20

sebastian

 

With the door closed and the lock secured, I threw her onto my bed. As she landed, all of that auburn hair fanned against the navy blue of my blanket, her knees propped up and parted, her arms went overhead and her face flushed with excitement and laughter, I suddenly remembered that no woman had ever laid there before.

I never thought I’d realistically have another first, not at thirty-six with a lifetime of experience already under my belt, but here I was. Instantly sober and taking in the titanic profundity of the moment.

Tabby grinned unabashedly, the remnants of her laughter lingering in the lines around her eyes. “What are you looking at?”

Backpedaling from what could’ve been a mood killer, I knelt to the floor at the foot of the bed and proceeded to pull her sneakers off. “I’m looking at you.”

“Oh yeah?” She twirled a strand of her hair around a finger, tempting me with the view of watching her from between her spread legs. “And what do you see?”

What do I see? For days I’d been trying to peel back every one of her stony layers, searching for that girl she used to be—and still is—underneath all that hardened skin and professional attire. I’d been trying so hard to see everything she could be, and there, in her business suit and Converse, with auburn hair in a chaotic halo around her head, and a coy smile on her face, I couldn’t help but feel victorious.

“Everything,” I stated simply.

“Oh, you see everything, huh?” she laughed nervously, doing me the favor of undoing her pants as I finished dropping her shoes to the floor.

“Yep,” I nodded.

“Are you saying I’m everything?”

It was a jab, a playful tease. Nothing to look into as she lifted her ass and shimmied out of her beige pants, revealing a pair of smooth, porcelain legs. Women had made comments like that to me before. It had never been special, but now, maybe it was. Because I started to wonder, for the first time in my life, if anybody could be everything to me. And, what was it about her making that comment that made me wonder?

“Maybe,” I laughed, standing up and peeling off my t-shirt, tossing it aside and undoing my jeans.

“Jesus Christ,” she lifted onto her elbows to gawk at my bared torso, “I’ve never seen anything that looked like that in real life.”

I glanced down at my crotch. “Just wait until it’s out of my jeans. It’ll really blow your mind then.”

“Not that,” she muttered around a giggle as she clambered to a kneeling position. I watched her eyes widen as her palms pressed against my chest, splaying her fingers over the hard-earned muscle and working their way down to my stomach. “Holy crap, you actually have abs. I mean, it’s not a six-pack, but—”

My laugh startled her, and she raised her eyes to mine. “So sorry to disappoint. I promise to do a thousand crunches a day from now on, my queen.”

Her mouth dropped with horror as she shook her head. “Oh my God, no! I don’t even like six-packs.”

“Bullshit! What woman doesn’t like ripped abs? I’ve seen the fucking book covers on the shit you women read,” I grunted, teasing with a raised brow. My jeans unzipped, and dropped to my ankles.

“Okay, first of all, that’s not what I read, and second of all, I don’t like six-packs. I like this. Definition without being … fake.” She lowered herself, sitting back against her heels, still smoothing her hands over my stomach. She watched, as though she was drawing her own tattoos against my skin, leaving her mark, and branding me. “Fuck, I guess I like you.”

“Oh God, that must be terrible for you to live with,” I laughed, kicking off my shoes and jeans. I stole her hands away from my body and jumped to the bed, landing on my back and rolling her to lay against me. Still in her neat button-down shirt and still undeniably sexy as hell. “Tell me, Thumbelina; what can I do to make it better?”

“You can shut up, for one,” she laughed, dipping her mouth to mine as my eyes closed and she ghosted a peck on my top lip, bottom lip, both lips.

Holding my chin in her hand, she turned my head and pressed her kisses against my bearded cheek, memorizing the line of my jaw with closed lips, before trailing over my neck to my collarbone and chest. In bed, I believed in equal opportunity, always giving as much as I took, and I didn’t plan on tonight being any different. But God, her lips were so damn soft, now fluttering over the flinching muscles of my stomach, moving down, down, further down with every painful, passing second. I kept my eyes closed, allowing myself a selfish moment to relish in the first nearly-timid touch of her lips against me through the fabric of my briefs. I gasped, as though I didn’t see it coming, following with an inward moan.

“If you start with that, I can’t promise I’d ask you to stop,” I told her, my voice gruff and primal.

“Not until you say when, right?” she whispered, unsure of herself and her words, and I opened my eyes.

She had made a reference to “Everlong,” our song—wait, our song? What the hell is that shit?

I looked down over my chest and stomach, to her. Biting her bottom lip, her lithe nude-nailed fingertips stroking gently over the waistband of my underwear.

“Not even then,” I replied, equally unsure of myself and my own stupid words, because seriously, what was with that our song shit? I outstretched an arm. “Get up here.”

