Seb

I showered and dressed faster than I thought possible, wanting an advantage over Calloway when I confronted him. Or beat the snot out of him. Whichever. The guy had been a dick throughout the game, even refusing to speak to me about plays, which was unacceptable. The team shouldn’t suffer because one guy wants to be a bastard.

Speak of the devil… Sasquatch emerged from the showers, a towel wrapped around the tree trunk he called a waist. Wearing my NHL mandated suit and tie, I at least felt like I had the upper hand as I approached, what with Calloway half naked and all.

The big defenseman's back was facing me when I came to a stop a few feet from Calloway's cubby.

“Calloway.”

His heavily muscled shoulders bunched up tight. Oh yeah, Sasquatch knew I stood behind him, yet the rude asshat continued to get dressed, forcing me to wait, which pissed me right the fuck off. Twitch, twitch, twitch… The brushoff combined with the infuriating spasms in my left eye sparked an all-too-familiar wrath deep in my gut. My emotions, and actions, were about to spiral out of control if I couldn't get a grip.

I closed my eyes, clenched my hands, and breathed. In through the nose… one… two. Out through the mouth… one… two. I continued breathing as I pictured the invisible demon that rode me for most of my life, and with both hands, pushed back at my infamous temper. In… one…two. Out… one… two. When I was calm enough to open my eyes, I found Calloway in his suit, looming over me, scowl firmly in place.

“What do you want, St. Clair?”

Calloway's tone held the disdain of someone who stepped in a pile of dog shit while wearing a new pair of Pradas. I swallowed back the urge to say fuck it and pummel Bigfoot’s face into ground beef. Instead, I shoved my hands into my pockets to make them behave. Punching a teammate in the locker room on his first day was highly frowned upon. I would know. I may or may not have done it once… or twice. Possibly three times, but that one was not my fault.

I exhaled and worked my jaw back and forth, then stepped closer, hating that I had to tip my head back so I wasn't staring at Sasquatch’s thick neck. How tall was he anyway? Seven fucking feet? I sucked up as much pride as possible and swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise.

“We’re teammates now, which means whether we like it or not, we have a duty to protect each other's asses.”

Calloway raised a single dark brow, which made me want to slap the condescension right off the motherfucker’s face. “So?”

“So…” I growled, already sick of the patronizing attitude. “Just because we're on the same team doesn't mean I'm going to sit back while you intentionally injure my little bro. Don't think for a minute there won't be repercussions if you do.” Without realizing it, my hands had curled into fists in my pockets, squeezing so tight my fingernails were going to leave grooves in my palms.

Sasquatch's response to my threat wasn't anger, wasn't aggravation. Wasn’t even slight annoyance. No, the fucker grinned.

“Repercussions? Like what?” He scoffed and summarily dismissed me with a casual wave of one of his massive meat paws. “Fuck off, St. Clair.”

When the maudit bâtard turned around and showed me his backside, I darted out a hand, grabbed Calloway’s massive bicep, and squeezed just hard enough to let him know it wasn't an empty threat. I was dead serious. His wide grin faded into a sneer and his black eyes flashed.

“Get your hand off me before I rip it from your body and use it as a puck.”

Hmph. Straight to violence. Maybe we’re more similar than I thought. And wasn’t that as unwelcome as a turd in a punch bowl.

I released Calloway's arm, but didn't back off. “You're going to learn something about me, Sasquatch.” I ignored Calloway's low growl. It took most of my concentration not to slip into my native Québécois. I wanted him to know exactly what I was saying. “I might be an asshole with a violent streak a mile long, but I'm very protective of my friends and family, and I'm fiercely goddamn loyal.” I leaned in closer. “Believe me when I say, you don't want to test exactly how protective or how loyal I can be.” I relaxed my features and took a step back. “Now, you can either be a part of the group I protect,” I brushed off my lapels, “or the object of my anger. It's your choice.”

The world must've stopped spinning because, to my utter shock, Calloway's harsh expression faded. Not much, but hey, I took what I could get, if it meant I wouldn't end up suspended for busting Sasquatch’s big fat jaw, or flattened under his size sixteens. He nodded and I thought I might have just landed in the Twilight Zone.

“That's the first thing that's ever come out of your mouth I actually respect.”

My jaw hit the floor. Honest to god, I hadn't expected him to agree and had no response when he did. For once in my life, I was struck dumb. I scrambled for a reply that didn't involve hitting something or come across as condescending.

I failed spectacularly.

“Uhhh, oh. Well, okay then. So… good talk.” I took another step back. “I’m glad we agree.” Calloway cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and gave me a strange look, then turned back to his locker to finish getting dressed.

That was… weird. And unexpected.

I took a moment to mull over our conversation, then decided it was time to leave before Calloway changed his mind and rounded back on me with a donkey punch to the head. Plus, I had somewhere to be, and I couldn't fucking wait. I wasn't ashamed to admit I was a little freaked out by Calloway’s seemingly easy capitulation, but I was also vibrating with excitement to see if Hot Blonde accepted my invitation.

