Badd Motherf*cker(33)

“I don’t want to forget it all.”

“Not what you said last night.”

“I was drunk. I made a fool of myself. I said a lot of stupid untrue shit.”

“See, I think what you were sayin’ last night was the truth. Embarrassing? Nah. And not stupid, either. Just the truth.” I was rocking a monster erection, and I ground it against her core. “You feel that? It can be inside you. Making you feel incredible. Making all the bullshit go away. You want it. It doesn’t have to be complicated, Dru. It can be simple, and real, and good. As long as you want it.”

She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut, and shook her head. “Goddamn you, Sebastian. You’re so bad. So bad for me.”

“Spell it with two Ds and you’ve got it right, honey.”

She huffed, because that was a pretty cheesy-ass line, but it was so bad it was good. Or…so Badd it was good.

Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night.

She shoved open the door she’d unlocked while I was running my mouth, and ducked out into the storm.

I followed her out. “DRU!” I shouted, over the hammering rain and crashing thunder.

She stopped a few feet way, already soaked to the bone. “What?”

I pointed at a small sailboat docked a few slips away. “That’s mine. Hang out there until you’re ready to come back.”

She nodded, and jogged toward my boat, hopped onto the deck and vanished into the cabin.

I let her go.

She’d be back.

I hoped.





7





Dru





Good goddamn and holy motherfucking hell, that man was potent.

Once he closed in, once he got those big strong hands on me…I was just lost. The way he kissed me, those soft lips brushing against mine, teasing me with the kiss, drawing it out of me, making me crazy. I couldn’t handle him once he got close. And if he put his hands on me? Shit…I was gone. And his mouth? God, god, god. I’d never in my life felt anything like how Sebastian made me feel, spread out for him on that table.

I’d never been taken like that, just…claimed. He sensed that I wanted him, sensed that I’d been willing, and he just took me. No apologies, no requests for permission or is this okay? He just made me his, and made me feel fucking incredible, brought me to orgasm within seconds. Michael could make me come, but it took a lot of work, took a lot of direction and no, slow down, not there, don’t stop don’t stop, goddamn it I said don’t stop! And then he’d usually stop, or slow down or speed up just when I was getting close, which would ruin it. And yes, sometimes I’d fake it just so I could give myself an O later, my way, no fumbling. Other times he’d get it right and we’d both get our Os, and it would be great. We’d feel close and in love and it was…nice.

Sebastian set me on fire.

There was not a single second of hesitation or fumbling. He knew exactly how to make me come, found my G-spot with unerring accuracy, slid those thick strong fingers inside me and licked my clit and tweaked my nipples—and god, the way he’d jerked my pants down was so fucking hot.

It wasn’t nice with Sebastian. It was…nuclear intense.

He made me come like it was his only mission.

I remembered how hard and how thick his cock had felt behind his zipper, both when he’d pressed me up against the door the first time, and then again just before I’d escaped. He’d probably been fighting the hard-on the whole time, the poor guy.

He made me come without expecting anything in return.

I mean, obviously he wanted more. But when I’d freaked out, he’d backed off. He’d talked me down, fed me, comforted me. And then he’d gotten me all worked up and whispered those dirty, beautiful promises in my ear, and I’d run out on him again, leaving him with what had to be another aching erection.

And last night? He hadn’t trusted himself not to touch me when I was wasted, so he’d left the bathroom rather than risk taking advantage of me. And I’d been completely naked and had toyed with him, taking off my panties in front of him, talking about his cock—

Which I’d been right about, as a matter of fact: the thing was huge.

I took a second to examine my surroundings. The cabin of the sailboat was tiny. Barely enough room for me to stand up in, and I was several inches shorter than Sebastian. But it was cozy. Blond wood accents, chrome, all-weather carpeting, a table with a booth for two, a galley, a door leading to a small bedroom, another leading to a bathroom. Not much, but it was warm and dry and comfortable.

Problem was, I felt terrible about running out on Sebastian.

He’d made me feel incredible, and then he’d handled my freakout with grace.