The Education of Sebastian

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I felt suddenly anxious: we were reaching for a new level of intimacy and I wasn’t sure what his reaction would be.

  “Can you? I mean, is it okay to… while you’re…? I don’t want to hurt you…”

  I stroked his cheek. He looked so worried.

  “Yes, we can still make love. I was just checking that you were okay with… a little bit of blood.”

  His eyes were huge. “I want to make love to you, Caro. God, I want to.”

  “Then I think you’re wearing too many clothes.”

  He responded immediately, kicking his sneakers off his bare feet and tearing his T-shirt over his head. I thought I heard one of the seams rip.

  “Hey, it’s okay! We’ve got all night. I want to take it slow with you.”

  He looked confused for a moment, then smiled shyly.

  “Okay.”

  I pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge of the bed again, and sat astride him. His arms encircled my waist, pulling me towards him.

  “Mmm,” I said, nuzzling his chin as I wrapped my arms around his neck, “this is my happy place.”

  Using my teeth, I tugged gently on his earlobe and was rewarded with a soft moan. I let my fingers ripple across his back, enjoying the feel of his skin and the tautness of his defined muscles. I used my fingertips to massage him lightly and he groaned again.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I whispered against his neck.

  “What? Um… blue. No, green. Red – maybe.”

  “That sounded definite! So, football or baseball? Or maybe basketball? Hockey?”

  “Basket… base… um…”

  “Are you finding it difficult to concentrate?” I teased him.

  “Caro, I can barely remember my own name when I’m with you!”

  I chuckled quietly. “What do you like for breakfast?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know!”

  “Tell me!”

  “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

  “Well, what would you like tomorrow?”

  “You!” he said.

  He stood up suddenly, taking me with him, then threw me down on the bed.

  “Enough with the slow,” he said, his eyes dark and serious.

  A pulse of desire and lust and need surged through me.

  I sat up slowly, hooking my fingers into his belt loops and pulled him towards me. He trembled as I ran the tips of my fingers under his waistband. With bold hands, I traced the outline of his erection through his jeans. He inhaled sharply.

  Watching his face the entire time, I opened his jeans, one button at a time, and pulled them down his long, strong, tan legs. His eyelids fluttered closed and he breathed deeply as I pushed the jeans past his knees.

  They tangled around his ankles and he nearly fell over trying to kick them off. I smothered a laugh. Sebastian didn’t have an arrogant bone in his body, but he was a man, and all men have their pride.

  “Come and lie down next to me,” I said, still smiling.

  I wiggled out of my skirt and tossed it onto the floor. Tonight was not a night to worry about creased clothing.

  We lay facing each other: he in his briefs, me in my T-shirt and panties. He scooted down the bed till our faces were at the same level and he smiled at me.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.”

  “What’s your favorite color?” he said.

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  He laughed happily and ran his warm fingers down my arm.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

  “So are you,” I countered, “and so sweet.”

  He frowned slightly and let his hand drift over my body until he was cupping my backside. He squeezed gently and I responded by hooking my leg over his hip.

  He flexed automatically, pushing himself into me and another delicious shiver ran down the entire length of my body.

  He rolled gently so I was on my back, and he was hovering over me.

  “You still want to go slow?”

  I nodded, stifling a chuckle.

  He smiled reluctantly. “Okay, I’ll try.”

  He slid down the bed and used his teeth to pull my T-shirt up off my stomach. He ran his nose across my body and kissed me slowly on every exposed inch of skin while he supported himself on his arms.

  I ran my fingers over the front of his briefs and he groaned.

  “I won’t be able to go slow if you do that again,” he said in a warning voice.

  I laughed quietly, unsure whether or not I wanted his slow, delicious torture to continue.

  “I want to get this T-shirt off you.”

  I sat up briefly so he could pull it over my head. When I lay down again, he nuzzled my breasts, running the tip of his tongue along the junction between my skin and the fabric of my bra.

  I stroked my hands over the bunched muscles of his biceps, luxuriating in their tension.

  Carefully he fastened his teeth over the fabric of my bra and pulled the cup down, then ran his tongue over my nipple, sucking hard. The sensation was exquisite, almost painful.

  I pushed the waistband of his briefs over and down his hips. He rolled off me to kick them free and I sat up to undo my bra.

  “No, I’ll do that,” he said confidently.

  For several seconds he tugged futilely on the elastic straps. “Fuck! Turn around – I can’t see what I’m doing.”

  Smiling to myself, I turned my back to him. A heartbeat later, my bra was dumped on the floor and I shimmied out of my panties, tossing them down with the rest of our clothes.

  “How slow?” he whispered as his body loomed over mine again, lightly pressing me into the mattress.

  “How slow can you go?” I said, teasingly.

  I pulled my knees up and slid my hand along his erection. He trembled and bit his lip.

  “You’re not helping!” he said, accusingly.

  But I didn’t care anymore: I wanted to feel him inside me – all of him.