Nodding fervently, she raised onto her knees, coming toward me and unbuttoning her shirt as she went. Slowly, slowly, so fucking slowly, revealing a hint of skin, a flash of bra, the bejeweled end of her bellybutton piercing, until the shirt opened, and her arms slid out. Now, I could have stared at the lace bra concealing her rounded breasts, the definition of her own lean stomach, or the winding roadmap of her hips and waist and thighs.

But my eyes were on the black feathers inked to her shoulders.

“Turn around,” I commanded, and with a bite of her lip, she nodded and complied.

It was a crow, its wings spread, spanning the width of her shoulders. The detail was beautiful, every feather so real I thought I could touch the downy softness. I sat up, unhooked her bra and pressed my palm to her back, sliding over the ridged hills of her spine until I could touch the bird’s talons, its beak, its wingspan.

“You’re surprised?” she asked, lilting on a giggle.

I shook my head, moving to my knees and wrapping my arms around her waist. I buried my nose into her neck, nestled my impatient dick against her ass, and whispered, “Not even a little bit.”

“Hm,” she nodded with a sigh, tossing her bra aside then turning in my arms. Before she could press her chest to mine though, I caught the glint of the barbells piercing her nipples. So many fucking layers. “It just is, right?”

What she was referring to, I had no clue. I couldn’t begin to delve too deep into that head of hers as I pushed her back against the bed. I shucked her panties and my briefs to land somewhere on the floor. Because I had told her not to think about rights and wrongs, so I was meant to commit to that agreement as well.

But it wasn’t easy, when our bodies joined together and I shuddered like I was a fucking virgin who’d never been touched before. I was different, immediately changed, and unsure of what kind of magic she possessed or if I should fear for my life. It just is, it just is, it just is … I chanted in my head, lying over her and holding still as my head bowed, pressing my forehead to hers. Settling into the new beat of my heart, and realizing there really are rights and wrongs, and this was …

Well, I didn’t really fucking know.

Tabby wrapped her legs around my waist and forced me deeper, until I thought she became me and I was her, and I wondered why the fuck I was still there with the witch with the emerald eyes and auburn hair?

Gripping my shoulders, she pressed her lips to my jaw and whispered, “I didn’t say when.”

 

***

 

So, this is what it feels like to sign your soul over to the devil. I nodded to myself, my arm still wrapped around her bare, tattooed shoulders. I mean, if this is the end of the world, it’s not terrible. I could live with it.  

Tabby sighed languorously, pressing her multiple-pierced ear to my heart, as she drew an arc—back and forth, back and forth—over my chest with lazy fingertips.

“I’ve never let myself do this before,” she mentioned in a voice shadowed with sleep. Her first words spoken since chanting my name like some sort of incantation. Casting her spell, ensuring nobody would ever utter my name like that again.

Witch.

“Do what?” I stared at the ceiling, committing the line of her jaw to memory with only my fingertips.

“Fuck without feeling,” she whispered, her words wrapped tightly around an impending giggle. “I get it now. It’s so … freeing. It’s like, a, um … like an outlet.”

A dull ache started in my chest as I nodded. “Told you.”

Then I asked her, strictly out of curiosity, “What was it like with your ex?”

Tabby lifted onto her elbow, looking down at me with a questioning glare. “Look, I don’t have an extensive backlist or anything, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to talk about other people you’ve slept with right after sleeping with someone else.”

I laughed, lifting a hand to brush the hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings with that stuff. No strings attached. Seriously, I wanna know.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why do you ask so many damn questions?” I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m just curious. I’ve never fucked with feeling before.” I don’t think so anyway.

Tabby sighed, pulling herself up to sit beside me. She was unashamed of her naked body, sitting tall with her breasts displayed to my wandering eyes. Most women would cover up after doing the deed, hide themselves away as though they could erase the sins of our time together. But Tabby? She acknowledged that I knew her now and embraced it.

“It was, um …,” she bit a thumbnail, searching for the word, “comfortable? I guess that’s the word for it.”

I shook my head against my pillow. “No, that’s not what I mean. You’re talking about how it was after you had been together for a while, right?” She shrugged, then nodded. “Yeah, no, that’s not what I meant. The first couple of times, what were they like?”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“Tabby,” I interrupted, propping myself up against the headboard, “this isn’t a difficult question. The first time you had sex with Barney—”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “His name wasn’t—”

“William, Scott, Fred—whatever his name was, it doesn’t matter,” I sighed, pulling my hair back and into a ponytail at the base of my neck. “The first time you slept with him, were there fireworks? Did you hear a marching band? Did a unicorn take a big fucking dump in the middle of the bed? What was it about that time that confirmed you wanted to fuck that one dick for the rest of your life?”

