A photograph taken from inside her apartment.
33
SEBASTIAN
I wakeup to the light touch of her fingertip, trailing over my skin. She’s tracing my tattoos, following the geometric shapes and fractals, starting at my shoulders, then moving slowly down my chest. I keep my eyes closed and breathe deep, letting her touch explore me without alerting her to the fact that I’m awake.
It’s infinitely more difficult to do when her hand drifts lower.
Opening my eyes just a fraction, I peek at her through my lashes. Fuck, I wish I were wearing my glasses. I want to see her clearly, the crisp lines of her features, not a blur of colors and abstract shapes.
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep here last night. I’d planned to leave as soon as Sydney drifted off, to let her rest. But too many late nights, too much stress, too much of fuckingeverythinglately, and before I knew what was happening, I’d fallen asleep with her nestled in my arms.
It was easily the best night’s sleep of my life.
Sydney’s breath quickens when she slowly—oh so slowly, like she’s scared of getting caught—peels the sheet down off my hips. Even with my poor vision, I can make out enough to see the way her lips part in surprise as she stares down at my cock. Herfingers pause at my hips, her gaze locked on where it lies against my stomach, already so hard it almost hurts.
“You can touch it if you’d like,” I say, my voice husky, a combination of sleep and desire. Sydney yanks her hand back with a squeal, sitting up and pulling the sheets off me to cover herself.
“Sorry,” she breathes, and I can’t stand not being able to see her features clearly for a second longer. Propping myself up on my elbow, I lean over the bed to reach for my glasses. I find them on her bedside table, next to the vibrator she used on herself last night, and slip them on.
“Should I be the one apologizing?” I ask, a hint of amusement creeping into my voice. “For interrupting your somnophilia?”
Sydney’s brows lift. “Somnophilia? What’s that?”
I can see her clearly now, every perfect line of her, every color from the blush in her cheeks, every inch of golden skin that’s not hiding under the sheet she has clutched to her chest. “The desire to engage in sexual activity with someone while they sleep.”
Her nose scrunches adorably, and she gives me an incredulous look, her lips curving to form a smile. “That’s not really a thing. Is it?”
Oh my sweet, innocent Sydney.
It’s going to be such a pleasure to teach you how to sin.
“It is,” I assure her, sitting up. I reach out to give the sheet she’s holding so tightly to herself a light tug. She lets it fall, and it pools around her knees where she’s kneeling on the bed.
Perfection. Moving closer to her, I slide my hand up her ribs. She fits my palm like she was made for me.
“What do you call it?” she asks so softly I almost don’t hear her.
I follow her line of sight to my cock and quirk a brow at her. “I’ve never seen fit to give it a name.”
“No, I mean—” She blushes harder, and makes a beautifully pitiful noise when my hand cups her breast. “The, uh. The piercing.”
Oh. I glance down at the ring at the head of my cock. That.
“A reverse Prince Albert,” I inform her. My thumb brushes her nipple, and her breathing stutters. They’d look good pierced, wouldn’t they? With a single silver bar through each one? Just imagining it makes my cock twitch.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
My hand drifts lower, down the plane of her stomach. Lower, until my fingers are between her legs, sliding over her clit. I shift closer to her, nuzzling the space where her jaw meets her neck.
“You tell me.” My lips brush against her throat when I say it, and she swallows. “Did it hurt?”
Her gasping moan doesn’t feel much like an answer. But her hips are moving, following the slow circle of my fingers, chasing my touch.
“I should shower. I need to—” Her voice breaks as I slip a finger inside her.
“No. I don’t want you clean,” I murmur against the skin of her neck. I want her just like this, still wet from last night, dripping from the combination of the two of us.
