Page 119 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“That’s it, just like that,” she panted.
He twisted his hand in her hair and pulled hard. “Bearer of Cookies . . .”
“Damned right,” she moaned.
“And Eater of Pizza . . . I bloody love you.”
And he did. He loved this woman with a ferocity he’d never known he possessed.
She reached back and threaded her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. In a whirlwind of heady vibrations and bodies gyrating, she tightened around him and plunged off the cliff into a carnal abyss. And he was right on her heels. Losing himself, his release tore through him. Surrounded by scattered cookies and a lump of chocolate cake splattered on the floor, he let go and gave in, giving Phoebe Gale every part of him. Like a leaf floating to the ground, their bodies slowed, coming down from the cocoa-fueled copulation.
“That was . . . wow,” she said, catching her breath.
“Yeah, it was . . . wow.” He set the vibrator on the counter, then glanced at the floor. “So much for having cake.”
She chuckled—a sweet, sated sound. “That was the second cake. The first one I made is in the fridge. You were on the phone wheeling and dealing when I iced it.”
“You made two chocolate cakes so I could live out my college fantasy?”
She craned her neck to look up at him. “I have the ingredients to make a third. That’s how much I love you.”
Yep, he was a lucky, lucky man.
She relaxed into him, drawing lazy circles against his neck with the pads of her fingers, when a rhythmic thumping caught his attention. “Do you hear that?”
Phoebe cocked her head to the side. “I do.”
“Hey, Sebby! Hey Phoebe! Me and Ivy are here,” Tula sang as the pounding of the girls’ feet got louder.
Phoebe stopped the lazy circle action. “They’re outside. They can’t find us like this. And I need to clean up. I can’t have you-know-what running down my legs while we make small talk with our families.”
Jesus, he could just imagine the looks on everyone’s faces. “Hurry, get to the bathroom.”
She shimmied out of his embrace. In a clickity-clack of movement, she high-heel sprinted out of the kitchen.
“Are you guys in there?” Ivy called and banged on the door.
“I bet they’ve got their headphones on. But don’t worry, Ives,” Tula said. “I know the code to get in.”
He was screwed.
Executing the putting-on-pants-while-walking movement, he grabbed the vibrator, then stumbled toward the bathroom door. “Does Tula know the code?”
“Yes, I told her a few weeks ago when I took the girls to a tech expo. We stopped by my place, and Tula asked to enter it.”
Shit!
Beep, beep, beep, beep!
The latch released.
He fastened his belt as Tula and Ivy blew into the apartment like a hurricane.
Hot dog costume-wearing Tula and Ivy Elliott stared at him as he stood in front of the bathroom door with–God help him—a Wham Bam in his hand.
“It’s one of those submarine torpedoes we found at your house, Tula,” Ivy chirped, twisting one of her auburn braids. “Remember, your dad’s face turned super-white like a ghost, and then he said they were toys.”
Tula beamed. “Yeah, submarine torpedoes.”
