Page 57 of Late Harvest

But his prickly queen surprised the hell out of him. Of course she did.

Resting one hand on his chest, Arabella slid the other around to the back of his head, where she gently anchored her fingers in his hair. “Kiss me, Sebastian. Please,” she whispered, sapphire eyes churning with some unspoken emotion.

“With pleasure, my queen,” he replied, just as softly, and then closed the rest of the distance.

Unlike the previous Sunday, he dove right in, plundering her mouth, which tasted faintly of the citrus-infused water she’d been drinking. In-fucking-toxicating. He tilted her head, tangling his tongue with hers. Tasting. Tempting. It wasn’t enough. Never enough.

He tugged her closer, grinding his hard length against her stomach and raining kisses along her sharp jawline and the satiny, elegant neck below it. Chills erupted across her skin and Arabella moaned, pressing into him and whimpering little cries of passion, her hand snaking between them toward the iron in his pants.

Need to stop. Don’t want to stop. But you have to stop.

Bash didn’t want to scare away his jumpy angel with too much too soon. His mind flashed to the memory of her pressed against her car door as they broke their embrace last Sunday. He knew…he just knew if they took it too far before Arabella was truly emotionally comfortable, she’d regret it and erect even more imposing fortifications around her heart.

There was also the not-so-small concern that, for the first time in about thirty-five years, Bash feared coming in his pants. Either that, or he was about to zoom past the point of no return, accelerating into the Happy Land of Fucking. It had been more than two months since he’d broken up with Poet, and Bash hadn’t fucked anything except his hand since.

He had fresh rubber, as it were, and if he didn’t call a halt to these proceedings immediately, he would overtake her sweet pussy.

Bash smiled at his internal F1 jokes. He’d always been a quick study—useful for inhabiting a role.

“What’s with the smile?” she murmured against his lips, grinding against him.

Bash groaned, fighting for the will to stop. He didn’t want their first time to be him slamming into her as he pinned her against the fridge. Although…that was a fucking hot image, and now he knew he had to manifest that shit at some point.

“I think we need to pump the brakes, Angel.” He pulled back, utterly enchanted as she slowly opened her eyes, as if waking from a peaceful dream, those sapphires smoky with desire.

As the smoke cleared and the shield came down, the emotion in her eyes shuttered.

“Why? Is it—am I not sexy enough?” She couldn’t maintain eye contact, gnawing on her lower lip that was pleasingly plumped from his attentions. “I know I’m not your usual⁠—”

“Angel,” he growled, cutting her off, “look at me.”

Her eyes stayed focused down. Totally out of character. This had clearly hit her in a vulnerable spot and she almost seemed…scared.

“Angel,” he began again, then tucked a forefinger under her chin, tilting her lovely face up so she had no choice but to look at him. “You are so fucking sexy I can barely stand it. I’m stopping out of respect for you. So we don’t go too fast. Nothing wrong with taking our time.”

Arabella’s eyes flitted between his, as if trying to ascertain the truthfulness of his words. “I thought maybe the hot flash turned you off.”

Bash leaned down and brushed his nose against hers. “Not a chance. It just means you’re steamy. I like steamy.”

She smiled at him, but her eyes filled with emotion he sought to decode. Sadness. Fear? “I saw your reaction when I took my head out of the freezer.” She rolled her lips and released a breath on a shuddering exhale. “You looked…disgusted. Maybe angry.”

Bash’s heart broke in his chest. Some fucker had done a number on his queen, and he wanted to find the bastard and shred him into slivers. Then blend the slivers into slurry. Then bury all that under runny cow shit.

Did Arabella like cows? He liked cows. He met a spicy romance author once who loathed cows.

Focus, Bash.

He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. She fit perfectly.

“What you saw, my queen, was a flashback to a massive overshare from decades ago courtesy of a filterless costar. That, and nothing else.” He kissed the top of her head. “Well, maybe a bit of amusement. I mean, your head was in the freezer.”

He grinned at the shake of her laughter in his arms, relief coursing through him. Pulling back, he examined her closely. Her eyes had brightened, and she had stopped abusing her poor lower lip—that was for him to do. And in much different circumstances.

“Do I—do I really turn you on?”

His confident queen needed her consort to bolster her. And he was, quite literally, up to the task. He reached for her hand and placed it on his still painfully hard cock, which jumped at the attention.

Her eyes widened. Then a sly grin danced on her face. “I guess you moved to the hards.”