Page 48 of King of Clubs

Sebastian

Ha. Me too, Marlee. Me too.

If only she knew just how often I’d remembered the way my fingers felt inside of her or the lust in her eyes before I kissed her. Memorable was an understatement for the mileage she was tracking in the confines of my mind.

Marlee

Chapter Eighteen

“Thanks for coming to get me. I could have just taken an Uber over,” I said with a quick glance towards him. I wanted to stare for longer, mesmerised by the way his arm moved as he manoeuvred the gears.

“I don’t mind. Did you get back to sleep last night?”

Stretching my legs I yawned, unintentionally answering his question. “Sadly, no. But I did watch the first season of Friends before work, which seems a brag-worthy achievement for a Thursday.”

I caught the way his gaze flickered to my thighs, my skirt inching a little higher when I moved.

“It’s more than I achieved.”

“You didn’t get back to sleep either?” I asked, curiously.

“I did not. But instead of using the time wisely like you did,” he said with a hint of humour, “I tossed and turned until my alarm went off.”

“I’m so sorry I woke you. Normal people have their phone on silent,” I joked, enjoying the way he looked when he smiled. Admiring his side-profile as he drove, I wondered how his stubble would feel under my fingertips or how he looked when he lost control. “But don’t worry, I took a preventative pill before tonight seeing as I’m allergic.”

His soft chuckle reverberated within the car, and I grinned. He was always so serious whenever anyone else was around, so making him laugh was becoming one of my favourite things to do. The softness of his eyes as his smile bloomed made my chest feel warm, sending a burst of dopamine through my bloodstream. I liked the way he made me feel confident to be myself. To say whatever I was thinking without thought to how it would be perceived. The way it was little old me who could bring a little bit of sunshine to the thunderstorm, himself.

“My stomach muscles thank you as they were braced for battle,” he said cheekily, and a laugh burst out of me.

“Oh my god,” I said around my mirth. “I can’t believe I tried to fight you, and you still asked me to have dinner with you. I am judging you right now. Unless this is an opportunity to get even.” I joked.

“I plead the fifth,” he replied, turning into the carpark of his building. I hadn’t been here since the nights I stayed a couple of months ago and I was happy to be staying in tonight and even more excited for Seb to be cooking.

Any unease I felt at a potentially awkward dinner, was forgotten as we fell into easy conversation. Sharing the comings and goings of our week and our plans for tomorrow as we arrived at his front door. Entering his apartment awoke my stomach as a rich, savoury smell wafted through the air, mixing with the alluring scent of him. God, he smelt good, and it was insanely concentrated in the confines of his house. As soon as I got into his car, I was reminded of why I wanted to rub myself against him like a cat marking her territory and it was somehow worse in here.

Only now, mixed with the aromas of dinner, every part of my body felt compelled to stay and get their fill.

“It smells unbelievable,” I said, breathing in loudly through my nose.

“I hope garlic isn’t an allergy,” he said, guiding me to the stools at his kitchen bench.

“Definitely not. The more the better. I don’t cook very often, because full disclosure, I’m terrible in the kitchen, but if a recipe ever calls for garlic, I triple the amount with no apology.”

“I think you’ll enjoy dinner then, I’ve added an entire bulb,” he offered before handing me a drink he’d obviously made earlier. “Vodka, lime and soda.”

“Thanks. Maybe we should be calling you, Mr. Thoughtful.”

“We?” Shit. I forgot that was a secret of the sisterhood and now I was going to have to explain I’d been discussing him with my friends.

Taking a sip of my drink, I nodded, deciding honesty was best. “Arna, Flick and me. Until now we referred to you as Mr. Terrifying becauseif looks could killbut you’re just a lychee, aren’t you?”

“A lychee?” He asked with a smirk.

“Mmmmhmmm,” my pitch unusually high, “strong but once you crack it open, unexpectedly sweet.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called sweet before,” he said with a shake of his head, “I think maybe it’s your saccharine light reflecting off me, Marlee.” The words sounded like they swam through the air, ending with my name sprinkling from his mouth as he studied me.

“I make you less menacing?”

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