Right Where I Want You

by Jessica Hawkins

  He kissed his way down my stomach and tugged the elastic band of my lacy boyshorts. “Did you wear these for me?”

  “Mmm.” I was glad I’d gone for sexy over silly underwear. “Yes.”

  “Please tell me these have something written across the butt too.”

  “Sorry. All you’ll find back there are two buns in need of a hotdog.”

  I’d meant to make him laugh, but instead his jaw set. He pushed his hands under the waistband and around to my backside, taking two handfuls. “Don’t tease me like that.”

  “I have some cinnamon in my pantry if you want to sprinkle it on them.”

  “Christ.” He dropped his forehead to my stomach, undeterred by my silent laughter. “Christ.”

  I worked my hands through his hair to tousle it. Now that my restraint had broken, now that I no longer had to deny myself, I wanted to touch all of him. “Sebastian.”

  “Am I going too slow?”

  “No.”

  He yanked down my underwear and I gasped. Shackled by my ankles, I was bared to his eyes, prisoner to his touch. “Too fast?” he asked.

  Lazily, with my bottom lip clamped between my teeth, I shook my head. “It’s just right.”

  “Okay, Goldilocks.” He pressed a soft kiss on my lower tummy and said with a warm exhale, “Then I’ll blow, blow your house down.”

  I shivered. “You’re mixing childhood fables.”

  “Not to mention defiling them,” he said. There was nothing innocent about the way he tossed my panties aside to free my ankles. Or how he spread my thighs to nuzzle between my legs. Breathed me in. Placed gentle kisses over my mound. “This little pussy went to market.”

  I gripped his head and said, “Enough, enough. Please.”

  “I’ve never heard anything sweeter than that word from you in this moment.”

  “Please,” I repeated and used his own words against him. “Don’t deprive me.”

  As if that flipped a switch in him, he put his mouth on me, tongue lapping at my wetness, teeth grazing my swollen lips. My hips bucked, and he put a long finger inside me, slid it out, and added another. I clutched the doorknob to keep from falling to my knees. He parted my lips wider with a thumb and laved my clit, eliciting my audible gasp. Was he smiling? I thought I felt his delight against me. I didn’t have long to wonder. Sebastian pushed my hips back against the door and fingered me harder, his rhythm unbreaking, his tongue alternately hard and soft on me.

  Did he . . . intend to make me . . . come . . . like this? “I don’t,” I said breathlessly, my hands still in his hair. “I can’t.”

  He pulled his mouth away. “You can’t?”

  I shook my head up at the ceiling. “I never have, not like this. I need . . .”

  “What do you need, Georgina?”

  It was an embarrassing request to make. I wished it was as simple as saying I needed to be kissed or fucked or spanked to orgasm, but what would truly tip me over the edge was harder to ask for—intimacy. “More,” was all I said.

  Sebastian took my hand from his hair to lace our fingers together. “Then I’ll need you to look at me.”

  I’d never liked asking for more. I’d learned that just saying it aloud didn’t necessarily mean I’d get it. But I forced myself to meet Sebastian’s eyes. His fingers slowed, stroking every inch of me as he slid them in and out. He looked to me for approval, and I nodded. He picked up his pace, curling his fingertips into spots that got him moans. His touch was no less pleasurable for his restraint, but it was more deliberate. No less firm but more intimate as he held my gaze.

  I rested my head against the door and ground onto him, eyes closed as I urged myself over the edge. I could do this. I wanted to do this, for Sebastian to be the first man to bridle my orgasm any way he pleased.

  “Georgina,” he grated out, “I want to give you more.”

  “You are.”

  “Then do not look away.”

  I tilted my chin forward. Sebastian’s brows drew together in yearning or focus, maybe both. I couldn’t see his hand, buried between my thighs, couldn’t really see anything but him. His eyes, intent on mine, told me this was love not war. He had me where he wanted me.

  He had me.