“Sebby!” Evvy caught up with me by the door and walked out to the player's lot alongside me. The hotel was attached to the arena, but there was no way I was leaving my car here. Too many questions. “A bunch of us are going out. You in?”

“You know I hate it when you call me Sebby.”

Evvy smirked. “Yeah, but St. Clairey or Clairezy doesn't have that snappy sound to it.” He gave me a playful shove.

I chuckled and pretended to take a minute to think about his offer. Didn’t want Ev to start asking questions. No way was I about to jinx my chance with Hot Blonde by talking about her. Plus, I had no doubt Evvy would have plenty to say about my stalkerish way of reaching out.

“Nah, go on without me.” I had to believe she would be at the hotel bar. The alternative was too pathetic to consider. I began to walk away.

“Whoa.” Evvy snagged the collar of my suit jacket and jerked us both to a stop. Bastard made me stumble back. I turned to glare at my friend for almost putting me on the ass of my best Tom Ford. “You don't want to go out?” Evvy’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I know you broke up, uh… whatever you had with Amanda, so you're not going to her place.” He squinted at me. “Who are you and what have you done with Seb?”

I gave what I hoped was a casual shrug and with a genuine smile, gave Evvy’s back a hardy smack. “Guess I'm just not in the mood.”

For the millionth time that night, my thoughts drifted back to Hot Blonde. The shock on her face when she opened the box was priceless. And then there was that amazing moment. The one where our gazes met. Merde. I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about her. It bordered on creepy and wasn't healthy. Plus, I was in serious danger of popping wood in front of Ev. If that happened, he would pelt me with questions I wouldn’t want to answer. Friend or not, better to keep Evvy out of the loop. In fact, I was beginning to regret I mentioned her to him at all.

“You're not in the mood,” Evvy repeated. “You?”

Amused, I grinned and walked backwards toward my truck. I tossed the keys in the air and caught them as I spun around and called out, “Yep,” over my shoulder.

The system beeped when I unlocked the doors and without another word to my dumbstruck teammate, I got in my truck, pulled out of the parking space, and steered toward the exit. As I drove down the block to the hotel parking lot—yes it was walking distance, but it was fucking cold out—I glanced in the rearview to find Evvy standing in the same spot I left him in, catching flies with his gaping maw.

I threw my head back and laughed.

If Hot Blonde never existed and I was still screwing around with Amanda, I knew exactly how my evening would have gone. I’d go out for a few beers with the team, then head over to Amanda's despite knowing it was a shitty idea. Tonight, thank fuck, I had other plans. I sent up a quick prayer that Hot Blonde not only showed up, but was miraculously into bondage, otherwise, the evening could still turn out to be a bust.

You know she probably isn't, idiot. Most women aren't.

Nope. I shut down that train of thought immediately and forced my thoughts to stay positive. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew I'd be spending my life alone. The likelihood of finding a woman who not only wanted the kink, but could deal with the rest of my fucked up baggage, didn't want me for my money, had no interest in the status of a hockey wife, and didn’t set out to trap me with a baby, was statistically less than zero.

So, was asking for Hot Blonde to align with just one of my measly criteria too much to hope for?

Dear god, if it can only be one, please let it be the bondage.

While idling at the red light at the far corner of the arena parking lot, I glanced out the passenger window. Poor Evvy still hadn't moved. Even with all the crap going through my head, my screwed-up thoughts and near dangerous obsession with Hot Blonde, I found myself in a rare good mood. So good in fact, I couldn't stop laughing at my confused friend.

Evvy would have to get used to me not hanging out after games as much as I used to, because whether or not Hot Blonde showed up tonight, I wasn't going to be around much. I’d either be busy spending all my free time on achieving my new number-one goal: getting the feisty woman in my bed until she squirmed and panted and cried out beneath me, or my new number-one pastime: fucking her senseless.

I brought up an image of her defiant expression when she opened the box—eyes blazing and thick, cock-sucking lips pulled into a frown—and my dick began to swell. She was just so damn hot. I pressed my palm against my crotch and groaned. My entire body ached with need, yet the smile never left my face.

Feisty, gorgeous, and a hockey fan? All I needed to do was confirm she had no interest in me beyond getting naked, and a penchant for rough, slightly kinky sex, and I was golden.

Jesus, I really, really hoped so. Only one night so far and already Hot Blonde proved to be fun to chase. I knew she would be even more fun to catch, and breaking her down piece by piece until she screamed my name over and over would be my greatest achievement so far.

If she blew me off, she’d better be equipped to handle what came next, because there was no way in hell I was going to stop pursuing her. Not until I got what I wanted. I pictured Hot Blonde’s look of disgust as she held up my gift. Her pissed off scowl. The glare she aimed my way. All of it sent a white-hot streak of desire careening down my spine. Just knowing how irritated I made her, made me happy and pleasure unfurled in my groin.

Did it make me sick that her potentially hating me turned me on? Maybe, but what difference did it make? I was already twenty kinds of twisted and forty kinds of fucked up in the head. There wasn't much that could make it any worse.

