“I missed you too. I hoped you would come, but I didn’t want to pressure you. Just because I was ready didn’t mean you were.” He pulled back just enough to kiss me, and the feel of his lips against mine was so thrilling I had no idea if my feet were on the ground or not. When the kiss grew deeper, he backed into the cabin, where I could hear a fire crackling in the fireplace, and pushed the door shut behind me.
“I’m ready. I’m so ready.” Panting, I released him from my barnacle grip and started unbuttoning my coat. “Now take off your clothes.”
He smiled. “I was going to say let’s talk first, but—” His eyes widened and swept down my body after I threw my coat off, taking in the silk blouse, pencil skirt and heels. “Fuck talking.”
One by one articles of clothing came off and were flung aside, and we tumbled naked onto the rug in front of the fireplace. I lay back as Sebastian knelt between my thighs.
“What do you want first?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “My tongue? My fingers? My cock?” He began stroking himself, sliding his erection through his fingers. “What did you miss the most?”
“Oh God, everything,” I breathed. “I missed hearing you and seeing you and feeling you—every part of you.”
“Which part first? You have to tell me or I won’t let you have it.” He rubbed the tip of his cock against one pale inner thigh.
Gahhhhhh, he was so hot! For the rest of our lives his quick mood switches might drive me batty outside the bedroom but inside it, they were like gasoline on the fire.
“Your cock,” I managed, the fire hissing and sparking. “Give me your cock.”
“Good girl. I’ll be gentle,” he said, giving me just the tip and then smearing my wetness up and down my pussy. He stopped and met my eyes. “At first.”
My heart pounded hard as he slid inside me and then pulled out again, teasing me by giving me a little more each time but never enough. Between each tortuous thrust, he played with my nipples, licking and sucking and biting them, pinching them into hard little peaks that tingled with lust.
“Fuck. If I wasn’t recovering from a broken wrist, I’d get rough with you right now,” I panted, my good hand pounding the rug, the injured arm over my head. “Beat your ass for tormenting me.”
He pushed in a little further. “Poor baby.”
“Please,” I begged, bringing my good hand to his ass. “I need you there. I need you inside me. All the way.”
Finally, he slid all the way in, so deep I nearly cried with relief. “Like this?”
“Yes, yes…” I pulled him into me, widening my knees. God, it was like he was made for my body. Every hot, thick inch of him filled me with such sublime perfection, I couldn’t even breathe for how good it felt. His hips moved faster, thrusting hard and deep, and my core muscles started to contract. “I’m gonna come,” I whimpered. “So hard, so hard. Come with me. Come inside me…” I moaned as my climax hit, and he growled low and long, grinding against me, his cock throbbing and thickening as my core pulsed around it.
He collapsed onto me, pressing his lips to my sweaty forehead.
“God, you feel so good,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “Tell me you’re OK.”
“I’m OK.” He lifted his head and looked down at me. “But I wasn’t before. And I need to apologize for not being honest with you. It was a mistake.”
“Apology accepted.”
He smiled. “You’re too easy on me.”
“I love you. And I once told you I’d give you all the chances you needed.” I took a breath. “Can you…tell me what happened?”
“Yes.” He rolled to his side and propped his head in his hand. As he talked, he played with my hair, twining it through his fingers.
“When I first saw you again, I was doing pretty well, I thought. I’d convinced myself that a solitary life was the only way I’d know peace, and peace seemed like the right goal. But then there you were.” He smiled. “Just as beautiful as ever, and those feelings I used to have for you came rushing back as if they’d never left.”
I blushed. “You hid it well, at least at first.”
“I had to. You terrified me. I felt strong for the first time in years, resigned to a life alone, and then here’s this beautiful angel right in front of me—kissing me. Touching me. Accepting me.” He shook his head. “I found myself wondering what if…”
“Me too,” I said. “It wasn’t only you.”
“And the sex.” He exhaled, closing his eyes. “The fucking sex.”
“I know,” I whispered, heat prickling across my skin. “It scared me too, how good it was.”
“I was able to be myself with you, afraid of nothing. It was so incredible. After that, it was a constant battle between my heart and my head—my heart telling me I’d always been destined to be with you, and my head refusing to let me believe I was worthy of it. I’d never brought anything but pain to women, and I wasn’t sure I was capable of letting you in.”
“But you did,” I said softly. “I felt it.”
He nodded. “I did. But the more I loved you, the more I feared the loss of you—when had I ever been able to hold on to happiness? I didn’t know how it would happen, but in my mind I always knew you’d leave, or something would happen to you, and it would be my fault.”
“Oh, Sebastian. I wish you’d have said something.”
“I couldn’t. Especially not once you told me you loved me. Then I felt this need to protect you even more, but what you needed protecting from was me. I started engaging in all my old rituals, stopped going to therapy.”
My heart ached for him. “I saw it happening. But I didn’t know what to do about it. And some days were so good.”
“They were.” He looked down at my hair twisting through his fingers. “And I should have talked to you on one of those days—I was just too scared. But the messed up thing is that you were right, you know.”