  I squeezed his hand, gripped his shoulder, and did my best to hold his stare, keeping my timidity at bay as he coaxed me over the edge. It wasn’t until I was tumbling into my climax, into him, that my eyes fluttered shut, my ears ringing as my body vibrated with all-consuming currents of pleasure.

  When it had passed, I was still in that position, holding onto him, my breath coming hard as I recovered. He let me float down from the moment until, loose-limbed and boneless, my knees buckled. Sebastian caught me, encircling my waist as he stood and lifted me to meet his height. “You don’t, huh?” he asked. “You can’t?”

  I hid my face in the crook of his neck as he crossed the room. “I didn’t think I could if I wasn’t . . . you know.”

  “I don’t know. I’m new at this. You’ll have to spell it out for me.”

  “You’re not new at this,” I said, inhaling his skin’s slightly briny scent. “You do it for a living.”

  “Mmm. But someone once told me I don’t understand women. That I can’t score more than one night. Maybe writing it and living it are two different things.”

  I pulled back to look at him. “She sounds very wise.”

  At the foot of the bed, he nipped my bottom lip. “Don’t make me spank you the way I’ve fantasized.”

  My insides tightened. I wanted to hear every detail of my counterpart’s daydreams. “What was the subject again?”

  “You didn’t think you could orgasm without . . . ?”

  My excitement fizzled. Sebastian already knew the answer, so it wasn’t as if I could feign ignorance. “Love,” I said.

  “Love,” he repeated, as if trying out the word.

  “I usually only orgasm if I’m in love and only during sex. Not from oral, and not with a fling.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said.

  The words had sounded much more matter-of-fact in my mind. Aloud, they were weighty with meaning. “I’m not trying to say that I—oh, no.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I didn’t mean that I am in love.”

  “I’d have nobody to blame but myself seeing as I am exceptionally talented at this. All those how-to articles I researched must’ve paid off.”

  I rolled my eyes as my embarrassment vanished. “Here’s one: ‘How to Make a Girl Instantly Regret Sleeping with You.’”

  “We haven’t even slept together yet. At least give me a chance to make you regret it.” He feigned dropping me on the bed but froze midair. “Georgina. Is your neighbor watching us?”

  I gasped, throwing my arms around his neck to hide my chest. I always drew the curtains as soon as I walked in the room because nosy Renee’s window was so close, I could nearly count the curls on her head. Some nights, she’d wave at me from her reading chair. “I completely forgot—”

  He strengthened his hold on me and turned his back, presumably to hide me, but now I was looking out the window at her. “Not this way,” I hissed in his ear. “We just made eye contact!”

  “Well, I’m not turning around so she can get a show.”

  She shook out The New York Times, but who the hell read newspapers in the evenings? Snoops, that was who. She was clearly pretending so she could sneak glances at us. “We have to close the blinds.” I readjusted my legs around him, starting to feel like a baby koala. “Walk backward,” I said. “Now her dog is at the window. This is getting obscene.”

  “Was she planning to watch us have sex?” he asked as he reversed.

  When I was within reach, I pulled the tie holding back one curtain. “She probably still is.”

  “I think she had popcorn.”

  “She does not,” I said as he moved to the other side. “What do you care anyway? You’re still completely dressed.”

  He let out a low growl. “I don’t like to share my buns
.”

  I untied the next sash. Renee lifted a hand just as the curtain fell shut. “This isn’t the time for jokes,” I said.

  “You’re right. It’s time for you to catch me up.”

  Alone again, I drew back to look at him. “What?”

  “My clothes, Georgina.”

  Ah. I focused on the tanned skin I exposed with each button I undid, avoiding his heated stare as he walked us to the bed. He lay me back on the mattress, and I smoothed my hands over his chest to slide off his shirt. He closed his eyes as I continued down, down, down over each abdominal muscle. “I always knew you were difficult,” I said, “but I had no idea you were this hard.”

  “You haven’t even gotten to the hard part,” he promised.

  21

  GEORGINA

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Sebastian said.

  My nerves flared. What was it about having me naked and at his mercy that made him think this was the Q&A portion of the night? Then again, this was stubborn Sebastian. He wouldn’t become someone else just because we were taking off our clothes. “Ask,” I said from under him, lowering his zipper.

