The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (40 page)

“Salute!”

He smiled and clinked his glass against mine, “To us.”

A much better toast.

I leaned across the table toward him and whispered conspiratorially, “Of course, you’re too young to drink that legally.”

He smiled and took a long sip.

“I’m too young to do a lot of things,” he said, then dipped his finger into his wine and held it toward me.

I took his finger in my mouth and bit it gently then sucked hard.

A hiss escaped him and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again the black of his pupils had eclipsed the sea-blue irises.

I shivered, releasing his finger.

He smiled: a slow, sexy, seductive twist of his lips. I wanted to run my tongue over those lips, feeling their softness, their fullness, their wetness when he parted them. I imagined letting my tongue taste every inch of his firm, taut body, drinking in his scent and tasting the salt on his skin.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off me and I’m sure mine revealed each and every thought. He licked his lips and swallowed.

The waiter broke the spell by discreetly placing our dishes in front of us and ignoring our heated gaze. Perhaps it was something he saw all the time although if he did, I couldn’t imagine why the restaurant hadn’t gone up in flames.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair and I took a deep breath.

“Is it always like this?” he said, suddenly looking lost and vulnerable.

I knew what he was asking me and I didn’t have an answer. I shook my head. “Not for me … not until now, until you.”

What did I know of the kind of love that made it hard to breathe, where your body ached day and night for that connection with another, physically, mentally, spiritually? It was utterly new and terrifying and exhausting and wonderful. I was dazzled by the light that spilled from him into the shadow of my previous existence. He eclipsed everything, erased everything that had gone before. I was reborn—not just to him, but to myself. And I was ready for the adventure.

I took a deep breath and pointed with my chin toward his food.

“Eat: you’ll need your energy.”

Without breaking eye contact, he picked up his fork and lifted some pasta, holding it out toward me. “Want to taste it?”

I took the food in my mouth and felt the creamy sauce drip down my chin. Sebastian grinned and cleaned up the drip with his finger, putting it into his own mouth.

The rest of the meal went the same way, tasting each other’s food, turning ourselves on, stoking the flames, with each new sensory assault. I wanted to crawl over the white tablecloth, tear off his shirt and take him where he sat. I imagined running my hands through his hair and thrusting my tongue into his mouth, clenching on his body when it was inside mine. I licked my lips.

He threw down his fork suddenly and rubbed his hands over his face.

“I can’t concentrate on eating when you look at me like that!” he complained.

“Like what?” I said, feigning an innocence I most definitely wasn’t feeling.

“Like
that!
”

Tauntingly, I pushed my fork into the couscous and carefully lifted it to my mouth, chewing with insolent slowness, as I kept my eyes on his face. Then I licked my lips and sucked the fork clean.

He made a sound deep within his throat that was halfway between a moan and a growl and my eyes opened wide.

“Caro, I mean it! If you do that again…”

His warning amused and aroused me. I wanted to know his limits—and I was curious about mine.

Again, I pushed my fork into the couscous; again I lifted it to my mouth and slowly sucked the fork clean, a challenging look on my face.

He slammed his chair backward, startling the waiter and the elderly couple who were sitting across the room from us drinking their after dinner Sambuca. He strode around the table and pinned me to the chair, one hand on each side of my seat and kissed me roughly, his frustration and ardor all poured into that one, spellbinding moment.

My hands reached up to his chest and fastened into his t-shirt. I didn’t know if I was pulling him toward me or pushing him away. My whole body was flushed and heated.

I was dimly aware that the waiter was hovering over us and Sebastian stood up reluctantly.

“Ah, sir,” the poor man said nervously, “we have other patrons, sir … ah…”

“Wrap the food to go,” Sebastian ordered.

“Certainly, sir,” replied the waiter, gratefully scuttling away with our dishes.

“You’re impatient tonight,” I said, taking a much needed drink of wine.

He scowled at me. Jeez, even his anger turned me on.

“How the fuck can I eat a plate of carbonara when you’re looking at me like that and I’m sitting there with a boner that’s as hard as Mount Rushmore?”

I nearly spat my wine out and couldn’t help laughing.

“Mount Rushmore?”

A reluctant smile made his lips twitch but I could tell he was still a little mad.

“Come on, then, let’s go. You can finish your cold carbonara later.”
Ugh.

I paid for our abandoned meal with cash, disappointed that our date hadn’t quite gone as planned, although it was my own damn fault. I should have realized that Sebastian wasn’t the kind of man who played games. I didn’t think of myself as that kind of woman either
—I just hadn’t realized that a little flirting with food would have such a gratifyingly immediate effect.

