossible task with me wrapped around him.

His teeth close hard around my nipple, bringing another cry from me. God, he remembers. I’m pretty sure the front of his pants is now soaking wet.

“Sebastian,” I moan, and almost sob in relief as he walks fast from the bathroom.

He throws me onto the bed, the force making me bounce. I watch him tear off his motorcycle jacket and whip his light sweater over his head. He’s not wearing an undershirt. I feast on the sight of all his glorious, naturally bronzed skin. Broad, muscled shoulders, chiseled abs, and a delicious downward trail of black hair.

At twenty-four, Sebastian Bellizzi was lithe and sleek. At thirty-two, he’s a fucking god. His pupils are so blown it’s like staring into an abyss. An abyss I want to jump into.

“Touch yourself, Candace.”

I’m whimpering even before my fingers dip between my legs. I find a nipple with my other hand and pinch it hard. A current of heat shoots straight to my core.

“Fucking hell, look at you,” he rasps.

My eyes are closed as I give myself to sensation. Dimly, I hear his shoes coming off, followed by his jeans. When a foil rips, I open my eyes to watch him roll a condom down his considerable length. It’s why I asked him to bring the condoms—we both know he’s in a unique category.

“If you have a problem with being fucked hard, tell me now.”

The savage lust on his face is a teeny bit scary. I whip my head back and forth. “No complaints here.”

He’s on his knees and across the bed between one breath and the next. I’m boneless, yanked up by my arms, but there’s no guessing. No awkwardness. My body knows on a cellular level exactly what he wants; his body knows what I want. Him sitting on his heels, me wrapped around him—it’s my favorite position. The friction is incredible. He remembers.

My hands sink into his hair, my legs coiling around him. One of his arms locks hard around my back as his other hand angles my lower body. The head of him, thick and blunt, probes me. Yes. So close. I rock my hips restlessly, torturing myself with the barest penetration.

“Last chance,” he breathes.

“Tease,” I snarl.

Two thrusts and he’s inside me to the hilt. Holy shit. Molten heat runs from my core through my limbs, tingling in my fingers and toes. I throw my head back and hang on because he wasn’t kidding—he’s not holding back, the hand on my hip effortlessly pumping my body in time with his fast, hard thrusts.

Deep, electric pulses zing through me, building in power and frequency. Sebastian’s teeth sink into my neck. I scream in rapture as the sensation catapults me toward the glimmering edge. He bites me again, then licks the buzzing skin.

“I can feel you getting tighter. God, so sweet. That’s it. You’re right there…” His voice fades on a guttural groan as I come apart, jerking and clenching around him.

I chant his name. Or scream it. I’m not really sure. I can’t see straight, much less hear.

He drops forward, pinning me beneath him. One hand cupping my head, he angles my face for his kiss. Deep and sweeping, he tastes every crevasse of my mouth as his hips roll slowly, leisurely. He’s still hard as a rock, feeling like velvet with the slightest burn of sandpaper. This is what I’ve been looking for all these years. Him.

The realization isn’t a welcome one. It’s too sobering, forcing me to confront how perfectly and naturally my body responds to his. How rare my orgasms normally are. I wrench my mouth away from his, and it’s like fighting against a rip current.

“Bast,” I gasp, digging my fingers into his sides. I wiggle my hips. “Hard and fast, remember?”

He pushes the hair off my face, long fingers running across my cheekbones, my brow. A thumb angles into my mouth, hooking lightly onto my lower teeth. His eyes are drowning dark, burning. He never stops the slow roll of his hips.