This is actually happening. His fingers stroke me again, lazy and precise, like he already knows every inch of me. Like he’s thought about this as much as I have. Each pass sends a fresh wave of heat curling through my belly.
“Christ,” he mutters, voice breaking into a low growl. “You’re already soaked. This all for me, Trouble?”
All I can do is nod through a gasp as he moves his finger again.This is so surreal.The fact that we’re actually doing this—touching, being likethis—it’s almost too much to process. After all this time. After all the lingering stares, that damned first kiss, and the late-night thoughts I refused to let take root. We’re not flirting anymore. We’re not teasing. He’s got his hand between my thighs, and I am so far gone, I don’t know how to come back.
It’s not like I didn’t want this. God,I’ve wanted this.
From the moment I started working for him—watching him walk around in those worn-in jeans, grumpy and delicious and entirely unaware of the damage he was doing to me—I’ve imagined this exact thing. And now, here I am. On his couch. On top of his hands, with his fingers sliding deeper into my underwear like he’s staking a claim.
He teases my entrance once, twice, before pushing one thick finger inside me, slowly. I gasp, and he watches me with darkened eyes, and parted lips.
“Look at you,” he rasps, pumping that finger ever so slowly. “So tight around me already.”
My head tips back, and my hands grip his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world. A second finger joins the first, and the stretch makes my thighs tremble, the pressure building fast and hot in my core. He curls them just right, justfucking right, dragging over that spot that has my vision blurring and my breath hitching on every exhale.
Sebastian leans in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “That’s it, Trouble. Let go for me.”
His words hit me harder than I expect, like he’s not just talking about my body, but about everything else too. The tension. The walls. The fear. And I do.
My orgasm hits like a tidal wave, crashing over me with no warning, stealing the sound from my lungs and the strength from my legs. My body tightens around his fingers, trembling, pulsing, spiralling until there’s nothing but sensation. He holds me through it, murmuring something low I can’t even register, still stroking me gently as I ride the last of it out. When I finally blink up at him, dazed and breathless, he’s already watching me.
Like I just became his favourite thing in the world. And maybe he’s mine too.
26
Olivia
Like Real People Do - Hozier
There’s nothing quite like waking up to the delightful reminder that you’re a woman.
My period arrived two days ago. I’ve already eaten my body weight in chocolate, and I cried earlier because I dropped my toast… butter-side down. I’m one bad cramp away from full emotional collapse. Xavier’s been avoiding me like I’ve contracted the plague. He swears my “mood has shifted,” and that if it’s anything like Isla’s, he’s better off staying far, far away.
I told him that was wise, because if he so much as breathes near me, I might actually bury him behind the tool shed. So yeah, the farm’s been business as usual, pick-ups and drop-offs have been easy enough, but me? I’ve been a walking contradiction.
My stomach fucking hurts, my lower back is plotting against me, and my moods are switching faster than Teddy changes TV channels. But worse? I’m horny.
Like,unreasonablyhorny.
It’s either the hormones or the fact that every time I close my eyes, I see Sebastian’s hands, his mouth, every single thing that happened the night of the wedding replaying in high definition. I should not be thinking about that while he’s ten feet away, chopping onions, because he offered to cookmedinner tonight. He’s changed out of his uniform into black track pants and a grey sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up, showing the veins in his forearms and the tattoos scattered across his skin. It’s unfair. Illegal, even.
How is it possible that a man can look likethatwhile making dinner?
Somewhere between the sizzle of the pan and the scent of grilled onions, my brain short-circuits. Is it normal to be this needy during your period? Or is my body just in full self-sabotage mode? Because right now, I’m one soft “Hey, Trouble” away from jumping him on the kitchen counter. Clearly, my brain is a mess of thoughts that are definitely not appropriate around a five-year-old, and right on cue, Teddy pads out from the hallway, clutching a piece of paper close to his chest.
“What’ve you got there, champ?” Sebastian asks, glancing down from his chopping board.
“A drawing.”
“Oh, yeah? Can I see it? Did you make it at school today?”
Teddy nods shyly. “We learned about family trees.”
Sebastian takes the paper, holding it delicately between his fingers. His face shifts to something soft, something unreadable.
“What is it?” I ask, curious. “Let me see.”
He hesitates for a second, then hands it over. I’m not prepared for what I see.
