“Because you didn’t see me.” He leans down, propping himself on the mattress behind me, and I veer back to avoid contact with his warm, muscular chest.

Because the very essence of him surrounds me, his arms caging me in, the earthy scent of whatever soap he uses filling my nostrils, the intensity of his gaze as it locks with mine. The air between us is heavy with sexual tension, heady with longing, about to bust through the seams of any lingering resistance.

“But you see me now.” He sends a leisurely glance down my body. “So this is what you were hiding underneath that coat.”

It’s not a question. He saw through me the instant his focus landed on me in his house.

“Do you like it?”

“Princess…there’s not a man alive who wouldn’t.” The space between us narrows. “We have unfinished business,” he says as his mouth heats my own.

“What are you waiting for?”

Further prompting isn’t needed. He pulls his T-shirt off and tosses it on the floor. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I look at the space in front of his feet, confusion furrowing my brows, and he tilts my chin up. “On the bench.”

As he unbuttons his jeans, I settle into the pose he wants. The short legs on the ottoman puts me at the perfect height to take his cock into my mouth. My hair hangs around my face, a frame for his sexual canvas.

I glance up, darting my tongue across my bottom lip.

“Jesus,” he mutters as he pulls down his zipper. “Those lips, Novalee.” Wrapping a hand around his erection, he strokes it from base to tip. His thumb swipes the crown and comes away with the evidence of his desire on the pad of that digit, and he pushes it between my lips.

That first taste of him…

The saltiness on his skin.

A flavor that belongs to Sebastian alone.

It’s decadent sin.

Withdrawing his thumb, he raises my chin with a gentle touch that brings tears to my eyes.

“You’ve never hurt me,” I whisper.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. You’ve been mean, but you’ve never laid a punishing hand on me.”

“Hurting women isn’t my thing, but that doesn’t mean you should mistake me for a nice guy.” Without warning, he pushes his cock between my lips. But the pace he sets is slow, allowing me time to adjust to the hot flesh thrusting against my tongue.

There’s a gentleness to the swivel of his hips that borders on lazy, as if he’s content to slip in and out of my mouth for the rest of the night, his rhythm a steady buildup that leaves me wanting more. He parts his lips, slides his fingers into my hair, combing it back from my face, and his eyes shutter.