Sexy Love (Sexy Series Book 4) (16 page)

“Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa…” he interrupts, “you’ve never watched porn?” he asks, incredulously, his hands flat on the glass table.

I smile, frowning as if he’s crazy. “Um… no? Do you find that odd? Most people aren’t into porn.”

“What?” he cries again. “Everybody has at least watched, if not regularly watches porn.”

“What?” My turn, this time. “No they do not! Maybe guys…”

“No way! Women too! Do you read dirty books instead or something?”

I laugh out loud, bouncing in my chair. “No! We don’t all need to get our kicks from watching or reading erotic stuff, you know.”

Okay, so I might be telling a little fib – some of my secret romance books are a little erotic… and so maybe I do enjoy that – but I definitely don’t read them for that part!

“I just don’t believe it. Lex, you’re thirty… how old?”

“Never you mind; I’m thirty something.”

“Okay, so you’re early or mid-thirties – and by the way, I’d still be shocked if you’d said twenty three – and you haven’t seen even a little part of a porno? What about the funny porn-related video clips that get sent around online? Surely when you were young your friends showed you something they found, or…”

“No! No, Sebastian – I haven’t seen any! My friends just aren’t like…
that
. It’s not something I’m interested in – it’s horrible.”

“Well how would you know if you haven’t seen any?”

“It’s just cheap and nasty. I’m not into it.”

“You really don’t think it might turn you on at all?”

“Absolutely not. Never.”

“Interesting. You continue to surprise me – once I think I’ve got you pegged, you do something else to change that.”

I smile and shrug – there’s not a lot I can say to that. I am whom I am, and I’m not going to pretend to be someone else or change to fit into the mould that is other people’s expectations. Anyway, he does exactly the same thing to me – I think I’ve formed a different opinion of him and then he does something unexpected and knocks it all out of the water again.

I smile as I stand and collect the plates, preparing to take them through to the kitchen. “I’m just me.”

He nods and stands next to me, close enough for me to feel his body warmth, but far enough for me to crave a little brush of an arm or leg. “Yes you are, and every which way – I like you.”

I turn and walk towards the kitchen, smiling – I don’t want him to see that particular reaction. He follows, and I can almost feel his eyes boring into my butt as if they were red-hot lasers. This ‘plain’ suit does showcase it quite nicely, if I do say so myself. I’m glad I decided to go ‘plain’ this morning.

“I have prepared dessert, would you like some? I need to finish it off.”

“Really? You have outdone yourself tonight, Sebastian, I am so impressed. I am definitely full, but if it’s tiny, I’d love to have a little of something sweet.”

“Well, they’re not tiny but I’d be happy to share one with you, do you like crème brûlée?”

I gasp. “Oh I adore crème brûlée! Did you know that already?”

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. “No, I really didn’t. So… you’d like some?”

“Oh, yes please. But yes, lets share.”

“Sure.”

He loads the rinsed plates into the dishwasher before lifting a cloche from the side counter. Hidden beneath it all evening have been 2 ramekins filled with my favourite vanilla custard.

He sprinkles just one with Demerara sugar and moves it over to a metal sheet on the hob. He takes a pretty mean looking blowtorch from the cupboard and gets it ready.

“Wow, hard-core dessert making, huh?” I smile, moving to his side, and he smiles right back at me.

“It’s fun! When else can you mix the toolbox with food? Total man-cave cookery.”

“Well, we are in your man-cave, so I’d say it’s wholly appropriate – wouldn’t you?”

“Definitely.”

He turns it on and begins to glaze the sugar until it turns a deep, inviting golden brown.

“How d’ya like that?” he asks, leaving the ramekin on the metal sheet and moving the blowtorch to another counter to cool.

“I like that a lot! It looks delicious, Seb.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

We finish the extremely decadent dessert, not before I take mental note to do an extra set of squats at the gym tomorrow, and retire to the comfortable couch in the living area. The balcony doors remain open to each of the three rooms it connects with, sending a cool evening breeze through the apartment.

When I sit, I carefully situate myself right in the centre of the corner group, giving Sebastian the option to sit close to me, or at one of the ends. I secretly hope that he sits right next to me, so that our bodies touch, but I would never invite him to do so, nor would I let my desire be known.

What is it about him that now makes me want him to be touching me all the time? What has allowing myself to get to know the real Sebastian Love, done to me? Is it because he has shown me just how perfectly he can satisfy me in the bedroom, having only known men to be merely adequate? That he recognises and furthermore – satiates my need for a more stimulating, diverse intimate experience? And why has he got me asking myself questions all the time?

When he joins me on the couch, he does exactly as I wanted, and sits right next to me, stretching one arm along the back of the furniture. He leans into my body and smiles, his face an intimate distance from mine.

He offers me a hugely sexy, natural smile and straightens his legs, crossing his ankles over the soft, spotless cream rug. “Would you like to listen to some music?”

“Sure, why not?”

He leans forward to his coffee table to retrieve his iPhone and has quickly synchronised with speakers surrounding the room. Immediately, the rhythmic, distinctive sound of reggae beats blares through the sound system, making us both jump.

“Whoa! I wasn’t expecting that, not exactly romantic, is it? I’m sorry…” he looks down at the phone to change it.

“Oh no, leave it – I like reggae music. You could turn it down a fraction though,” I laugh, “it might be good to be able to hear each other.”

He smiles with me. “You really like reggae music?” I nod and he shakes his head, grinning, indicating that I’ve surprised him again. But come on, it’s reggae! Who doesn’t like that every now and again?

I sway my shoulders in time to the beat, suppressing the urge to wiggle my ass as it’s beneath me, and Seb subtly nods along to the ever-popular ‘
Boom-shack-alack’
by Apache Indian.