  I pulled him towards me and I felt the mattress move as his weight shifted on the bed. He used his knees to open me wider, then, with aching slowness, he sank into me, pulled out, then sank in again, circling his hips, stimulating me everywhere.

  I tilted my hips up to meet him: the movement seemed to push him too far.

  “I can’t! I can’t!” he suddenly gasped and started moving faster.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist and gripped his arms with my hands.

  His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and I felt his body turn rigid then he collapsed onto me with a soft moan.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled into my neck a long moment later.

  I stroked his hair, smiling to myself. “It’s okay. Practice makes perfect. And we’ve got all night.”

  He raised himself up and kissed me softly and sweetly. Then he pulled out gently and rolled off of me.

  “Oh, wow!” he said, looking down at the blood on his dick. “That really didn’t hurt you?”

  I shook my head, suppressing a smile. “Do you want to take a shower?”

  “Um, yeah, if you don’t mind.”

  He looked stunned.

  “I don’t mind: not if you let me scrub your back.”

  He grinned and looked up at me. “Oh, definitely up for that.”

  I turned on the hot water and led him into the shower.

  “Did you have a long day at the office, dear?” I said as I ran a soapy sponge over his back.

  He chuckled, stretching out his arms.

  “God, that feels so good!” he sighed.

  He rested his hands on the tiled wall and let the water rain down on his head and back. When I reached around and ran the sponge over his front he jumped slightly. Gently, I swirled the sponge over his stomach and thighs and everything in between; he groaned loudly.

  I felt his erection stir again. I guessed that’s what they called a fast re-loader. I was impressed – and a bit shocked.

  He turned around and kissed me hard, his tongue demanding acce
ss to my mouth. He pushed me back against the chilly ceramic tiles and I almost slipped.

  “Careful!”

  “Sorry! God, sorry,” he muttered, barely moving his mouth from my lips.

  I was slipping and sliding all over the place: suddenly shower sex didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  I left the hot water running and pulled him after me. He looked confused as I leaned over the sink and grasped the rim with both hands.

  “From behind,” I whispered.

  I heard the breath hitch in his throat then a second later his hands were gripping my hips. When he entered me it felt amazingly deep. Truthfully, I’d never felt anything like it before.

  “Oh fuck!” he hissed.

  I glanced up into the mirror: his eyes were wide with wonder and his lips were parted. Our eyes met – and locked on each other’s.

  I clenched around him and watched his face as he cursed again.

  He rotated his hips slowly and this time I was the one who cried out.

  “Hand!”

  “What?” he grit out between his teeth.

  “Give me your hand!” I half-gasped, half-yelled at him.

  He leaned onto me, his weight pressing me into the cold, hard porcelain, and I groaned but he gave me his hand. I pushed it between my legs and against my clitoris. He caught on fast: the thought crossed my mind that he must have got good grades in school. My orgasm began to gather and I felt the delicious trembling inside.

  I knew Sebastian felt it, too, because he swore again and started moving faster, his hand in rhythm with his thrusts.

  I screamed out his name. The sheer relief of being able to be as loud as I wanted, to show vocally how much he was pleasing me: it felt fantastic.

  He kept moving, his hips grinding into me. I could barely stand, my thighs were shaking with the effort of staying upright.

  What? No? Surely not! I couldn’t believe it! My eyes opened wide as a second orgasm began to build. I was shocked to my core – I didn’t even know I could have two orgasms so close together. And then I lost all train of thought as my body became nothing but sensation.

  I was vaguely aware that Sebastian had stopped moving and that we were both lying on the floor, gasping.

  It was desperately uncomfortable on the hard surface but I felt too weak to move. A giggle escaped me: I was, quite literally, well fucked. That expression would never again have the same resonance for me now I’d actually experienced it.

  I started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  But I couldn’t reply, I was laughing so hard. I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees, vaguely aware that there was blood on the bathroom floor.

  “What are you laughing at?” said Sebastian, sounding aggrieved.

  I crawled into the shower, slightly hysterical.

  “What?!” he said, starting to laugh despite himself.

  “I. Am. So. Thoroughly. Well. Fucked!” I finally managed to spit out.

  Sebastian was laughing, too, as he came and joined me in the shower.

  We sat in the shower tray and I leaned back between his legs, letting the hot water soothe and restore us.

  Eventually I managed to stop laughing but I felt too weak to stand.

  “That was amazing,” Sebastian whispered into my hair.

  He sounded slightly awestruck.

  “It certainly was. But I can’t stand – you’ll have to help me up!”

  Sebastian laughed and stood up easily, pulling me up by my hands.

  I managed to turn off the shower as I staggered out. I grabbed a clean towel and tossed one to him. I made a few quick passes with the towel and, still half-soaked, collapsed face down on the bed.

  “Hey,” said Sebastian, following me into the bedroom. “You’re all wet.”

  Gently, lovingly, he dried me with the towel, doing his best to get the moisture out of my hair as well.

  “I’m so tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open,” I mumbled.

  “Go to sleep, baby,” he said softly.

  I rolled onto my side and felt Sebastian’s warm, slightly damp body curl up behind me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I was asleep in seconds.

