Page 42 of Late Nights & Love Lines
“Not your type, huh?” I have no idea how those words left my mouth. Maybe I should have seen a doctor. I must be concussed.
His fingertips rest on my back. All ten connections press at different times into my skin, and after a few moments, I lift my head to peer up at him.
His gaze is searing into my soul, and I wish I’d never looked up.
“Why would you say that?” His voice is rough and low. He has me pinned to this bed, not by where his hands touch me, but by the way his gaze devours me.
My mouth opens and closes a few times—I’m finally speechless. He walks to the head of the table, and I arch my back to maintain eye contact. Slowly, he lowers into a squat, so we’re face-to-face.
“I think you’re the very definition of my type, Peach. Maybe you always have been, but I have children to consider, a career that is one wrong turn away from collapsing. My wants and needs can’t factor into my life until my children feel stable, but make no mistake, whatever you thought my type was, you’re wrong.” He never breaks eye contact while he speaks—he doesn’t even blink.
If ever there were honesty in words, I’d bet Junebug that he’s offering pure truth.
He stands suddenly, and my eyes expand when I come face-to-crotch with a very defined cock that’s pressing the limits of what his khakis will allow.
Sebastian sees my reaction and chuckles before returning to my backside.
Ugh, what am I doing?
Thankfully, he’s quiet after that little spiel, but the silence makes scenarios run amok in my mind. It doesn’t help that his hands have been on me for an eternity now.
I’ve never let a man touch me for this long. Sex is just that, sex. I don’t even mind the phrase wham, bam, thank you ma’am because that’s exactly what I’ve wanted. But this? With him? It’s too much.
Goosebumps explode over my skin, and there are times when he touches me that I can’t contain a shiver. Like now, when he’s at the base of my spine. He can probably see the dimples above my ass, and he has his face so close to me that his hot breath flutters against my skin. It’s erotic in a way I don’t know how to handle.
His breathing has also changed. It’s more erratic and panting?
Is he panting on me? I don’t dare to look, but suddenly his heat is gone.
“Fuck, Rowan. Maybe we should call someone else to do the rest.” He sounds as tortured as I feel.
Rolling my face to the side so I can stare at him, I blink away moisture that shouldn’t be there and hope he doesn’t notice. “Why?” I finally ask.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why?” I repeat.
His heated stare bores into my skin. His jaw ticks, and the muscles in his neck jump three times as though he’s chewing on his words. “Because if I tell you why we need someone else to finish, I’ll have to tell you why I can’t do it, and that will sure as fuck scare you away. I won’t do that to you or my kids. They like you, and they need you.”
“I’m temporary,” I remind him, but unfortunately for me, it feels like the start of a lie. “But I also don’t scare easily, Seb. When you’ve fought the demons and won, nothing else can hurt you. And I’ve won. Over and over again.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
I raise a brow in his direction. “Don’t I?”
His palm rests at the curve of my back, and he lowers his face so we’re cheek to cheek. Every nerve ending in my body comes to life. This is what it means to be alive.
I almost moan at the intensity of it all.
“I think we should find someone else to work on your ass, as much as it pains me to say that, because simply touching your back for the past hour has my cock fighting against my zipper and weeping for a taste of you. Because if I touch your ass, I’m going to want more. Because if I hear you moan one more time at the touch of my hands, I’m going to flip you over and worshipevery goddam inch of your body, and then I’m going to make you come until your body seizes up and begs for a break before I do it all over again.”
His fingertips dance at the curve of my ass.
“That’s why I can’t do this, Peach. I can’t take the risk of losing you while my children are just beginning to make progress, so unless you’re willing to give me more than three weeks, we need someone else to work on your ass.”
He places the most chaste of kisses to my cheek.
“Do you?—”