  “On second thought—” He inhaled as I tucked my hand into his underwear to feel him. I stroked the full and impressive length of him—it came as no surprise that Sebastian had the dick to back up his energy. “Maybe this isn’t the right time,” he said. “My mind just went to mush.”

  “Or this is the perfect time.”

  “You’re nothing like the other girls I’ve known.”

  “If you’re about to insult me, remember that I have your cock in my hand.”

  “Fuck.” He thrust his hips in a way that seemed involuntary. “Say that word again.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, which was the only reason I’d blurted out cock. But he was asking me to be serious now, and there was something more urgent in the way his eyes devoured me. Apparently, there was a thin line between teasing and cock-teasing. “You go first.”

  “Cock,” he said.

  “No.” I smiled at his earnest expression. “Finish what you were saying.”

  “Since I met you, I’ve been feeling . . . more like myself than I have in a while. I put on an act to try to impress most women. Not you.”

  I would’ve been impressed if I’d held him earlier, all smooth skin, steel, and girth on my palm. “And?”

  “Because of that, I can be myself. I am myself. But what about you? Do I make you better?” He paused. “Can you see yourself with me?”

  If I wasn’t mid-handjob, I would’ve hugged him. It was such a sweet, honest question to not only wonder, but ask. “The fact that you care enough to bring it up is your answer. Of course you’re good for me too.”

  “How?”

  It was a lot to ask when I just wanted to finally consume and be consumed. There was urgency in his question too, though. How had he made me better? For one, I’d begun to wonder if I still needed the security of putting on a personality to get through the day. “Where others see weakness, you see kindness,” I answered quietly.

  “I do,” he answered. “An abundance of it.”

  “You’ve shoved me out of my comfort zone. You might think I do that on my own, but I was in a rut before I met you. I just didn’t want to admit it. Now, I want more. You improve my life because you challenge me—and because you have a nice cock.”

  He took a sharp breath, nudged my legs wider, and kissed me harder than before. “Condom,” he grated out. “Back pocket.”

  I felt around his ass for his wallet, tossing it aside once I’d extracted the condom. “Can I put it on?”

  “I don’t know, can you?” he asked, maneuvering out of his jeans. “You have such small hands.”

  I watched in awe as he stripped down to a pair of white boxer briefs, his erection straining against the cotton. “Tell me you’re wearing a cup,” I said.

  “A cup? Why would I . . .” His brows knit as he looked down at himself. “That’s all me, Georgina.”

  It was bulging, reaching for me, almost hostile. I’d obviously been distracted when I’d had my hands down his pants just now or I would’ve feared for my safety. “Welcome to the major leagues,” I murmured as I opened the foil packet.

  He laughed, his eyes glued to me as I reached into his underwear and began to roll it on. The period and parentheses that normally softened his face faded, leaving the sharp jawline and focused eyes of a man who knew what he wanted—and was looking right at it.

  He scanned my body. “So many,” he murmured.

  So many. I knew at once what he meant, because until tonight, it was one of the only comments he’d ever made on my appearance. “Counting the number of offending freckles?”

  “Offending?” he asked.

  “That day at the park, you were disgusted by them.”

  “I don’t remember what I said, but I was hardly disgusted.”

  “Word for word, ‘You have all these little fucking freckles. It’s like someone sprinkled you with cinnamon to serve you up as breakfast.’”

  He laughed as if I’d repeated a joke back to him. I kept a straight face. I’d been annoyed by it then, and I was annoyed now. I covered my chest. “I’m sorry if you don’t like them, but they’re not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t like them?” He was still laughing. “God, I guess in a way, I don’t. Because I love them.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “If I sounded angry when I said that, it was simply because they weren’t mine.” He moved one of my hands away and traced a fingertip over my collarbone. “I didn’t have access to them, and I wanted it.” He kissed a few of the spots that dotted my chest, and I moved my other arm away. “I knew it,” he said with reverence. “You taste like cinnamon too, on a cold night.”

