Page 92 of The Moon & His Tides
It sent a pang through my heart, listening to her talk about her mother as if she was nearly a stranger. It was how I’d felt my entire life about my father, and the sense had only deepened when my mother died. Even though I’d just met the girl, I found myself oddly grateful that she had her father and uncles to love her well.
Everyone deserved someone to love them unconditionally.
“You’re very quiet. Did I kill you with too much activity, old man?” Sebastian mocked gently, reaching over to squeeze my knee.
Before he could move away, I gripped it with one of my own, tracing the ridge of calluses across his palm just because I enjoyed his hands. They were so strong and wide palmed, unlike any man I’d been with before.
I wondered with a little wince if I’d only pursued more effeminate men because of some kind of internalized homophobia. To be fair, Savannah had always been the Venus flytrap, catching suitable men for us to play with, but still. I resolved to do better.
I’d never be comfortable… coming out or anything of the like.
But I could do better for myself, at the very least.
Be a little more honest and a little more courageous.
“I had a brilliant time,” I admitted baldly. “I think it might be the best birthday I ever had.”
“And it’s not over yet,” Sebastian promised with a wink. “Though I am pretty salty that you ended up winning that favor. You don’t have any need for one! We both know I’d do anything you’d ask. It’s me who needed a little help.”
“Anything I asked?” I echoed, my mind plummeting to dirty depths instantly. “Should we test that, do you think?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Hmm,” I hummed, tapping the slight divot in my chin as I pretended to think about it. “I do have a fondness for putting youon your knees. Usually it’s for Savannah’s pleasure, but I think it might be time I put you to use myself. I’ve wondered how that beautiful mouth would look wrapped around my cock. The last time, Savvy’s pretty cunt was in the way of my viewing pleasure.”
Sebastian’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and his gaze darted to mine as he turned left. “It is surprising how much I liked the taste of you. The feel of you in my mouth.”
My cock kicked in the confines of my trousers at the husky timbre of his voice saying those words to me.
“The idea of coming down your throat has me instantly hard,” I admitted, palming my thickening erection for him. “But I’d hate to pass up playing with your tight arse again. Maybe even finally fucking you.”
A small tremor rattled his broad shoulders.
“Would you like that?” I asked, voice hardening into that tone that came over me when I slid into my dominance.
“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I’m nervous, but I’ve gotten myself off in the shower to the fantasy one too many times.”
I groaned. “Sometime I’ll make you jerk off in the shower with me to the fantasy and then make you lick your cum off the tiles just because I can.”
“Che cazzo, why is that so hot?” he asked, stopping in the driveway for the gates to open and leaning forward to nip playfully at my lower lip.
His enthusiasm was fuel to my fire, sparking even hotter fantasies. Fucking him in the shower, tying his wrists to his ankles so he’d be open for whatever the fuck I pleased, teasing him until he was a sweaty, trembling mess, fucking him while he fucked Savvy.
My vision almost whited out at the flurry of images in my mind’s eye.
“Has anyone told you that you are a very dirty, very dangerous man?” Sebastian asked as he pulled forward into the courtyard and parked.
When he turned to face me, the lamp light from the fixtures over the garage caught his features in stark black-and-gold relief. Looking at him made it hard to breathe.
I’d worked with beautiful people for nearly a decade, and none had this effect on me.
Maybe because beneath the surface of his beauty lay a heart even more lovely than its packaging.
“You bring me to my knees,” I admitted, possessed by some feeling that had seized my soul and urged me to take his chin in my fingers and bring him in for the kind of kiss I never gave any man.
I pressed my mouth to his, soft and open but without invading with my tongue. I tasted his lower lip, trailed my tongue over the top to feel its plush texture, and dragged it between my teeth to test its plumpness. Only when he moaned, hand reaching up to clutch at the back of my head, did I tilt his chin and slide my tongue into his mouth to tangle with his own. He tasted of the iced tea he’d bought from a petrol station and of sea salt still clinging to his skin. His scent swarmed my senses, sun-baked and salted musk and the remnants of the spicy cologne he always wore.
I wanted to bury myself inside him, beneath all that lovely skin. It seemed, at that moment, the only way I would ever find peace.