Hot Blonde was a challenge. That's what got me hard. The challenge. The thrill of the chase and what I would do once I caught her. I reached down, adjusted my cock, and drove, single-mindedly, into the parking garage of the hotel.

Game on, blondie. Game fucking on.

Kylie

This was so stupid. Probably the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

I glanced in the mirror behind the bar to check my makeup. Huge mistake. The woman reflected back at me was a freaking wreck. My cheeks were flushed and bottom lip swollen from where I kept chewing on it, hair all tousled from running nervous hands through the length. I was a hot mess.

“Excuse me. Can I buy you a drink?”

I closed my eyes and counted backwards from three. He was the third man to hit on me since I took a seat at the hotel bar twenty minutes ago. When I opened them, I took one final look at myself. The woman I saw, the one whose stomach twisted and flipped, didn't appear nervous. In fact, she looked like she might feel several different emotions, but definitely not nervous. Excited? Yes. Turned on? Yes. Thrilled at the prospect of coming face to face with Sebastien St. Clair? Definitely.

She looked… hungry for sex.

Maybe that was why men were drawn to me like flies. They sensed my longing. Could read my filthy thoughts. Maybe I projected every single dirty fantasy I ever had about Sebastien St. Clair for the world to see.

“Hi, I’m Ken. What’s your name?”

It took a lot of effort to hold back both the epic eye roll and the annoyed huff I so badly wanted to unleash. I had to remember it wasn't Ken’s fault. I should be flattered he found me attractive. The irritation was on me, not him. Like the good girl I was pretending to be, I whipped up an insincere smile and let him down gently, just as I did the two men previous.

“Kylie. And no, thank you. I'm waiting for someone.”

Ken smiled, and wow, he was beautiful. Two perfect rows of gleaming white teeth framed by adorable dimples that gave him a playful look. One that likely got him any woman he wanted. When you took his bright green eyes and dirty blonde hair into consideration, plus the tailored suit that showed off his fit body, Ken was a walking dream. Only, he came across as nice. And lucky me, because I’m completely depraved, nice turned me off.

“That's too bad. I'm in town for a convention and could use some company.”

My mouth fell open and my face heated up. Maybe Ken wasn't all that nice, because that sounded a lot like a proposition. And yes, the only reason I was sitting at this bar was due to a proposition made by Sebastien St. Clair. I was well aware my judgment made me a hypocrite. Ken, who had to be some kind of mind reader, knew what I was thinking, and did damage control by holding up his hands and letting out a deep chuckle, though he looked somewhat horrified.

“Wait! No. I mean, I wasn't looking for… that, necessarily.” He checked me out again, gaze flicking up and down, and my face burst into flames. “Though I wouldn’t say no. But seriously, I’m just looking for company as in someone to talk to.”

Okay, so maybe he was nice. Mostly. I opened my mouth to politely decline, but someone beat me to it. Someone not so polite. Someone with a slight French accent that made my insides quiver.

“Hey, asshole, you're sitting in my seat.”

Ken and I turned at the same time. When I got a look at the newcomer, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Standing next to me, closer than friends, yet not as close as I would have liked, was Sebastien St. Clair in all his tall, athletic, and muscled glory. His black suit hugged every inch of his impressive frame. Paired with a charcoal gray shirt and black tie, the look came across as sleek and refined. I'd seen the man out of his hockey gear before, talking at press conferences on the television, but damn, TV does not do him justice. Sebastien St. Clair is stunning. With his dark hair slicked back and the matching dark suit, his light eyes popped. And at the moment, those brilliant blues were laser-focused on Ken, shooting him a withering glare.

If looks could kill, poor Ken would be six feet under.

“It's okay,” I said to Sebastien to cut off a confrontation before it started. “We were just —”

“I said, fuck off.” Sebastien growled, ignoring me as he continued to glower at a bewildered Ken. Hostility poured off Sebastien in thick, suffocating waves. Ken steeled his jaw and slid off the barstool, ready to exchange words with the boorish interloper, except, when he got to his feet, poor Ken got a good look at how many inches Sebastien towered over him and how much broader he was across the shoulders. Ken gulped and his defiance slid away.

“My mistake,” Ken said calmly. He glanced at me to make sure I was okay, and I appreciated the gesture. I gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “Then I was just leaving.” The man took off as fast as his feet would take him, and I didn't blame him one bit.

My 'date’—what a joke. We both knew why we were here and it wasn’t for a date—seated himself on Ken’s vacated stool, pleased as punch, as if he hadn't just scared a man shitless. Then, agonizingly slow, he ran his hungry gaze from my head down to my toes, giving me a thorough once-over that was more of an eye-fuck than anything else. Never in my life had I been so ecstatic to have dressed up for a hockey game. With zero idea of what was to come, I put on my best jeans and a cute off-the-shoulder shirt. The only change I made between the arena and that moment was to strip off the generic Comets jersey and stash it in my car.

“Great first impression,” I said as I leveled a flat look at an unapologetic Sebastien. “That wasn't very nice.”

Sebastien waved off the approaching bartender. While doing so, his piercing gaze never once strayed from my face. “He was trying to take what was mine. That doesn't go over well with me.”

