“Mmmmm.” He did it again, lingering at the top. “Absofuckinglutely delightful on the palate.”
I burst out laughing, dropping back to my elbows and bending my knees. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” He flicked and swirled and savored. “My God, this vintage is magnificent. Light and refreshing with a fabulous fruit profile and balanced acidity.”
“Oh Jesus.” I clapped my hands over my mouth, laying all the way back, laughing and moaning with delight at the same time.
He sucked my clit into his mouth and nibbled on it, making my legs tingle all the way to my toes, which curled into the blanket. “Mmm, yes. An incomparable flavor and exquisite aroma. Full-bodied and delicious.” Two fingers slid easily inside me.
“I thought you said it was light,” I breathed, widening my legs even more, my hands seeking his head.
“It’s everything I like. Do I even need to mention its elegant floral notes? And the lingering finish, well…it’s indescribable,” he teased as he fingered me deep and slow and my body arched off the dock. When he put his mouth back on me, I came so hard I yelled way too loud, my voice echoing off the water. I covered my mouth again, but Sebastian just laughed, licking up the lingering finish until there wasn’t a drop left.
“Oh Jesus, I’m so loud,” I whispered, embarrassed. “What if someone heard?”
“I really don’t give a fuck.” Sebastian got to his knees and undid his pants. “So come here and sit on my cock. I’ll hold my hand over your mouth if you want.”
I sat up, giving myself a moment to enjoy the sight of him there on his knees, his dick hard and waiting for me, his eyes dark and glowing in the candlelight. I loved the way his forearms looked when he cuffed his button down shirts. Crawling up on his lap, I put my hands on his shoulders and slowly lowered myself onto him, enjoying every slick, warm inch gliding deeper and deeper. When my ass rested on his thighs, his cock penetrating so deep I felt that wicked good twinge of pain, I wrapped my arms around his neck.
We stayed there a moment, eyes locked on each other, mouths open, breath mingling between us. The light, playful mood of a moment ago was gone, something heavier in its place. I threaded my hands into his hair, staring with wondrous disbelief at this man who was so beautiful, so smart, so strong, and yet still retained that sadness in his eyes, that lingering fear that he wasn’t good enough for me. My heart was pounding so hard, it echoed in my head. I felt so full, so deliciously full with him that I knew I was going to burst right then—not an orgasm, but an emotional release.
“I’m so in love with you,” I whispered, starting to roll my hips over his. “I’m so in love with you, Sebastian.” My eyes teared up, although it made me happy to tell him. I didn’t care if he said it back or not—I felt it and I wanted him to know it.
“Skylar.” He squeezed me tight, burying his face in my neck. “You’re all I want. All I dream about. I think I’ve always loved you.”
Tears dripped, although I smiled too. “Really? Always?”
“Yes.” He used his arms to move my body against his, a slow, undulating rhythm that had my core muscles coiling again. “Because I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you. Not to ache for you. Not to yearn for you.”
The words he used to describe his feelings broke my heart. “You don’t have to ache or yearn, love. I’m here.” I covered his forehead in kisses, pulling his head back to force him to look at me. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”
“You will,” he said, that inexplicable sadness in his eyes. “You should. I should suffer for you.”
“Shhh.” I kissed him before he could say anything more, plunging my tongue into his open mouth, wrapping my legs around him.
He straightened up so the base of his cock hit my clit and grabbed my ass hard with his hands, grinding me against his body. “Oh god,” I breathed against his mouth. “It’s so good, so fucking good.”
He groaned and thrust up hard and deep inside me one final time, using his arms to move me over him as we came together, our bodies pulsing in wondrous relief at the same time.
Afterward, he hid his face in my chest, and when a small sob made his shoulders twitch, my throat squeezed tight. Why was he so convinced I’d leave him? Why did he think he needed to suffer for me? Was it because no one had been understanding enough in the past? Had no one tried hard enough to break down his walls? Would he shut me out, retreat into isolation to protect himself?
“Sweet boy,” I soothed as his tears dampened my blouse. I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his back, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “You’ll never suffer for me. I won’t let you.”
“Don’t make that promise. You’ll regret it.”
“No, I won’t. What is this? What’s wrong?”
“Fuck. Sorry.” He quickly wiped at his eyes.
“Sebastian. Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing. I guess I just didn’t realize I was holding in a lot of tension.” He focused on pulling out of me, and the moment he did, I sat back and brought my legs together, covering myself with my skirt.
“Oh.” Well, this was a letdown. Was he really shutting down on me right now? After what we’d just said to each other?
“I’m sorry about your skirt. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”
I stared at him, blinking twice. “My skirt?”
“Yeah. I got…stuff on it.” He stood and did up his pants.
“Jesus Christ, Sebastian.” I scrambled to my feet, feeling warmth trickle down my leg. “I don’t care about the damn skirt. I care that you’re closing yourself off from me, right after I told you I love you.”
“I’m not.” This without even glancing at me.
“You are. Why?”
He was silent for a second, staring out at the water, and I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw. He wasn’t going to talk.
“Fine. Be stubborn.” Instead of engaging in the argument, I leaned down to pick up my shoes and my binder and stomped off the dock and up to the cabin.
Inside the bathroom I cleaned up with a wet washcloth, fighting tears as I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. This is him. This is what you’ll have to deal with every time your relationship hits a milestone that freaks him out.
But what milestones would there be? He’d just said the other night that he doesn’t want the forever things—getting married, having kids. I’d played that off, and then we’d gotten distracted with sex—amazing, hair-pulling, wall-thumping, name-screaming sex—but later, as we lay next to each other in his bed, I felt sad that there was a possibility he didn’t want those forever things with me. Maybe he was just scared of that kind of commitment—a lot of guys were. Or maybe he worried about passing his OCD on to his children if he had any. Maybe he’s scared he’d stab me with the cake knife at our wedding. But who the fuck knows, because he won’t talk to me!
A gentle knock sounded on the door.
“Just a second,” I said. “Actually, just come in. I don’t care.”
The door opened and a downtrodden Sebastian appeared behind me in the mirror. I met his contrite eyes before rinsing out the washcloth in the sink.
He entered and stood beside me, taking the washcloth in his hand. Without a word, he wrung it out and dropped to his knees, and turned me to face him. Then he gently ran the cool, wet cloth up the inside of one leg.
I sighed. “I already did that,” I said, although it was so sweet that he wanted to do it, I didn’t protest when he stood, rinsed and wrung again, and knelt down to wipe the other leg, and then tenderly washed in between them.
He looked up at me. “I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
I cupped his jaw with one hand. “Then let me in, and let me stay.”
“I want to.” The fear in his eyes broke my heart. “I’ll keep trying.”