I’m In No Mood For Love (16 page)

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back, smashing her breasts against his chest. Damn,” he said, his voice strained, his breathing rapid. “Slow down or I’ll beat you to the finish line. As it is, I’ll probably only last five seconds.”

She’d take it. Five seconds of Sebastian sounded better than anything else she’d had in a very long time.

He let go of her and removed his pants, underwear, and the socks from his feet. Naked, he was beautiful. Perfect except for the scar on his knee that he’d gotten from falling out of a tree on her mother’s property. When he bent to grab his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, she had an urge to lean forward and bite him. “I assume that patch on your hip isn’t nicotine,” he said as he straightened.

“No. It’s Ortho Evra.”

“Is it about ninety-five percent effective?”

“Ninety-nine.”

He took her hand and placed the condom in her palm. “I’m leaving the choice up to you.”

While she might find him completely edible, for Clare there was no choice. She ripped open the plastic pouch and took out the lubed ring of latex.
She positioned it over the plump head of his penis and slowly rolled it down to the base of his shaft. “Sit down, Sebastian,” she said. When he obeyed, she pushed her panties down her hips. He watched them slide down her legs, then his gaze slid back up to her crotch.

“You’re beautiful, Clare.” He reached for her, and she knelt, straddling his lap. He kissed her stomach. “All over.” He cupped her crotch and brushed between her legs with his fingers. “Especially here.” He held his erection with one hand and pushed her down with the other. She moaned as she felt the head of his penis, smooth and hard and hot. He slid partway into her, and her body resisted the intrusion. She was so ready for him that there was only intense pleasure. She placed her hand on the sides of his neck and lowered herself until she was seated to the hilt. Sensation slashed through her body, from the top of her head to her toes. Her eyes closed and she squeezed her muscles around every solid inch of him. It had been so long, she was content to glory in the length of Sebastian buried deep within her.

Evidently, he was not as content. One second she was squeezing him, taking her time, and in the next she was on her back on the sofa, staring up into his face. He had one foot planted on the floor and was still deeply embedded inside her.

“This is the part where all you have to do is breathe.” He pulled out almost completely, only to thrust so deep she felt him against her cervix. “Is this enough for you?” A deep groan tore through his chest and echoed her own pleasure. “Or do you want more?”

She wrapped one leg around his back. “I want more,” she whispered as he began to move, setting a perfect rhythm of pleasure. “That feels so good.” She licked her dry lips. “What happens if I stop breathing and pass out?”

With his face just above hers, he said, “I’ll wake you when it’s over.”

Her chuckle turned into a long moan as he moved faster and every cell in her body focused on the shaft pounding into her. Faster, harder, and more intense. Over and over. His harsh breath brushed her cheek as he drove into her. Caressing and building sensation. Stroking her inside all at once. She moved with him, matching thrust for thrust. In and out again and again. Caught up in the hot pleasure she never wanted to end, she didn’t know how long they’d been going at it until he said, “Clare.” His voice was harsh, ravaged. “Honey, are you just about there?”

Before she could answer, she cried out as an exquisite climax crashed over her, flushing her body with heat. She saw and heard nothing over
the pounding in her chest and head. Her inner muscles clenched and drew him deeper. Milking him with hot liquid tugs. He drove into her harder and harder, pushing her up her great-aunt’s sofa until he too climaxed. An explosion of curses were forced from his throat and collided with the sound of intense male pleasure, primal and possessive. With one last thrust he slid his arms beneath her shoulders and crushed her tight against his chest.

“Clare,” he whispered between ragged, rough breaths. “If I’d known you were so good, I would have thrown you in the bushes and done this the first night I kissed you back in September.”

“If I’d known it would be this good…” She swallowed and licked her dry lips. “…I probably would have let you.”

He was silent for several more moments as he kissed the side of her head, basking in the sweet warmth of afterglow. “Clare?”

“Hmm.”

“The condom broke.”

Her afterglow popped like a soap bubble. She pushed at his shoulders as she felt the blood drain from her head. “When?”

He looked down into her face. “About five seconds before I came.”

“And you didn’t stop?”

He chuckled and pushed her hair from her forehead. “I have some control, but not at that point. Not when I’m feeling your orgasm grabbing my cock like that.” He kissed the end of her nose and smiled. “I swear to God, Clare, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”

“How can you smile?” She shoved his shoulders, but his arms around her tightened.