“About what?”
“That subconsciously I knew I was driving you away with my behavior and continued to do it because then at least I’d be prepared. I wouldn’t experience another sudden, shocking loss and feel blindsided and abandoned.”
“Another loss?” It hit me. “Your mom.”
“Maybe.” He kept looking at his hand, and in the firelight his sea-glass green eyes were shiny. “I’m still working through that. I don’t think it caused my OCD, but therapy is helping me to see how my fear of loss and abandonment has caused me a lot of anxiety and grief, and maybe that manifests as OCD related behaviors. Who knows?” He sighed. “For as much as science has taught us about the brain, some things are still a mystery. But I don’t think a kid loses his mom suddenly and tragically and remains unaffected—and when I look at the way I chose isolation and emotional distance from people, it makes sense. And this probably sounds crazy, but I felt like I deserved the loneliness. Like a punishment. Whether it was penance for my mom’s death, my violent thoughts, my cold treatment of women, my breakup with Diana…there was always something in my head I needed to atone for. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to be with you.”
My throat closed up and I threw my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his. “You aren’t,” I sobbed. “I love you and I won’t let you be alone. You deserve to be happy, Sebastian.”
He gathered me in his arms, lying back and letting me weep against his chest. “Thank you. I can’t say there won’t be setbacks, and I’ll tell you right now there will be good days and bad, but I promise to talk about it with you.”
Nodding, I blubbered for a solid ten minutes as he stroked my hair and rubbed my back. I don’t even know why I was crying so hard—relief? Sadness for the child he’d been? The man he was now? Laying my cheek on his chest, I listened to his heart beat and vowed he would never know loneliness again.
“Will you come to therapy with me?” Sebastian asked once my sobs had subsided.
“Of course,” I said, picking my head up to smile at him. “I’d love that.”
&nb
sp; “Good.” He wiped my tears from under one eye with his thumb. “Because this is it for me, Skylar. You’re the love of my life.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’ve spent nearly all my days being dominated by doubt, unable to trust myself—tortured by what my mind says and what my heart knows. But for once, I feel—I know—this is right. You’re the one.” He smiled. “And that is the only time the number one will ever sound good to me.”
I laughed. “I want to be the one.”
“Do you?” He arched one brow. “Because you know what it means to be my one.”
“Tell me.”
“It means being the one I’ll kiss good morning and good night—twice.” He grinned. “It means being the one who’ll have to hold my hand when we fly off to our villa in France.” At my gasp, his smile widened. “It means the forever things, Skylar.”
“I want them.” I scooted up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I want them all.”
He flipped me onto my back again and looked down at me. “Then live with me.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“Stay here. Live with me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’m one hundred percent sure about this, and one hundred is a good number.”
I laughed softly as tears filled my eyes again. “You keep making me cry tonight. What’s with that?”
“I don’t want you to cry. Ever again.” He kissed my eyelids.
“They’re happy tears, Sebastian. Of course I’ll live with you.”
“Good.” He scooted down to rest his head on my chest and we lay together, the fire warming our skin, our breathing slow and deep. “Happy tears are good, I can handle those. And if there are sad tears, I’ll handle those too. I’ll take care of you, Skylar.”
“And I’ll take care of you.” I closed my eyes and inhaled, loving the weight of his head on my chest, the warmth of his skin against mine, the promise of hope in the air. “Forever.”
“Are you ready?”
“I think so.” His face told me what a lie that was, but I’d budgeted plenty of time for his nerves into today’s itinerary. After living with him for the past two months, I knew to allot extra time for pretty much anything we did outside the house. He was getting much better about checking, but today was new ground for him.
“Come on. You’ve got this.” I tugged on his hand, but he didn’t move. “It’s not like we’re getting on the plane yet, Sebastian. This is the airport entrance.” As I talked, I took his elbow and ushered him gently through the automatic doors. “There are nice people in there who are going to look at our boarding passes and tell us what gate to sit at, and some other nice people are going to overcharge us for coffee and tell us to have a nice flight, and then some more nice people are going to show us how to use a seat belt and thank us for flying with them today.”
By the time I’d finished my soothing little speech, we were inside the terminal.
“See? You’re here, and you’re fine,” I said triumphantly.
“Now what?” he asked shakily.
“Now we’ll check in and find our gate. We don’t even have any luggage to check, so it will be nice and easy. OK?”
He took a deep breath. “OK.”
“Good. Because this little Valentine’s weekend jaunt was your idea and you paid for it, so it would be a damn shame if I had to give your ticket to someone else.”
“Don’t you dare.” He caught me around the waist and squeezed. “How long is the flight again?”
I kissed his cheek. “One hour and ten minutes, and I will talk to you the entire time.”
Some color returned to his face as he smiled. “I have no doubt.”
I pulled out our boarding passes, which I’d printed at work, and we got in line to check in. Sebastian seemed more relaxed until we were told that the flight was leaving from gate three.
“Stop worrying,” I told him, taking his hand again. “The gate number does not matter.”