  I squirmed under his regard. “All this time, I thought you hated them like my ex.”

  “Now I know he’s braindead. I’ll only hate them at work, when they’re driving me crazy from across the conference table.” He worked his way up my neck and ran the tip of his nose along the bridge of mine. “When I want to kiss the ones here. And count the ones lower, on your knees.”

  “I don’t have freckles on my knees.”

  “You have a few,” he said. “I looked that first morning. They’re so fucking sexy.”

  “Sexy?” I asked a little louder than I meant to.

  “Mmm. During tomorrow’s morning meeting, I’ll be fantasizing about my mouth on each and every one of them. I’ll taste cinnamon.”

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and slid my toes under the waistband of his boxer briefs. “Can we take these off?” I whispered.

  He pushed them down, removing the final layer between us. I couldn’t look. It’d been so long since I’d been with anyone, and just the outline of him was intimidating.

  Sebastian positioned the head of himself between my legs. “You are so . . .” He stared down at me. “Whatever words exist past beautiful.”

  “And you call yourself a writer.”

  He pressed into me. “Dazzling. Strong. Beautiful ad infinitum.”

  I inhaled deeply. Sebastian was big, and Lu had been correct—I might’ve been revirginized. At least, it felt that way in the moment. I couldn’t take him all at once, but “beautiful ad infinitum” wasn’t a bad way to be opened up, to marry big and small, hardness and softness.

  Once he was halfway in, he drew back and pushed deeper. “Is it too soon to ask about the Double-Fisted Flying Squirrel?”

  I couldn’t keep the smile from my face and my body eased for him. “Ask all you want.”

  His expression turned serious. “You good?”

  He was offering the intimacy I needed from him. We had inside jokes about things like sex positions and faux dates. Even cinnamon on a cold night could make me laugh as I swooned. I put my hand to his cheek and nodded. “I’m happy to be here.”

  “I like that.” He grazed the tip of his nose against mine. “Happy to b
e here. So am I.”

  We met lips, my mouth mirroring his for a slow, sexy kiss. As my body warmed to him, he began to move inside me, easy at first until his glides became thrusts. He got up onto an elbow and glanced between us. Knowing he was watching us come together exhilarated me. It was the cease-fire to end all battles. His abs flexed as he dropped his mouth to mine and picked up his pace, pounding into me. Wrapped up in him, I arched my back, my orgasm building until it was suddenly there, bigger than life, looming on the cusp. Had I ever come this soon? Ever been so lost in someone else? I curled my hands into his chest. “Don’t stop,” I breathed. “I’m there. I’m here.”

  “Already?” He paused, then pulled out and sat back. “We’ll have to teach you some self-control.”

  I got up on my elbows, panting. “What are you doing? I was on the edge!”

  He gave me a rakish grin. “It’s going to be a long night, honeybuns. You can hold out a little longer.”

  Nicknames wouldn’t get him out of this one. I threw a pillow at him, and he caught it, laughing as he said, “You just gave me an idea. Turn over.”

  I flipped onto my stomach—anything to get the train back on its tracks. Sebastian situated the pillow under my hips and moved higher between my legs, thumbing me open from behind. “Nice and pink and wet. Christ, so wet, Georgina. You want an orgasm?”

  “Do you?”

  He got the hint. If I wasn’t coming, he wasn’t, either. “I promise, I’m not trying to torture you. It’s just that I—” He pressed the sheathed tip of himself to my opening. “Want to come—” He drove into me. “With you.”

  “Oh, god.” I moaned for the way he filled me, for his impatience, for the mere thought of our mutual climax. “Sebastian.”

  He closed his body over mine, propping a hand on each side of my waist. As he let go, his thrusts hard and deliberate now, I writhed under him. My clit throbbed with pleasure as I ground into the pillow while he took me from behind.

  “I like when you talk to me,” he said. “Tell me how to fuck you, Georgina.”

  “Just like that,” I said, and thank god it was true—I couldn’t articulate anything more. “Just . . . like . . . that.”