“Because you’re wearing that little birth control patch that’s ninety-nine percent effective.” His smile grew bigger. “Because you feel good, and because you’re clean, and I know I’m clean.”

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Because I would never lie to you about something so important. Trust me, Clare. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Trust Sebastian? She looked into his eyes. There was no teasing or laughter or trickery. Just the honest truth. He pulled out a little, then slowly thrust inward again.

“If I thought there was a remote possibility of anything bad, I’d tell you. Believe me.”

Believe him while he was still buried deep inside her? “If you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you. I swear I will.” He continued with slow thrusts, and despite herself, she moved with him.

He grinned as if he’d just won the lottery.
“Coming from the author of
Surrender to Love,
that’s not very romantic.”

“Love and romance are overrated.” She ran her hands over his shoulders to the sides of his neck. “Crazy hot sex is so much better.”

“M
erry Christmas.” Clare wrapped her arms around Leo and gave him a big hug. She glanced over his shoulder at Sebastian standing a few feet behind his father, wearing black wool trousers and a deep caramel-colored sweater, which was about the exact color of his short hair. He also wore a hint of a smile as his gaze held hers, and she recalled with perfect clarity the previous night. She felt a flush spread across her chest and looked away.

“I loved the picture,” Leo said as Clare dropped her arms and stepped back. “Sebastian told me you helped him pick it out.”

She focused her attention on Leo and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m glad
you like it.” Several months ago, she, Leo, and her mother had decided not to exchange gifts. Instead, they agreed to donate the money they would have spent to the Salvation Army.

“And he got me your book, but you know that.”

“Yes, and I know you’ll put it on your mantel with the others.” She held out her hand toward Sebastian, hiding behind the cool, collected facade she’d developed long ago. “Merry Christmas.”

He took her hand in his and his smile turned knowing. Last night and until late that morning he’d touched her all over with those big warm hands. After the first time on the couch, they’d taken a short break to eat a pizza before starting over in the bedroom and ending up around two-thirty in her shower, soaping their bodies and sliding their mouths across their clean wet skin. “Merry Christmas, Clare.” His thumb brushed hers and the tone of his voice suggested he was reading her mind.

Clare suppressed the urge to flip her hair or fiddle with the neckline of her black satin halter. She hadn’t dressed in anything new or different this year. She wore the ankle-length red velvet skirt and fringy belt she always wore on Christmas with knee-high black leather boots. Nothing special to attract extra attention. At least that’s
what she told herself, but she didn’t bother believing it. She looked good and she knew it.

“What would you gentlemen like to drink?” Joyce asked. Sebastian dropped her hand and turned his attention to her mother. He and Leo had Glenlivet on the rocks, and while Joyce poured, she said she thought scotch sounded like such an excellent choice that she’d join them. Clare stuck with wine.

After a half hour’s discussions of the weather and the latest world events, they moved to the formal dining room. There, among the holly and tapered candles, they feasted on the Wingate traditional dinner of glazed ham, potatoes grandmere, candied sweet potatoes, and green beans with cashews and tarragon. In Clare’s great-great-grandmother’s individual crystal compotes, Roman punch was served next to each plate.

As the oldest male, Leo had been given the chair at the head of the table, with Sebastian to his right and Joyce on the left. Ever the etiquette stickler, Joyce had insisted that Clare sit next to Sebastian. It would not be right to have both females on the same side of the table. Normally it would not have been a problem and Clare would have exerted herself to engage the guests in conversation. But tonight she couldn’t think of anything to say to the
man who’d given her three orgasms the night before, nor to Leo, who had always been a father figure to her. She felt sure she had a big neon Had Crazy Hot Sex Last Night sign above her head, and was afraid that if she did or said the wrong thing, everyone would notice.

She was so new at sex without commitment—or at least without a nice dinner and a movie date first. She wasn’t exactly embarrassed—or not as much as she probably should be, especially given the oral aspect of their shower—but just didn’t know what to say or do. She felt completely out of her element. Thank God no one seemed to notice.

Sebastian didn’t appear to labor under such uncertainty. He relaxed in the chair beside her, charming her mother with little stories about all the places he’d traveled and asking questions about her various clubs and charities. He was used to nostrings sex, and Clare had to admit that she was somewhat irritated by his composure. It seemed only right that he be as rattled as she was.