Tabby blew out an exhale through pinched lips and puffed cheeks. “Wow, okay, um … I guess it was that it just felt right, as lame as that sounds. I mean, I had been with one other boyfriend before him and it was okay, but it never felt quite like that.”

Then I dared to ask, “But how do you know when it feels right? What the hell do people even mean when they say that?”

She looked over me, right above my head. Toward the wall and beyond. Her eyes sparkled with what I knew to be heartbreak. That was one feeling I could recognize.

“I guess, um,” her lips pressed firmly together as she shrugged a shoulder and forced a smile, “when they feel like home? Or, uh, when you can’t imagine ever wanting to be with another person after them?” She wiped an escaped tear from her cheek and I outstretched my arm.

“I’m sorry for asking,” I said gently, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as she settled against me again.

“No, it’s fine,” she whispered, shaking her head, although tears kept slipping down her cheeks.

“Is it, though?”

Some cross between a sob and a laugh pushed through her lips as she shook her head. “No,” she admitted, “I don’t think I’ve been fine in a really long time.”

“You can, uh, talk about it, if you want,” I offered, not intending to sound as awkward as I did.

Tabby shook her head, sniffling and laying her head against my shoulder. “No, it’s okay. I just … um, can I sleep in here tonight, maybe?”

Narrowing my eyes toward the door, I cocked my head. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll just stay across the—”

With a watery laugh, she shook her head again, wrapping her arm around my waist. “I don’t want you to leave, you moron. Sleep with me.”

My exhale could’ve woken the dead. It practically left my chest concaved and my lungs shriveled. “Yeah, we can do that,” I agreed awkwardly. “Can I piss first, or uh …”

“Oh, right, go ahead.”

Tabby rolled off me, and I got up from the bed quicker than if the damn thing were doused in gasoline. I watched her slip underneath the sheets, settling against the pillows with tears continuing to zigzag slowly over her face. When she met my eye, she smiled apologetically and wiped at her cheeks.

“I’m sorry about … this. This probably isn’t what you wanted.” She bit her lip, diverting her gaze from mine.

“No, it’s cool. I’d rather you get it out than forcing yourself to just deal,” I replied honestly, and turned abruptly to walk into the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and immediately leaned my forearms against the vanity, looking over the double sinks into the mirror.

I felt different. Hell, I even looked different. A round or two of meaningless sex had a way of leaving me satisfied, ready to crawl back to the tour bus or my bed and nod off and sleep for twelve hours. But this? I was shaken, not stirred, with my heart bumping maniacally in my chest. What did she say about feeling at home? That’s not what this shit was. This was like being left out in the rain, under a torrential sky of thunder and lightning, and begging to be let in.

I gripped the counter, staring into the eyes of the man in the mirror. He stared back angrily, pressing into my mind that he wasn’t a one-woman kind of guy. He didn’t date, didn’t go for seconds, and he sure as hell didn’t share the same bed.

But fuck, it didn’t sound all that bad, did it? I mean, scary as hell, sure, but not bad.

I went back to her after taking the promised piss. Eyes closed and breathing evenly, I thought she was already sleeping, but as I climbed under the sheets, her arm reached out for me.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked groggily.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confessed.

“What?” Her hand smoothed over the hair on my chest, and it was like being pet. It was nice.

“Slept with someone.” It sounded ridiculous and I chuckled, shaking my head. “God, that makes me sound like such a pussy.”

“Wait, like … never? You’ve never spent the night with a woman?”

“Nope,” I laughed. “I’ve always slept alone, unless you count camping trips with my sisters. But I was like, eight or something.”

“That’s crazy,” Tabby said, disbelief in her tone. “Well, I guess this is a night of firsts for both of us, huh?”

I tipped my head to rest my cheek against her hair and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

She settled against my shoulder, sighing contentedly, and I closed my eyes. The bed was an incubator, percolating with our combined warmth, and the gentle push and pull of her breathing lulled me closer to the brink of sleep. Until I remembered something important, something I should’ve asked before I started thinking with my dick.

“Hey,” I nudged her cheek gently with my knuckles, “how did your meeting go today?”

“Oh, it went really well,” she replied, tightening her hold around my waist. “Roman’s really nice.”

Something else came to join the new and unusual sensations already corroding my veins. “Roman, huh? Not Mr. Dolecki?”

“He,” she yawned, “prefers first names.”

I’m sure he does. “You’re gonna sell his house?”

Tabby nodded against me. “Yeah. I have to come back in a week or so to take a look around the place, prep it for the sale … you know, that kind of stuff.”

“That means you’ll be back,” I stated, choosing to focus more on that than the sudden first-name basis.

“Yep,” and with that, she tipped her head back, disturbing me from my resting spot to kiss my jaw. “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

I returned the kiss to the top of her head. “Goodnight, Thumbelina.”