Was this guy for real?

“Yours?” I scoffed. “I’m not yours.” I didn’t know why, but that wasn’t exactly true. The thought of being ‘his’ sent my pulse racing and made every muscle in my body clench tight with anticipation. Yeah, part of me absolutely loved the idea belonging to Sebastien St. Clair.

He leaned in close—the scent of his aftershave made me swoon, light and crisp and masculine— and whispered. His voice was all raspy and seductive and went straight between my thighs.

“I promise, after tonight you'll beg to be mine.”

The assumption that I was a sure thing offended me, yet I couldn't deny that I came to the hotel knowing exactly what he expected.

“I don't beg.”

Another lie. Well, maybe not quite. I would happily beg… For the right man. I just wasn’t sure I’d met him yet.

Sebastien shifted even closer and his breath ghosted across my ear. “There's a first time for everything. What’s your name, gorgeous?”

I shuddered. Such unrepentant cockiness should be a turnoff. And to most people it would be. So far, Sebastien was rude, arrogant, and to be honest, kind of intimidating. But I’m not most people. I loved every single second of it. Ate up his attitude with a spoon like I was a lonely cat-lady and it was a pint of mint chocolate chip Häagen-Dazs. My mouth watered and my nipples pulled tight. I had no idea what to say.

Yeah, I’d totally beg.

“Kylie.”

“I’m Seb.” As if I didn’t know that. Seb casually produced a room key and held it up between two fingers. “Care to get out of here…” His heated gaze felt like a physical caress and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning and embarrassing myself. “Kylie?”

I shouldn't. In fact, I should run. Far, far away. But before I set foot inside the bar—heck, before I left the game—I knew wouldn't. I couldn't.

Except, sweet, naive, Kylie Calloway doesn’t do one night stands. She doesn’t do dangerous men. And she definitely doesn’t do cocky jerks. But Reckless Kylie? Oh god, she wanted what he offered. More than anything. Was aching for it. And she was sick and tired of sitting on the sidelines, waiting for life to find her.

So yes, I was going to do this.

“Lead the way.”

Seb's lips pulled into a knowing smile that somehow managed to convey every sordid fantasy I'd ever had about the man, and at the same time let me know he had no problem with making each and every one come true.

I followed him into the elevator and breathed. This was really happening. My pulse was brisk, but I wasn't frightened. Something about the man at my side kept me calm. Like his very presence soothed my nerves. Seb made it easy to do what felt right, even as my brain shouted at the top of its lungs that it was inherently wrong.

The door beeped as it unlocked and Seb held it open for me to enter first.

“Nice.” I glanced around the large room to mask my anxiety. It was the same hotel Rocco and I were living in until we found something more permanent, so I knew what to expect. While Seb didn't have a suite—because, let’s be real, why bother for a booty call—the room had the same inviting décor as ours, done in cool shades of blue and grey. My gaze locked onto the king-sized bed, with its fluffy white duvet and piles of thick pillows. I gulped.

“Drink?”

I tore my gaze from the bed to find Seb standing by a small bar in a corner of the room, a decanter of amber liquid in his hand. I knew he wasn't interested in drinking. He was giving me a chance to relax.

I shook my head. No way did I want my senses compromised. Not because I thought he’d take advantage of me, but because I wanted to remember every single second of whatever happened next. Sear the images onto my brain so I could recall them any time I chose.

Seb’s mischievous smile returned. It’s amazing how the one tiny action sparked every nerve ending in my body. Little electric jolts crackled and snapped, sending a flush of heat from the top of my scalp to the soles of my feet. He took a step toward me and my breath hitched.

Nervous? Yep. But mostly, I was exhilarated. Being on the receiving end of the gorgeous, dangerous man’s focused attention was completely addictive and entirely too arousing.

Seb stopped in front of me, eyes searching my face for a brief moment before he lifted his hands to cup my cheeks. His fingers were so long they curved all the way around the back of my head. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. When our mouths connected, it felt like a pile of TNT detonated. Instantly, I went up in flames, from passive observer to active participant in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I couldn't get enough of him. I shoved my greedy hands under his jacket and swept them up his sides, then gasped at the rock-hard muscles that shifted beneath my palms.

That gasp gave Seb the opening he needed, and likely never one to miss an opportunity, he took full advantage. When my lips parted, Seb thrust his hot, slick tongue into my mouth, devouring as much as he could get. He tasted amazing, dark and sinful, and wholly masculine. I couldn’t believe it. Sebastien St. Clair, object of most of my fantasies over the last year and a half or so, was kissing me, Kylie Calloway.

At some point Seb’s hands wandered, because he was kneading my backside in a sensual massage. He used a firm grip and tugged me forward until our bodies collided. The hard ridge of his erection dug into my hip and Seb groaned into my mouth. The vibrations traveled straight between my thighs. Knowing I was the one who got the infamous Sebastien St. Clair, the “bad boy” of hockey, all worked up and growly and desperate, was so erotic I was shaking.