“I’ve been trying for years to convince Claresta that she needs to become involved in my Ladies of Le Bois club,” Joyce said as she tipped back her Glenlivet. “Through various benefits, we raised more than thirteen thousand dollars this year. We were especially excited to have Galvin Armstrong
and his orchestra play for us at the Grove. I know Clare would enjoy herself if she’d just get involved.”

Galvin Armstrong was older than Laurence Welk, and Clare needed to change the subject before she suddenly found herself involved in next year’s benefit. “Sebastian ate a monkey.” Leo and Joyce abruptly turned their attention to Sebastian, who stared at her with the fork halfway to his mouth. “And a horse,” she added for good measure.

“Really, son?”

“Oh.” Joyce set her glass on the table. “I don’t think I could manage a horse. I had a pony as a child. Her name was Lady Clip Clop.”

Slowly, Sebastian turned his head and looked at Clare. “I’ve eaten a lot of different things. Some were good. Some not so good.” He smiled. “Some I wouldn’t mind trying again.”

The memory of him feathering her navel with warm kisses popped into her head.
I think you’re going to like this,
he’d said last night as he worked his way south.
It’s a little something I learned from a French lady in Costa Rica.
And she had liked it. A lot.

“But at the moment I’m hungry for Christmas ham.” Sebastian turned his gaze across the table as
he placed his hand on Clare’s thigh. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Wingate.”

Clare glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as he slowly pulled up her skirt.

“Please call me Joyce.”

“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Joyce,” he said, the poster child of choirboy politeness as his fingers gathered her skirt.

Clare wasn’t wearing nylons, and she reached beneath the table before he could touch bare skin. She carefully grabbed his wrist and removed his hand.

“I received a Christmas card from your father’s sister,” Joyce announced, looking across the table at Clare.

“How is Eleanor?” Clare sank her spoon into her punch. As she placed the rum slush in her mouth, Sebastian flipped her skirt above her knees and replaced his hand on her now bare thigh. Startled by the warm contact, she jumped a little.

“You okay?” Sebastian asked, as if inquiring about the weather.

Clare pasted a strained smile on her face. “Fine.”

Oblivious, Joyce continued, “Apparently, Eleanor has discovered religion.”

“’Tis the season.” She placed her hand over
Sebastian’s, but his grasp tightened. Short of wrestling his hand off her and drawing attention to what was taking place under the table, there was nothing she could do.

“Eleanor always was a trial,” her mother continued. “She was somewhat of an embarrassment, which is quite an accomplishment in that family.”

“How old is Eleanor?” Sebastian asked, his tone polite and curious as his hand crept higher. Skin on skin, heat spread warmth up Clare’s thigh, his touch calling forth physical memories of the night before. In her bed and shower, and of course on the antique sofa.

“I believe she is seventy-eight.” Joyce paused to spear her remaining green beans. “She’s been married and divorced eight times.”

“Once was enough for me,” Leo added with a shake of his head. “Some people never learn.”

“That’s the truth. My great-great-uncle Alton was wounded in a marital dispute,” Joyce confessed, uncharacteristically forthcoming regarding Wingate skeletons, thanks to her third glass of Glenlivet. “Unfortunately, he had a fondness for other men’s wives. Neglected his own, though. Typical.”

“Where was he wounded?” Sebastian slid his fingers to the front of Clare’s panties. Her gaze
got a little fuzzy and she about melted off her chair.

“Bullet in the left buttock. He was running away with his pants down.”

Sebastian chuckled and his fingers brushed her through the spandex cotton blend. She squeezed her thighs and stifled a moan as the conversation continued without her. Leo made a comment about…something, and Joyce responded with…something, and Sebastian tugged at the elastic around the top of her leg and asked something….

“Isn’t that right, Clare?” Joyce asked.

Her eyes refocused on her mother. “Yes. Absolutely!” She shoved his hand from her crotch and stood, careful to make sure her skirt stayed down. “Dessert?”

“I don’t think so right now.” Her mother placed her linen napkin on the table.

“Leo?” Clare asked as she gathered her plate and flatware.

“None for me. Give me half an hour.”

“Can I take your plate, Sebastian?”

He stood. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s okay.” The last thing she needed was for him to follow and finish what he’d started. “You just sit and relax with my mother and Leo.”

“After a big meal, I need to walk around,” he insisted.

Joyce handed Clare her plate. “You should show Sebastian the house.”