  Chapter 11

  At some point, not long after dawn, I woke.

  Sebastian’s arm was still draped over my waist but I must have turned in the night because now I was facing him. His lips were slightly parted and he was breathing softly. I thought he must be dreaming because his eyelids fluttered and he frowned.

  A pale gold stubble covered his cheeks, upper lip and chin. It was soft, nothing like five o’clock shadow and he looked so young and very beautiful.

  His tan was deep over his arms, back and chest, then vanished completely, leaving his buttocks and hips a creamy white that changed again to gold on his legs.

  The low angle of the sun cast long shadows that highlighted the definition of his muscular chest and stomach and I reveled in the thought that for a few more hours – and for another whole night – he was mine.

  I hardly dared to imagine how it might feel to wake up like this every morning, feeling such peaceful joy. And I refused to think about what would happen when our weekend was over.

  I spent another minute drinking in his beauty before I tore myself away to use the bathroom.

  “Where are you going?” he said sleepily, blinking up at me.

  “To pee,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  But when I returned to the room, the bed was empty. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he’d left. Then I saw his sneakers, T-shirt and briefs, all still strewn on the floor. Only his jeans were missing.

  I stared with some distaste at the blood on the sheets. At least I didn’t get really heavy periods and they didn’t last long. Even so…

  I heard soft footfalls behind me and turned to look. Sebastian was carrying two glasses of orange juice and wearing, well, half-wearing his jeans.

  He’d pulled them over his hips but only bothered to fasten half of the fly buttons. He was beyond sexy; I felt my face getting hot – and then I remembered I was standing there naked – and blushed everywhere.

  I scooted back into the bed and under the sheet.

  Sebastian looked at me like I was a little crazy.

  “I wanted to make you breakfast,” he said, shrugging slightly, “but I can’t cook. I can, however, pour a mean glass of juice.”

  He passed me a tumbler and I took a long drink.

  “Why, Mr Hunter, you can indeed pour an amazing orange juice.”

  He smirked, then tipped the rest of his drink down his throat in one swift gulp. How the hell did men do that? It was a complete mystery to me.

  “Well, let me make you some breakfast: what would you like? Eggs, pancakes, bacon, omelet?”

  “I already told you yesterday,” he said.

  I frowned.

  “You. I want you for breakfast.”

  He put his glass on the bedside cabinet and slowly walked towards me, his eyes never leaving my face. His expression made me breathless.

  “Sex rather than food today?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I looked at the alarm clock. It was 6.45 AM.

  “We’ve got about three hours before I have to drop you off. Do you think that’s enough time?”

  He shook his head.

  “Not really.”

  Then he leapt on the bed, making me shriek with surprise. I spilled orange juice down my chest and onto the sheets.

  “Sebastian!”

  He ignored me and started lapping the juice from my bare skin. I nearly melted from the heat of his touch, but just about managed to place my somewhat emptier glass on the bedside table.

  I scrabbled to pull off his jeans but he was too intent on working his way down my body. It was neck and neck who was going to have their way first.

  Sometime later, some considerable time later, the alarm went off.

  We were both lying on our backs breathless. Again. I felt like I’d ju
st gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson: every muscle ached and I was bathed in sweat. Sebastian had been tossing me around the bedroom for nearly two hours. He lay with his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face.

  The alarm clock had inconveniently been knocked out of reach. I struggled to sit up, crawling the length of the bed and fumbling on the floor to find the obnoxious electronic box.

  Sebastian tried to bite my ass, which didn’t really help my coordination.

  “We need to get up!” I moaned.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Up!”

  “I am up,” he mumbled against my skin.

  Again? Oh, my God!

  “Time for a shower. Go! Now!”

  He grumbled a bit more but eventually rolled off the bed, allowing me to get up and pull on my robe. I glanced around to see him stumble into the bathroom. It was true: he was up.

  Smiling to myself, I headed down to the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator. As he hadn’t managed to express a preference, I decided to make a cheese omelet with bacon on the side.

  I was still grilling the bacon when I heard him running down the stairs. There was a huge thud and I guessed he’d jumped the last three or four steps. His exuberance made me smile. And where the hell did he get all that energy?

  He wrapped his arms around my waist without hesitation and nuzzled my neck. I nearly dropped the spatula.

  “What can I do?” he said.

  I was surprised. No man had ever said that to me in my kitchen before. I turned and smirked at him.

  “Just sit there and look decorative.”

  He threw me an amused look and stretched his long legs under the kitchen table, rocking the chair back on two legs, just like he had last night.

  To have him sitting at my breakfast table felt wonderfully new and wonderfully natural, all at the same time.

  When I served up the food, I put most of the omelet on his plate and four out of five of the pieces of bacon. He didn’t even seem to notice the uneven distribution; he was so intent on getting the food into his stomach in the shortest time possible.

  I was still chewing when he pushed his plate away. He glanced around to see if there was anything else to eat. Really: his appetites were enormous in all sorts of ways. The last ten hours had been a revelation.