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Up close, he’s even better-looking. I’m talking Calvin Klein model with a chiselled jawline that’d rival Superman. His dark wavy hair sits around his shoulders, streaked with a few strands of grey. This isn’t a random fuck-boy. He’s a real man with a perfectly maintained beard who smells of a delicious aftershave that makes my knees weak.
I remember Freddie. The tall, dark, handsome stranger who made me believe that love, at first sight, might not be a myth after all. The memory is too painful to think about. Our perfect meeting is overshadowed by what happened after we said goodbye. The worst night of my life. The day Spencer set my world on fire and burned it to the fucking ground.
“I need to fuck you, Seb.”
“Rose,” he gasps, “I don’t know if I can wait.” I look into his eyes. “You will.”
Pleasure rushes in crashing waves, and Seb’s pupils dilate as I drown him in slippery warmth. “You look beautiful when you come,” he rumbles.
“You’re going to hate me even more when I make you come harder than you ever have before. You’re going to hate me so much you’ll be screaming my name for the whole of London to hear.”
Callen is brutal. He doesn’t draw or tease out an orgasm like Seb. No, Callen pillages it. My pussy is a village, and he’s come with a pitchfork to burn it to the ground, and I’ve handed him the fucking match.
“Seb gives you what you want, but I will give you what you need. And right now, your pussy wants to be pounded so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
Seb’s shoulders slump, but he doesn’t move. Fuck. I’ve hurt him. Seeing the hurt in his eyes stings more than a DIY Hollywood wax.
I prop my foot up on his shoulder to give him a better angle, and then he eats me out like a pussy-munching demon.
Hahaha