“Oh, I don’t think he cares about—”

“I’d love to see it,” he interrupted her.

He followed her into the kitchen and they set the plates in the sink. He leaned a hip into the counter and ran the backs of his fingers up her arm. “Since I walked in the house tonight, I’ve been wondering if you had on some sort of bra under that thing. Guess not.”

She looked down at the two very distinct points in the front of her black satin halter. “I’m cold.”

“Uh-huh.” He brushed his knuckles across her left breast. Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath. “You’re turned on.”

She bit her top lip and shook her head, but they both knew she lied.

He sighed and dropped his hand. “Show me the damn house.”

She turned on the heels of her boots and left him to follow behind. Yes, the last thing she needed was for Sebastian to work his moves on her in her mother’s house. But there was another part of her, the new part that had just discovered the pleasure of meaningless sex, that wanted him to do that and more.

She showed him the parlor her mother used for an office, the main living room, and the library. He
kept his hands to himself, which was almost as frustrating as when he’d touched her. “I used to spend a lot of time in here as a kid,” she said, pointing to the floor-to-ceiling rows of leather-bound books. The room was furnished with old leather chairs and several Tiffany lamps.

“I remember.” He walked along the built-in mahogany shelves. “Where are your books?”

“Oh. Well, my books are paperbacks.”

He looked across his shoulder at her. “And?”

“And my mother doesn’t think paperbacks belong with leather-bound books.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. You’re a member of her family. Much more important than depressed Russian authors and dead poets. Your mother should be thrilled to put your books in here.”

Well, she’d always thought so, or at least thought she should be given equal shelf space in her own mother’s house. To hear Sebastian say it stirred unwanted feelings in her chest. “Thank you.”

“For what? Does your mother know how hard it is to get a book published?”

But this was Sebastian. She could not allow herself to feeling anything for him but a mild friendship and a raging physical attraction. “Probably not, but it wouldn’t matter if she did. Nothing I ever do will be good enough, or exactly right, or perfect. She’s never going to change, so I’ve had to.
I don’t kill myself to please her nor purposely irritate her anymore.”

“No.” He laughed quietly. “You just deflect attention off yourself and onto me.”

She smiled. “That’s true, but you really should suffer a little for eating poor Mr. Bananas.” She nodded toward the doorway. “I’ll show you upstairs.”

He followed close behind as she moved up the curved staircase. She showed him three guest rooms, her mother’s bedroom, and finally the room she’d occupied growing up. It still held her queen bed with heavy wooden pineapples on the posts, the same armoire, dressers, and five-drawer vanity. The only thing that had changed was the bedding.

“I remember this room,” Sebastian said as he moved farther inside. “But everything was pink.”

“Yes.”

He turned to her and said, “Close the door, Clare.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t want your mother to see what I’m going to do to her little girl.”

“We can’t do anything in here.”

“You almost sound like you mean that.” He walked across the room and shut the door himself. “Almost.” He walked back, ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders and the back of her neck. He
kissed her, and before she realized what he was about, his fingers were at the bow at the back of her neck and he lowered her halter to her waist.

She pulled back and covered her bare breasts with her hands. “What if someone walks in?”

“They won’t.” He grasped her wrist and placed her palms on his shoulders. “Your nipples are hard and your panties are wet, so I know you want this too.” He cupped her breasts and brushed the stiff tips with his thumbs. “I’ve been thinking about doing this since I walked into the house. All through your mother’s charity event stories, I wondered if anyone would notice if I disappeared beneath the table and kissed the insides of your thighs. I wondered if you were as turned on as I was. Then I felt your panties and I knew I was going to be inside you at some point tonight.” He kissed the side of her throat, and she slid her hands beneath his sweater and the T-shirt he wore beneath.

“I thought that after last night, you weren’t supposed to want to have sex anymore,” she said, and slipped one hand to the button on his trousers. “That it would be out of your system.”

“Yeah. I underestimated you. I predict it’s going to take at least one more time.”

He grasped the back of her thighs and lifted. Clare wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing
her crotch against his bulging penis as he carried her the short distance to the heavy oak vanity.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” He set her on the vanity and worked her skirt up around her waist.

“So bad I’m letting you undress me with my mother downstairs.”

He pushed her thighs apart and touched her through her panties. “Walking around this house, knowing you’re this wet, has about killed me.”