I clawed at his clothing, trying to push his jacket over his shoulders, but Seb wouldn't let go of my ass long enough for me to succeed. When he tore his mouth away, I whined. Literally whined. I should have been humiliated, not just for sounding so pathetic, but because after one—granted, smoking hot—kiss and two minutes of dry humping, Sebastien reduced me to a trembling, needy mess. Good thing in the heat of the moment, I couldn't have cared less what he thought. In the bar less than an hour ago, I said I wouldn’t, but honest to god, I was ready to beg if that was what it took to get Seb naked.

“Strip.”

I blinked at the command. He wanted me to…?

“S-strip? You… you want me to, ummm, strip?”

I might have been willing to beg, but putting on a show was a whole different disaster in the making considering I was about as graceful as a baby giraffe on ice skates.

Sebastien's eyes darkened and he licked his swollen lips. “Yes.” He let go of me and sat on the edge of the bed, expectant.

Oh my god. I could be persuaded to do a lot of things, but not that.

I opened my mouth to say no and my throat practically closed up. Dress shirt wrinkled, tie loose and tugged haphazardly to the side, hair mussed—Sebastien St. Clair was a sight to behold. His cheeks were flushed and his full lips were all puffy and red from kissing me. He looked like pure sin. And as tempting as he was, it wasn’t his physical beauty that did it for me. No, it was the look in his eyes that had me saying, “Yes.” The man was so turned on, the black of his pupils eclipsed the bright blue.

The fact that I, Kylie Calloway, a girl who scurried away like a coward when faced with having sex with the lowly Grant Pierce, could affect a man like Sebastien St. Clair, that was the rush I was after, and it gave me the confidence to do what he asked.

I ran my fingers along the waistband of my jeans flicked open the button. “Like this?” Sebastien made a strangled sound and I preened at the response. As I lowered the zipper, I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and sucked.

“Mon dieu, oui. Just like that,” he whispered, his breaths coming fast and hard. Sebastien’s glorious chest heaved up and down, causing the buttons of his shirt to strain. “Tu est parfait.”

I didn’t know French, but he could have made a comment on the weather and I’d have been turned on.

Ignoring my zipper, I reached for the hem of my shirt. Sebastien's eyelids were half-closed, and he licked his lips like he couldn’t wait to get a taste. He reclined on the bed, upper body propped on one elbow as he massaged the straining bulge through his pants. I inched my shirt to expose the taut skin of my abdomen a sliver at a time. As I pulled it over my head, I heard a low growl. Large hands grasped my waist and I squealed as I was tossed onto the bed.

I bounced on the mattress and was divested of my shirt before I reacted. I blinked twice to regain my bearings and found Sebastien already kneeling between my splayed legs. His jacket was gone and his shirt halfway undone. Face-to-face with his perfect, rippling six pack, I could only gawk. Seb chuckled and I glanced up. He froze, mid-unbutton, his eyes burning with need.

“Sorry, I changed my mind about the show.”

I had no response. My brain short-circuited. I couldn’t think. Not with Seb’s shirt hanging open, exposing the most exquisite torso I'd ever laid eyes on. Wide, sculpted pecs that were surprisingly smooth, with only a tiny amount of dark hair sprinkled in the center, topped a set of abs cut with so many grooves and ridges it would take a week to explore them all… preferably with my tongue.

“You going to help me out, or just lie there?” I tore my gaze from his mouthwatering body to look at Seb’s face. He smirked and gestured toward my jeans. “Take them off.” His fingers continued to work on removing his own clothes. Seb unbuckled his belt and the clang of metal made me flinch. Seb shucked his pants and waited for me to obey the command.

Yes, sir.

I couldn't move fast enough. Unfortunately, skinny jeans cannot be removed quickly. It took a bit of maneuvering, but after the most frustrating fifteen-seconds of my life, I finally kicked them free. I turned back to Seb and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from pouncing on him like an animal. Stripped down to only a pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs and a rosy flush that stained his neck and upper chest, Seb was without a doubt the most stunning human being alive.

Once I was down to a matching lacy black bra and panties—thank you Jesus for reminding me to do laundry yesterday—Sebastien lunged. In one swoop, he gathered my wrists in one of his huge hands, maneuvered them over my head, and held them there, using his body to press me into the mattress. He was no lightweight. I was trapped beneath him with no way to escape. And I loved it. The walls of my pussy clenched around nothing but empty space and I whined with need. Desperate, I lifted my hips to get some friction.

“Ah, ah, ah. No moving,” Seb chastised. I stared into his eyes, and wondered what he saw in mine. Could he see how frantic and horny I was? How much I wanted what he was doing to me? “You like this,” he rasped and gave my wrists a squeeze. My belly clenched as a bolt of pleasure shot straight to my pussy. I gasped and squirmed in his tight hold. “You do. You like being held down.” The excitement in his voice was unmistakable, almost reverent. Like me, Seb hovered on the edge of losing his composure.

Was it possible he shared my darkest fantasy? The carnal look on Seb’s face said yes, so I pushed every ounce of embarrassment aside, and for the first time in my life, confessed my desires to another person.

