“Do you want a safe word?” she asked lightly. Why was this so complicated? Why wasn’t she excited to have sex with him? Why was her mind focused on the fact that she was going to somehow ruin this?
Why, oh, why hadn’t she decided to just stick with kissing for now? Kissing wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t doing anything for her, but it wasn’t bad.
“My safe word can be ‘The Notebook,’ because if I’m thinking about that while you have me cuffed to the bed, I have issues.” His hands flexed in the cuffs.
She giggled despite the frantic thoughts in her mind. God, he was so incredible, always making her laugh and trying to make her comfortable despite herself. “All right. Mind if I start?”
“Please do.” He shifted on the bed, and she watched as he kicked his loafers off. Her gaze moved down his body, and she saw that his pants had tented in the front, a sure sign that he was aroused by her game. That was encouraging. She was doing something right, at least.
Chelsea climbed onto the bed and sat on her knees next to him, considering. “Where should I start first?”
“Wherever and however you want.” His voice was hoarse, and the way he was gazing up at her with those green eyes . . . it made her feel better. More in control. More powerful. Maybe Gretchen was right about this. Maybe what she needed was control.
She leaned over him and began to unbutton his shirt, proud that her fingers weren’t trembling. Much.
“I know this is a cliché, but god, you’re beautiful,” Sebastian said in a reverent voice. “You have incredible breasts and even better legs. And your ass is sublime.”
“You’re just saying that so I’ll get into bed with you,” she teased, quickly moving down his shirt and undoing buttons. She pushed the fabric open and he was wearing an undershirt beneath it, so she tugged it up from his belt and exposed his midriff.
She knew he enjoyed working out and rock climbing. He’d gone on a few rock-climbing meet-ups with Hunter Buchanan since they’d started living together . . . gotten married . . . whatever. He kept in shape, and as an athletic person herself, she appreciated that. His stomach was lean, the outline of muscles underneath his dusky skin. Gosh, he was pretty to look at. Warm, too. She trailed her fingers down his abdomen.
Sebastian groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back. “Your touch feels amazing, Chelsea. Whatever you want to do, I’m game. Touch me however you want.”
As he flexed in the cuffs, she admired him a bit more. The urge to put her cheek down on his chest and just cuddle instead was a tempting one, but she needed to get past these hang-ups.
Or else his mother would have been right after all—she wasn’t good enough for him. And for some reason, the thought of that hurt her.
If she wasn’t so messed up, she’d be falling for him. Hard.
“You okay?” he asked.
She looked over and saw his handsome face was full of concern. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You look worried.”
Chelsea licked her lips. “It’s just been a while, you know?”
He tugged at the handcuffs. “Then let me up. We don’t have to do this.”
“No, I want to try,” she told him, and her hands went to his belt.
“Chelsea—”
She picked up a pillow and covered his face, then giggled because he jerked at the chains again. “I’m calling the shots here. All right?”
“Can you take the pillow away at least?” he said, voice muffled under it.
“All right, but behave.”
“I will,” he said, and she pushed the pillow aside, revealing his sultry green eyes again. His gaze went to her breasts and he licked his lips. “This way I get to look at you. And fuck, I am really enjoying looking.”
“Even if you can’t touch?”
“Even then. I could stare at your beautiful body all day and all night.”
Chelsea preened a little under that, running her hands over her breasts and down her stomach. He groaned, his eyes turning to hooded slits of green. Oh, she rather liked that. She liked being in charge. This was getting to be fun. So she cupped her breasts and slid her thumbs over her nipples, enjoying his newest groan of need.
But now she wanted to play with him. Now she was starting to come alive. So she leaned in and pressed her mouth against his hot, bronzed skin. Her lips grazed over a rib and he groaned once more, his hips straining upward. Let him strain all he wanted—she was in charge. Chelsea continued to kiss and nibble at his exposed skin, pushing fabric aside so she could tease and toy with the parts of him that she wanted to. His pectorals were lightly sprinkled with dark chest hair, and she dragged her fingers through the crinkles of hair before leaning in to kiss a nipple.
He jerked against the chains. “Ah, fuck. That almost made me come in my pants.”
“Almost?” she teased, feeling a quiver of excitement inside her. “I must be doing it wrong, then. I should practice.” And she leaned in and licked his nipple again, swirling her tongue around the flat before nipping the tip.
“Fuck,” he panted. “I don’t know if I want you to keep doing that or if I want you to stop.”
“You don’t get to say.” She nibbled on his nipple again. “I’m calling the shots.” And oh, shit, was that wetness between her legs? She slid a hand into her panties. It was. Not a ton, but it was arousal nevertheless. Feeling encouraged, she licked his nipple again and then began to kiss down the trail of chest hair toward his belly button.
He lifted his head, gazing down at her. “Are you touching yourself?”
Her hand was still in her panties. She froze. “Maybe?”
“God, will you take your panties off so I can watch? You’re so fucking sexy.”
“Maybe,” she teased again, and moved her hand, stroking her clit. “Maybe if you’re good.”
“Torturer,” he rasped, but he didn’t stop staring. And really, it was kind of arousing that he was so utterly fascinated. She leaned in and flicked her tongue against his belly button, then began to kiss toward the opposite side, scraping the tips of her breasts over his abdomen.
Sebastian made another agonized noise in his throat, and his hips lifted again, his belt jingling.
It reminded her that she hadn’t finished undressing him. Really, all she’d done was flirt and tease his chest. Time to remedy the situation. Her hand left her panties and she went back to his belt. She noticed that the front of his khaki pants had a small wet spot from pre-cum. His cock was already so wet he was leaking through the fabric.
That was . . . kinda sexy.
One hand slid away from his belt and she rubbed the bulge of his erection through the fabric of his pants. “You thinking about The Notebook yet?”
“Christ, no. God, your hands. I love that.” His eyes closed again and his body arched. “I may never think about it again. That movie that cannot be named.”
“Because you don’t want me to stop?”
“Because if you stop, I swear you’ll see a grown man cry.” He bucked his hips again, rubbing himself against her hand.
“I’d hate to see you cry.” Her voice was husky with her own excitement, and she clenched her thighs together as she slid his zipper down slowly. This was exquisite torture. Exquisite . . . and she was having fun. Handcuffs were her new best friend. She pushed aside his slacks, now undone, and revealed the straining bulge of his cock that pushed against his boxer briefs. The soft cotton fabric outlined every detail, right down to the heavy knob of his cock head. She stroked her hand down it again. “Should we do skin or should we do stuff over the clothes?”
“You’re in charge,” he said in a tight voice.
And that was the best answer ever. “I am, aren’t I?” Chelsea considered him for a moment, then moved her fingers to his waistband. “Lift your hips and I’ll slide these down.”