I wasn’t wearing a bra.
We used the opportunity to tug down his pants and boxers.
He was hard and ready, and all I wanted was him inside me. Deep. Hard. Now.
My knees bracketing his hips, my hands clutching his shoulders, I lifted myself, then sank down—slowly at first, stretching around him until he filled me entirely.
We both groaned.
Sebastian clasped my ass then used his elbows to push my thighs closer around his hips so that I’d fit even tighter around him.
I started to move—grinding down, then lifting and dropping in a rhythm that got rougher fast.
The armchair thudded softly beneath us, and I knew Sebastian’s fingers would leave marks on my hips as his hands gripped and guided me, matching every move as I rode him, chasing the edge.
His mouth trailed down my throat to my chest and found my nipple. He licked and sucked and flicked his tongue on one breast, then the other, releasing one hand to cup it.
I was close—so close—when his hand slid down from my breast and his finger found my clit—circling and rubbing slow, faster, sure, devastating. And just right. Because—bar our very first time when we both didn’t know shit—he always knew when and how and how much.
I moaned so hard, unbothered by how far my voice carried outside.
“Fuck, Ruby,” Sebastian groaned, making me shatter, my whole body clenching around him.
He gripped me harder, slamming up into me. “I love fucking you when you’re coming. So. Fucking. Tight,” he growled, thrusting, until he was coming too, hot, deep, spilling inside me.
The only man I’d ever let inside me bare. And knowing I was the only woman he’d ever taken that way. The pill was our safety.
We stayed like that, gasping, fastened together, my fingers threaded through his hair, his lips grazing my shoulder, his arms warm around me.
When our breathing evened, we tilted our heads back, and my gaze found his.
We hadn’t kissed while we fucked, but now, with our eyes locked, we leaned in, and our lips met.
We kissed slow, unhurried. There was no hunger. We were spent, sated, and somehow, that made the kiss deeper, more tender and honest.
We kissed like neither of us wanted to let go, like we were both replacing words with taste. Words we couldn’t say.
When he pulled back, my heart was beating even more wildly. I hurried to slide off his lap and reached for my dress.
He grabbed a tissue from the side table, handling what needed handling without a word.
I pulled the dress over my head, smoothing it down, feeling his eyes on me.
He stood up and zipped his pants. Our eyes locked.
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. “I think I’ll sleep in here tonight,” he said.
I nodded, a little too quickly. “Yeah. That’s why I gave it to you.”
But the words didn’t sit right in my mouth. They tasted flat. As if other words wanted to come out, but instead, I just said what I was supposed to say. Like I was parroting the version of this that should have made sense. That used to.
Maybe he felt it too when we kissed, and this was his way of nudging us back toward normal—to hit the reset button.
A part of me—one I didn’t want to name—wanted him to come back to the cottage with me. Or ask me to stay.
Foolish.
“I should go. Check on a few things,” I said, looking for my phone, picking up my panties, breaking eye contact.