“Y-yes. I like being held down. I mean, I like having you hold me down,” I clarified, because, let’s be honest, I’d never been held down. Seb’s eyes flashed hungrily and another wave lust crashed over me. I had to concentrate not to arch off the bed or rub up against him like a dog in heat.

“Can I tie you up?” Seb thrust his hips down, finally pressing his hard, thick length where I needed it most. Of course, Seb knew what I wanted and ground his hips in teasing little circles, enough to drive me crazy, but not to get me off.

A plaintive wail escaped before I could stop it. Oh god. I did want him to tie me up. So much. But… I didn’t really know him. Being rendered vulnerable sounded good in the recesses of my fantasies, but to do it for real? The thought was daunting. I chickened out with Grant Pierce, afraid of being helpless. Only, I wasn’t afraid of Sebastien St. Clair. For whatever reason, I trusted him.

I gave a sharp nod. “You can tie my hands together. That’s it. Not my feet, and not to the headboard.”

Baby steps.

Seb grinned. “Couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.” He winked and once again, ground his cotton-clad erection between my thighs, driving me wild. I thrashed beneath him as pleasure rippled through me. “Which I do. God, I really do. Too bad the headboard is solid and mounted to the wall. There’s nothing to tie you to.”

Oh.

Without letting go of my wrists, Sebastien groped behind himself with his free hand. He found what he wanted and brought it around where I could see it. My nostrils flared.

His tie.

“Now,” he said, his voice so sexy and deep, he may as well have reached down and caressed my wet slit with his fingers. “You’re going to be good while I do this.” Slowly, building up my excitement until I was practically shaking with desire, Seb wrapped the silky material around my wrists. “I won’t make it too tight, that way you’ll be able to get free if you need to.” The swish of the fabric sliding against itself as he tied the knot added to the erotic atmosphere. “There.” Seb tugged on one end and sat back on his haunches to inspect his work. His pupils grew as his gaze flicked up and down. “Fuck, you’re even hotter than I ever could have imagined.”

By that point, my attention had fixated on Seb’s body, taking in every last dip and curve. I was too busy studying the flex and ripple of muscles beneath smooth, tan skin, and the tantalizing trail of dark hair that disappeared under the band of his boxer briefs, to notice the way he was staring at me. Until, that is, I finished my perusal and glanced up. He stole the breath out of my lungs.

No man ever looked at me the way Sebastien St. Clair did. Like he wanted to devour me whole. Like he had so many delicious options spread out in front of him, he couldn’t decide where to start. The ensuing blush burned all the way to my ears. I squirmed and rubbed my thighs together, horny, wet, and beyond ready.

Seb shuffled back and placed his hands on my ankles. He took his time torturing me, sliding his palms up my legs inch by inch. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him and held my body perfectly still as I waited to see what he would do next. When he neared the place I so desperately wanted him to touch, the bastard skipped over it, instead shifting up to caress my ribs. When he reached my shoulders, Seb straddled my hips. The pressure felt good, but wasn’t nearly enough. He knew that, of course, and that crooked, handsome smirk came out to play. In an unexpected move, Seb stuck his index fingers in the cups of my bra and yanked them down, hooking the material beneath my exposed breasts.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn gorgeous.”

With him sitting on my hips, looking but not touching, I was beyond desperate, ready to beg for something… anything, to ease the pressure that throbbed between my thighs. He cupped my breasts and gently kneaded them. The callouses on his hands provided an amazing sensation, rough and abrasive against my delicate skin. Watching my reactions carefully, Seb rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. I was never much for nipple play, as it didn’t really do it for me. But when Seb gave the tender buds a firm twist, my hips flew off the bed and I nearly came.

“Yessss…” I hissed.

“Too hard?”

I stared up at my smoking hot, slightly deviant, sexy as hell bed partner through hooded lids. After licking my parched lips, I shook my head and admitted what I wanted.

“Harder.”

Seb’s expression transformed from turned on to wicked. He looked like a man who just received the best present of his life. Blue eyes glittered with an almost sadistic glee.

Seb did as requested and pinched my nipples with more force and twisted them. I screamed in ecstasy as my pussy spasmed. The orgasm took both of us by surprise. Seb grinned as I writhed and moaned and wriggled beneath him. By the time the final shudder ran through me, I lay on the bed, sweaty and panting,

“Oh baby, you and I are going to have so much fun.”

Seb

I had to be the luckiest bastard in the world. Not only did I have the sexiest woman I'd ever seen in my bed, but she was my perfect complement. Hands above her head, bound together with my tie, breasts exposed and trussed up by her own bra, and only a tiny scrap of black lace between me and her pussy, Kylie was my ultimate wet dream.

Her body was a work of art. But not one of those fussy, snobby paintings. More real. She was meant to be touched, played with, roughed up and used. Not kept on a shelf behind glass. All those sleek muscles and pale skin were the perfect complement to her swollen lips and her raw, red nipples.

I dared to hope Kylie was into the same kind of shit as me, not that it mattered. The woman was so damn hot I would have gladly fucked her even if she said hell no to being tied up. But she didn't say no. She said yes. Then she climaxed just from having her nipples abused. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Kylie could easily become an addiction. A complication. One I didn't need.

