Page 12 of Addicted To His Favorite
He alternated teasing licks with firm, possessive sucks, making her shiver.
His hands roamed boldly over her thighs, sliding under the slit of her dress, fingers tracing slow paths upward, exploring her curves, kneading and pressing. One hand pressed into her waist, holding her tight, molding her to him, while the other teased higher along her inner thigh.
The air was thick with heat. Emily’s breathing had grown shallow, her skin flushed from the relentless pressure of his mouth and the grazing of his teeth along her collarbone. He returned to her lips with renewed hunger, tugging and flicking her mouth open with his tongue, making her gasp.
“Sebastian,” she whispered breathlessly, fingers clutching his shoulders, “you need to stop…”
He didn’t. His touches deepened, his hold tightening as mouth and hands worked in perfect rhythm—lips sucking, teeth nibbling, tongue flicking, fingers exploring, coaxing every reaction from her. His heat pressed into hers like he wanted to merge their bodies into one.
By the time the car came to a stop, her lipstick was smudged, her pulse racing, and her body trembling under his relentless attention.
She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to regain control. Her lips parted from his, and she turned to glance out the window, still flushed and breathless from his hunger.
A sprawling mansion towered outside, glowing under soft golden lights.
Her heart dropped. “This... isn’t my house.”
“Where are we?” she asked, licking her lips nervously as she turned to face him.
Sebastian’s eyes didn’t leave her mouth. His voice dropped to a velvet purr.
“My house,” he said, smiling slowly. “Welcome home.”
Before she could react, he leaned in again, but she pulled back just in time, palm against his shoulder, stopping the next kiss.
She blinked. “This isn’tmyhome”
“It’sours,” he replied, voice low, eyes gleaming. “You’re staying with me now.”
He leaned in again, but she blocked his kiss with a hand on his chest. “Why would you bring me to your house so late?”
He frowned slightly, his expression almost boyish, but his fingers moved with clear intent—trailing from her thigh up to her waist, then slowly caressing the curve of her breast through her dress. He brushed over her, light and teasing, and murmured:
“Are you scared?”
“I’m not afraid,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “Do I look afraid?”
But the nerves in her voice betrayed her, and he saw right through it. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide, heart hammering in her chest.
Sebastian’s smirk returned, slow and sinful. Without a word, he opened the door and stepped out—still holding her in his arms.
“Put me down,” she hissed, clutching his shirt, struggling gently. “You’re going to fall—”
“Then I’ll practice more,” he said, his voice husky against her ear as he held her tighter. “So my wife never has to worry about falling again. Because this...” he looked down at her, lips brushing her hair, “...is your future.”
Her cheeks flushed a deep red at the word ‘wife’.
She had never imagined Sebastian—the cold, calculating man—speaking with such warmth. Or carrying her like some prince out of a dream.
When did this man, who once seemed like a cold shadow in her brother’s life, become this warm, and affectionate?
He carried her through the massive double doors of his private mansion.
Inside, the space was breathtaking—towering ceilings that caught the light from crystal chandeliers, walls of polished dark wood adorned with sleek, modern art and a few carefully framed family photos, plush rugs stretching across marble floors, and soft, muted lighting that made the entire space feel intimate despite its size.
The scent of rich leather and fresh flowers lingered in the air.
She barely had time to admire the grandeur before he strode straight to a room and pushed the door open.