“One of my favourites, and I also love Uptown Top Ranking.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, grinning, “Everything I Own, Ken Boothe.”

“Oh yeah! That one! Pass the Dutchie… oh, and pretty much all Bob Marley of course.”

“That’s a given! You don’t love me, Dawn Penn; great song.”

“Okay, so you’re set for a night of reggae then, yes? Because you’ve just convinced me that’s what tonight’s about.” I laugh, reaching forward to the table to get my wine.

“I’m totally good with that, I was expecting to put on a little relaxing music, Katie Melua or Eva Cassidy’s Over the Rainbow or something like that.”

“Why be predictable, huh?”

“Indeed. Wanna dance with me?” he asks with a wink.

“Oh I don’t think I’m quite drunk enough for that – I wouldn’t want to endanger you.”

He laughs. “You’re not a huge dancer, are you?”

“Nope.” I shake my head, he’s absolutely right; I’m not one for making a mockery of myself.

“You did have a sexy little dance in ‘Escobar’ at Christmas, remember?”

I smile and close my eyes, nodding, remembering how incredibly drunk I got that night. “Yes, I remember a lot about that night.”

“I’m glad you finally have it all back, the next day you were a little lost.”

“I was, but it all came slowly back to me.”

“What do you remember?”

He’s getting naughty. I look up into his eyes, my own slightly hazy, and my lids heavy from the dim lights and delicious wine. “I remember a lot about ‘Escobar’, to start with.”

“Maybe you could refresh my memory?” His cheeky smirk sends an unexpected electric shock to my core. Maybe that, along with the adrenaline of recapturing the lewd, suggestive remarks he made as he indulged my wanting skin with kisses, that night.

I take a long deep breath to summon the courage to come out and repeat some of those things. “Well, I recall quite clearly that you told me you wanted to burst deep inside my tight body.”

His eyebrows shoot to the ceiling and his grin is superbly cheeky. He didn’t expect me to repeat that part, clearly. “What? Did I say that?”

“Yes, you absolutely did. You also
told
me that my – and I’m using your words here – ‘
pussy
’ was reacting to you.”

His eyes twinkle. “Yeah, sounds like something I’d have said to you that night.”

I’m on a roll, because although I could stop – I’m finding this unusually arousing, it’s about the only time I could use the word ‘pussy’ outside of the bedroom and I’m making the most of it – it’s fun. I want to continue. “Then,”

“Then?” he asks, “You’re going on?”

“Yes,” I say smoothly, “would you rather I didn’t?”

“Oh, no,” he responds immediately, “I just didn’t expect you to want to.”

“Well, if you will continue to put me in a box…”

“No, I would never want to do that! Please, go on…”

I smile with some seriously sexy, teasing eyes. “Well, you again
told
me that I wanted you to lick me dry, following it by confirming that you did in fact want to do that yourself.”

He chuckles, clearly a little embarrassed, although - thankfully, he doesn’t appear to regret saying those things. I think if he did, it would take something away from the person he has so established himself to be, in my head, and I think I like him.

“You also told me – before you thoroughly devoured my face in front of everybody - that I wouldn’t forget those things that you had said, and guess what?”

“You really didn’t.”

“I did not.”

He is so close to my face, our eyes hiding nothing about our desire for each other, Bob Marley melodically repeating words of love in the background against a contagiously rhythmic beat that sees my foot bouncing uncontrollably.

My heart races as I look down at his pouting, soft lips, framed by a wholly masculine and perfectly grown beard. He’s going to kiss me, and I’m going to wrap my hand around his neck, I’ll run my nails over the very short stubble on his head before threading them through his facial ruff as his tongue and lips capture mine. I’m so ready for it.

Surprising and utterly disappointing me, he slowly creates a little distance between us and clears his throat. “You also danced
with
me, the Christmas before. Remember that?”

“Huh?” I ask, confused.
What, now?

“We were talking about dancing…”
Oh – so we were.
“The Christmas before last when all of your British friends first visited Aspen. We had that very messy night that seems to be becoming an annual tradition.”

I’m back in the room now, mentally. I totally succumbed to weakness back there. “The night we all went back to my place and you taught us those appalling drinking games?”

He laughs. “Yes, that night. I recall you quite enjoying those games.”

I wave my hand to dismiss the subject; I don’t want to remember. “Anyway, so yes, dancing?”

“Yes, do you remember dancing with me that night? Another ‘Escobar’ encounter.”

“I do, actually.” I smile as I recall the sexy little grind we shared, before I had changed my opinion of him, before anything sexual had happened between us. I was inebriated, of course, mortifyingly.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t dance so much, I still recall how well you can move. You had me so hard that night when you were grating my pants with your butt.”

“What?” I cry, “You were hard?”

“Yeah, I had trouble controlling it. What I would have given to have kicked Luke and Tilly out of that bathroom and locked myself in there with you.”

“Well, that would
never
have happened! I don’t ‘
do
’ bathrooms.”

“And I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Alexia. But I wanted you, either way.”

“Sebastian, you’ve told me that from the first time we met.”

“I know. It took me a long time to get you to crack, huh?”

“I didn’t ‘crack’. I simply… got to know you is all.”

“Okay,” he smiles. “I missed you.”

I frown; nose deep into my wine glass. “Hmm?” I ask, swallowing the smooth sanguine velvet that even now, after a couple of glasses, warms my chest.

My approval must be written on my face, because as Sebastian watches, he’s inclined to collect his own glass from the coffee table to take a large gulp. As he swallows, he turns to look at me again, in close proximity, as before.