You have a hot, kinky, half-naked woman in your bed panting for you to fuck her, you idiot. Worry about all that other shit later.

A light sheen of sweat glistened on Kylie’s chest and her breaths were hard and fast as she came down from her orgasm.

“Fuuuck. That’s so hot,” I said as I trailed my fingertips down her arms. She wiggled and goose bumps broke out on her skin.

“That tickles.”

I shifted and flexed my abs, pleased when her gaze lasered in on them. “And you don't want to be tickled, do you?” I didn’t give her time to answer. “No, you don’t. You want something a little harsher.” Already flushed from coming, Kylie’s cheeks grew even redder. She glanced away, unable to look at me. I grabbed her chin and tugged until she had no other choice. “You do, don't you? You want me to hurt you.” I waited, but she said nothing. Impatient, I huffed. “I need you to tell me, Kylie, otherwise I won’t do it. I have to be sure you want it.”

Lips parted and eyes clouded with lust, Kylie nodded.

“Say it. Out loud.”

She squirmed, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I want that. I want you to…” She swallowed. “To hurt me, just a little.”

A little. A lot. I didn’t care and neither did my neglected cock, which throbbed at her admission. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get some friction on it or I’d go insane. I shifted until I lay completely on top of her, our bodies pressed together from chest to toes. In what must be a nervous gesture, she licked those thick, cock-sucking lips again. If only she knew how every time she did it, a ripple of lust shot directly to my groin. I crashed my mouth down on hers for a hot, wet kiss, then licked and bit my way down her neck and throat. Her skin tasted salty, yet divine, the scent and flavor utterly feminine and frighteningly addictive. I gave each of her nipples a quick suck followed by a vicious bite. Kylie cried with pleasure and her back bowed off the bed.

I wanted to linger on her breasts. See if I could make her come again by sucking and biting them, but I had a bigger goal in mind, and refused to be sidetracked. Kissing along her abdomen, I paused to lap at her belly button.

Kylie bucked and thrashed, and not in a good way. Her breath caught as she squealed, “Stop it.”

I grinned against her skin. “You're ticklish here too?”

Kylie sounded wrecked, her voice pure sex. “Y-yes. And I don't…ahhhhh, like it.”

I stopped what I was doing and met her gaze. Christ, Kylie had no fucking clue how stunning she looked, especially writhing at the receiving end of my tongue. Her pupils were blown and she had her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“I didn’t think so,” I said. “You prefer the bite of pain.”

She surprised me by admitting it without hesitating. “Yes.”

Fuck, I had to have more. Needed to know everything Kylie liked, everything she craved, fulfill her darkest desires, leave no inch of skin unexplored. Make her scream until she was hoarse then make her beg until she cried for more. Then, when she was tapped out emotionally and physically, I wanted to start all over again.

I moved lower, my mouth hovering over her lace-clad pussy.

“Pleasure before pain,” I said with a smile.

“Oh god,” she whispered. Unable to stay still, Kylie wiggled her hips.

“Don’t move.”

She stilled, but I could tell she struggled to comply. Going by her heavy panting, Kylie really wanted what I was offering, which made me smile. I gripped either side of her hips and pressed them into the mattress, then exhaled over the damp fabric.

“Ohmygod. Seb… I need…” I breathed out again and Kylie threw her head back and let out a long, raspy moan that made my dick throb. “Ahhhh, I need more.”

Fuck, I couldn’t wait to taste her. I yanked the scrap of lace to the side, then stuck out my tongue and licked a wide stripe along her slit. Fuuuck. My eyes rolled back in my head. Everything else about Kylie was perfect. Why would she taste anything but delicious?

“D-don’t stop.”

Kylie pushed her bound hands against the back of my head. Without moving my face away from her pussy, because no way was I going to move from my new favorite place, I used one hand to grab her wrists and put them back over her head.

“I’ll give you more. Be patient.” She groaned, but didn't say another word. I pushed her wrists into the mattress and growled, “Stay.”

I smiled and released her arms, pleased when she didn’t try to move them. With both hands, I grabbed the thin lace straps on either side of her hips. Taking my directive to stay still to heart, Kylie didn't lift her hips to help as I removed the tiny thong. Her compliance made my dick throb. Again, she was fucking perfect.

Except for the bra trapped under her breasts, I had Kylie completely naked and exposed.

“Calisse de crisse de tabarnak d'ostie de ciboire de testament. You are so damn hot. Better than I imagined.”

She was a natural blonde, of that I had no doubt. The trimmed strip of hair above her shaved pussy was only a shade or two darker than the golden waves on her head. With a hand on her thighs, I spread her wide. The pink flesh glistened with her arousal. Normally, I prided myself on my control. With Kylie, I wasn’t sure I could remember the meaning of the word. She smashed my composure like a sledgehammer. I couldn't wait any longer.

Time for the teasing to end, more for my own sanity than hers. I dove in and ate her out like my life depended on it. Kylie gasped and again, placed her bound hands on the back of my head. I stopped and she wailed.

“No!”

