“Come inside,” I ordered, shocked by the gravel in my voice.
Seb swallowed thickly, but nodded.
I turned on my heel, carrying Linnea easily despite her height. Some part of me was surprised by her silence, and even more surprised by the way she pressed her cheek to my chest and let herself be swept into the house and deposited on one of my hand-tooled Italian leather couches. She was still damp from the ocean, which was bad for the leather, but I didn’t give a fuck. Stepping back to see her sprawled across the cushions, long limbs browned from the sun, round breasts spilling preciously from her swimsuit, I was seconds away from taking her where she lay, everything else be damned.
It was a dangerous mix, this Molotov cocktail of jealousy and arousal. I wanted to put both of them on their knees and fuck their mouths to show them who they should belong to. I wanted to spin them away from me, arms draped over the couch, so I could drop to my own knees and eat them out for hours, until they were both dripping wet, Linnea’s pussy swollen, Sebastian’s cock weeping precum. Only then would I fuck them, first her, then him, and back again. For hours and hours, coming in them both until they were stuffed full of me and leaking. And then I would fuck that cum back into them with my fingers while I watched them kiss.
“Adam?” Linnea’s breathy voice interrupted my lurid fantasies.
I could feel the heat of a flush in my cheeks as I stared down into her dark eyes. “I’ll get you some water,” I practically grunted before turning on my heel to head for the kitchen.
I heard the front door close behind Sebastian, but ignored him to focus on breathing through my nose to bring down the rabid pounding of my pulse.
It didn’t work.
My grip on the glass I had grabbed from the shelf was white-knuckled, and I punched it into the water dispenser so hard that it shattered the side of the glass. Shards dug into my fingers, blood welling in fat drops before sliding down my palm.
Cursing, I moved into the pantry to throw it in the bin and grab some paper towels.
The door closed behind me with a muted thump.
I spun like a cornered animal, injured hand held to my chest, lips parted in a kind of grimacing snarl.
Sebastian stood before me, only a handful of feet between us, breathing hard like he’d run a marathon. He was bare-chested post-surf, his chest chiselled out of fine gold marble, waxed smooth to show off every tight line and ridge of muscle he worked hard to hone. So much bronzed skin, my mouth watered, and I found it nearly impossible to tear my eyes off his chest to look up into his face.
What I found was somehow worse than his beautiful body.
Desire.
Blazing from his eyes like twin suns, threatening to burn me to ash.
“Adam,” he said again, the only word he’d spoken yet.
I wanted him to say it over and over for the rest of my life.
Before I could think or blink or force myself to stop this descent into madness, I was lashing out to grip the side of his neck in a tight hold, thumb over his bobbing Adam’s apple, and hauling him sharply into me. He stumbled slightly but otherwise came willingly, crashing into my chest, then we both went crashing into the wall behind me. Glass jars clinked together,and some must have rolled onto their side, then off the wall, shattering to the ground beside us.
I didn’t pay mind to any of it.
Because for the first time in ten years, Sebastian Lombardi was in my arms.
In my fucking arms.
Warm and passionate and living. Not the pale imitation I met so often in my dreams that ended in nightmares where I woke up alone.
And God.
God.
He tasted even better than I remembered.
Hot like too much spice, but rich and masculine.
His mouth was so plush against my own, a stark contrast to the rough bite of his stubble rubbing against my chin.
Big hands tugged in my hair, forcing me closer.
A strong, hairy calf curled around my leg so he could press his hard cock against the crease of my hip.