We located gate three, grabbed five dollar cups of coffee, and chose seats near the window. The weather was bleak and dreary, and I was so looking forward to getting away. Not that the Chicago weather would be any better, but it would be fun to stay in a luxury hotel together, shop the Magnificent Mile, have dinner in a gourmet French restaurant or maybe a cozy little Italian place. Honestly, I didn’t care what we did—what mattered most was that we’d be there together. Our first vacation.
“Hey.” I tipped my head onto his shoulder. “Thanks for this. I know you don’t really want to do it.”
“That plane looks small. Are you sure it’s regulation size?” He squinted out the window, his right knee bouncing continuously.
I sighed. “Yes, dear.”
“Let me see the boarding passes again.”
“No,” I said, lovingly but firmly. “You’ve looked at them a hundred times. You already know we’re in an even row. Row two, first class.”
His brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”
“You booked the tickets, Sebastian. Now let’s talk about what we’re going to do this weekend. How about massages?” I tried my best to distract him from his own thoughts, but he didn’t make it easy.
When he tried to retrace his steps down the tarmac because it hadn’t felt right the first time, I grabbed his hand and refused to let go.
When he took out the pamphlet explaining how a water landing works, I took it away from him and shoved it back in my seat pocket.
When he gingerly eyed the arm rest where our tray tables were tucked away, I brandished a package of antibacterial wipes. “Come at me, babe. I’ve already thought of everything.”
He looked around. “There’s eleven people sitting in this section. Someone needs to sit in that empty chair.”
From my bag I pulled out a Barbie doll I’d dug out of a trunk in my mom’s attic. “Now there’s twelve in here. A nice even dozen.” I stuck her legs in the seat back pocket in from of him.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He grabbed the doll and shoved her back in my bag. “I’m not that desperate.” Cracking a smile, he leaned back in his seat, although he kept flexing and fisting his fingers in his lap.
“Hey. It’s going to be fine.” I stilled one of his hands by placing mine over it. “Say it.”
“It’s going to be fine,” he repeated quietly, eyes closing.
I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now let’s say it together eight times.”
He opened his eyes and smiled at me for real. “God, you’re adorable. We don’t have to do that.”
“You sure? I don’t mind, if it will make you feel better. I know you’re doing this for me.”
“I’m doing this for us.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “And the only thing I need to feel good is you next to me.”
My stomach fluttered. “You’ll always have me.”
“Say it again, quick.” He grinned sheepishly. “Two is still better than one.”
“You’ll always have me.” I poked his leg. “Jeez, Sebastian, if we ever have kids, you’re going to want twins every time,” I teased.
“It’s funny you say that.” He took my hand in his, and suddenly I was very aware of him playing with my ring finger. “I’ve been thinking about it. About a family.”
“Yeah?” I swallowed hard. “Me too.” Being around the happy Fournier family had gotten to me over the last few months. I wanted that with Sebastian, and I thought I might be ready for the next step, but I didn’t want to rush him.
“Maybe we can talk about the future a little bit this weekend?” he asked.
I nodded, awestruck by the turn this conversation had taken. “I’d like that.”
He played with all my fingers. “You know, this is the first time in my life that thinking about the future doesn’t mean dreading it. We’re going to be happy together, aren’t we?”
I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Say it again, quick.”
Leaning toward me, he pressed his lips to mine before whis
pering softly against them. “Marry me.”
Read more about Skylar and Sebastian in SOME SORT OF CRAZY, book 2 in the Happy Crazy Love series, coming this November!
SOME SORT OF CRAZY (Natalie and Miles)
When a psychic tells Natalie Nixon her life is about to be upended by a mysterious stranger, she laughs it off. After all, she has everything she’s ever wanted—the dream job running her own business, the dream boyfriend about to propose, and she just bought her dream house, complete with dream picket fence. Who could possibly make her want to throw all that away?
Miles Haas. That’s who.
But he’s no stranger—they’ve been good friends since high school. Plus, he’s only around for the summer, he’s still a shameless playboy, and he makes a living writing articles for a men’s magazine with titles like “Should You Bang the Boss’s Daughter? A Flowchart” and “Butt Stuff for Beginners: A Field Guide.”
He’s not the man of her dreams, and she’s not about to abandon everything she’s worked so hard for just to run away with him…or is she?
Preorder now for Kindle at the discounted price!
This book and the character of Sebastian were inspired by several things: the heartbreakingly raw and moving performance of “OCD” by poet/writer Neil Hilborn (please look him up, watch the live performance, like him on Facebook…I’m in awe of him), the song “Creep” by Radiohead (listen to the original and the cover by Hailey Reinhart of Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox), and my own life experience loving someone who struggles with anxiety. But how does a writer of romantic comedy take on something like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, especially in the male love interest, do justice to its sufferers, and yet still write a lighthearted romance? I tried very hard to be true to the harsh realities of OCD, which is nothing like what I thought it was, and still write a compelling, sexy character, who is so much more than his anxiety. My heart goes out to anyone who suffers from OCD. Love cannot cure you, but I hope you find it with someone wonderful, and it brings you peace, hope, and happiness—you deserve it.
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