With an inviting arch of my spine, I lean back and plant my hands on the mattress. In the chilly room, my nipples tighten into hard buds, a visual temptation that calls to his mouth and fingers.
“Baby,” he groans, taking both peaks between his fingers. Pressure builds, ripping a breathless cry from me.
I part my legs, nerve endings lit, blood rushing hot, and the pinch increases to the edge of pleasure, threatening to tip into the sweetest kind of pain.
“God, princess…” His mouth drifts down my throat, the scruff on his jaw scraping over flushed skin. “I live for the taste of you.” As he sucks my nipple between his teeth, biting hard enough to make my pussy clench, a whimper escapes me.
He lets out a low groan that thrums against my ribcage, and molten electricity jolts down my spine, heightening the sensation tenfold.
But it’s still not enough.
“I need more.” With a gasp, I push his hand between my legs.
And like a slingshot released, he wrenches away.
“We can’t do this,” he chokes out. “We have to stop.”
“No.” I catch him by the collar. “We have the whole night.”
“Time isn’t the problem. I don’t think I can control myself.”
“Then don’t. If I have to go back to that place without you, I don’t want to wait until our wedding night.”
“That’s crazy talk.” He shakes his head. “If you don’t bleed?—”
“Blood can be faked.” I press a palm to his cheek, gripped by the fear that we might never get this chance again. “Our first time should be ours alone.”
Holding himself rigid, he hovers inches away, indecision carving into his features.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” I challenge, reaching for the front of his pants and stroking him through the snug fit of fine wool.
A ragged sound tears from his throat. “You know I do.”
“Then don’t make me beg. Take what’s yours.”
I hold my breath and wait.
I’ve been waiting all my life for this moment.
Sebastian surges to his feet and steps back, his expression a wall of stone, and I know he’s going to say it’s a reckless and insane idea.
My heart plummets, taking hope with it.
Until he sheds his jacket.
My eyes widen as he turns down the bed, every gesture carrying a ceremonial weight.
“If we do this,” he says, voice thick, “we can’t leave any blood behind.”
He arranges the pillows, smooths the sheets, then spreads his jacket across the center—a dark shield against the purest of white.
Facing me again, he jerks his bow tie loose before working the buttons, collar to navel, slipping them free, one by one. As he peels the shirt from his body, soft light bathes his skin, highlighting coiled muscles and a fresh scar slashing across his ribcage.
I run my fingers over the mottled skin. “What happened?”
“Got it after we bailed from the plane.”
“How?”