“Keep your hands up,” I ordered, more force in the command than before. Kylie’s entire body shuddered. Merde, she loved it when I told her what to do. It was fucking stunning. My cock hurt so bad I actually started to hump the mattress.

Once her hands were where they belonged, I got back to work and ran the flat of my tongue up the length of her pussy. She tasted divine, sweet like honey. The knowledge that I was tainting all that sweetness made the act even hotter. I licked all around, slicking her pussy lips and flicking her clit on each pass. Kylie moaned and whimpered as she tried to break the grip I had on her hips so she could arch against my face, but I held tight.

Her quiet whimper of frustration was such a fucking turn on, I slid my tongue lower and thrust it into her pussy. That, combined with the slow circles I drew on her clit with my thumb, and minutes later, her body tensed and she screamed my name. I tongue-fucked her through her climax and watched her face. Kylie’s jaw was clenched tight and the tendons of her neck taut as I wrung every last bit of pleasure from her body. When she collapsed, limbs loose and muscles limp, I climbed to my knees and grabbed the condom I snuck out of my pocket and stashed under the pillow while Kylie undressed.

I made quick work of rolling it down my rock-hard cock. I was so wound up, I jerked at the touch of my own hand. Fuck, if I wasn’t careful, I’d blow the second I entered her tight little hole. Kylie stared up at me through hooded lids. What a fucking sight she made, hands bound, sweat at her collarbones, her entire body flushed pink with arousal. I grabbed her wrists with one hand and with the other, positioned my cock at her opening. I gave her one last questioning look, silently asking permission to proceed. When she sucked that swollen lip between her teeth and nodded, I wasted no time. In one hard thrust, I bottomed out inside her hot, wet channel.

“Saint ciboire aux deux étages, your pussy is fucking amazing,” I said through clenched teeth. The Québécois came out instinctually, as it tended to do when my mind was busy being blown apart. Eyes closed, I held perfectly still, every muscle clenched, until the urge to explode passed.

“Fuck me, Sebastien, come on.” Kylie jiggled her hips, making my balls pull tight.

Jesus fuck. Hearing my name on her lips almost tore the climax right from me.

“Bout de crisse.” I shot Kylie a glare and in my deepest, most threatening voice, said, “You don’t give the orders around here, I do. Got it?”

Her pussy clenched around my dick and I let out a strangled shout. Clearly, I had her pegged. She fucking loved being bossed around.

Kylie was going to be the death of me. I’d be lucky if I lasted three minutes. I shoved one of her legs up and hooked her calf on my shoulder. One hand wrapped around her thigh, the other clamped around her wrists—probably hard enough to leave bruises and didn’t that thought make me impossibly harder—I began to pump in and out, long, slow, agonizing strokes.

“Oh god,” she moaned. “Yessss. So good.”

Yeah, it was so good. Fucking fantastic, actually. Maybe the best I’d ever had, and I hadn’t even climaxed yet. I fucked her harder and she took everything I had to give and more. Kylie’s entire body jostled on the bed with each thrust, the smack of our skin adding to the erotic symphony of sounds. Her cries and pleading words, my grunts and groans, all it needed was…

I knew I was muttering in French, but the glazed look in Kylie’s eyes let me know she didn’t mind. In fact, it turned her on.

I released Kylie’s wrists and warned her, “Don’t move them.” Shit. Another tight, rippling pulse of her pussy fisted my cock.

With one hand, I grabbed her face and squeezed Kylie’s cheeks, hard enough to get her attention. Her eyes widened and I swear I felt her pulse around my cock as it kicked up a notch.

“I’m going to spank you. You want it?” I let go of her face and she licked her lips. Her pupils blew out and her eyes went dark. She nodded. “You don’t like to admit what you like, do you?” I raised a brow and pulled my hips back, then plowed into her pussy, hard. “Don’t like admitting what a deviant you are. Well, don’t worry.” I continued to punctuate each word with sharp jabs of my cock until I Kylie was wailing non-stop. When she neared the edge, I stopped and leaned over until my lips brushed her ear to whisper, first in French, then in English, “I’m a deviant, too. I won’t tell anyone your secret, if you don’t tell mine.”

Not waiting for, or expecting, an answer, I straightened my spine and propped the backs of her thighs against my chest and held one of her calves on either side of my head. I knew I was close to the point of no return, so I had to make it count. I pistoned into her hard and fast, drilled her sweet pussy without mercy.

I raised one hand high and held it up so Kylie could see it coming and stop me if need be. She didn’t. My palm landed on her flank with a resounding smack. I did it again, and fuck, Kylie screamed like she was dying from pleasure. Fucking screamed. Her pussy clenched so tight I was almost afraid my dick would get ripped clean off my body. I couldn’t fight the urge to blow, so I didn’t hold back. Two more shallow thrusts and I came on an ear-splitting cry, unleashing jet after jet of spunk into the condom.

Completely and utterly drained, I collapsed on top of Kylie and rolled to the side. As I lay there and caught my breath, after experiencing the best sex of my life, all I could think about was “did she like that” and “when can we do that again?”

And that was fucking scary.