Once we’d left the relieved waiter behind and were strolling down the street, Sebastian draped his arm possessively around my shoulders, every now and then stooping to kiss my hair.

“Maybe I should just buy you energy bars next time and skip the whole dinner-date idea,” I teased him. “I could tie you to the bed and feed you Gatorade.”

He stopped so suddenly, I almost skidded past him. He turned and stared at me, then swallowed, his expression burning.

“What would you tie me up with?” he said, his voice full of unexplored longing.

I blushed beet red as he pulled me to his chest and stared down into my eyes.

“Stockings?” I whispered uncertainly.

He squeezed his eyes closed and tightened his grip on me almost painfully.

“And garter straps?” he choked out.

“If you like.”

“In black?”

“Tesoro, for you I’ll wear a different color for each day of the week.”

He let out a low moan.

“Where’s this fucking hotel?” he muttered, then towed me down the street at the quick march.

It took a moment to orientate myself and remember the direction for the hotel. Sebastian was so frustrated I was half expecting him to toss me over his shoulder and make a run for it. He was a man on a mission and he’d had as much foreplay as he could take.

When we reached the hotel, he yanked open the glass door and hauled me across the lobby while the bemused reception desk clerk blinked in surprise.

“Which floor?” he snarled, his fingers drumming impatiently next to the elevator’s call button.

“Fourth,” I stuttered, a little awed by his suddenly commanding behavior.

The doors slid open silently and I almost ran to the back, gripping the handrail, certain I needed something to hold on to. Sebastian took one step inside and let the doors close an inch behind him. He glanced over the buttons and stabbed number four with his finger.

My heart rate spiked as he stared at me, a hungry, desperate, utterly focused look on his face. I licked my lips but my mouth was suddenly dry.

I struggled to think of something to say but my mind was blank, totally without thought—just a raging need to consume.

The elevator started to rise and Sebastian took a pace toward me. Then another. And another. Until he was standing in front of me but still our bodies weren’t touching. Then he reached out and placed one hand above my left shoulder, and his other above my right. I was trapped between his arms. And
still
he didn’t touch me. He leaned forward and I held my breath. Then slowly, deliberately he nuzzled my hair out of the way and ran his tongue up the side of my neck.

I could feel his warm breath on my cheek, his wet tongue teasing my ear. I took another, deep lungful of air and breathed in his scent: some spicy soap, salt, and his own sweet smell.

Perhaps he was getting his own back for my distractions in the café or perhaps he was learning to take his time: I couldn’t say.

I pushed my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and heard his breath catch in his throat. He let out a long sigh and let the full weight of his body rest on mine.

The doors hissed open, an almost welcome distraction.

He stood up straight and I pulled my hands out of his jeans’ pockets, then he stepped back so I could exit the elevator first.

The corridor was silent and our feet sank into the plush carpet soundlessly. The gilt sconce lights cast pale shadows on the patterned wallpaper, and twenty wooden doors stretched in each direction. It took me a moment to remember which way to turn. I fished in my purse and pulled out the keycard.

“It’s room 429,” I said, softly.

Wordlessly, Sebastian took it from me then led me by the hand down the corridor, his eyes glancing at the discreet numbers on each door.

Toward the end of the corridor he stopped, pushed the keycard into the lock, and let the door swing open.

I’d left one small sidelight on and my overnight bag was still on the large bed.

I heard Sebastian turn the catch on the door, locking it behind us. When I turned around, he was standing watching me.

He kicked off his sneakers and tugged his t-shirt over his head as he padded toward me barefoot. I stood limply, frozen to the spot, mesmerized by his predatory gaze. When he reached me, he rested his hands on my arms and breathed in deeply, his fingers tightening around my biceps.

I laid my head on his chest and kissed him just above his heart. He sighed and wrapped his arms around my back. We stood there in silence just holding each other.

Then I kissed his chest again, and ran my tongue across his torso, remembering that I’d wanted to taste every inch of him. I let my hands drift down, pushing them inside his jeans, beneath his briefs, stroking his skin and digging my fingers into the flesh of his buttocks. A soft sound escaped his lips and his hips pushed forward.

Still without speaking, I pulled my warmed hands free and stepped back, giving myself room to undo the button of his pants and pull down the zipper, opening his jeans and pushing them over his
hips. I ran my hands lightly over his briefs and felt his body quiver, his erection evident beneath my gentle fingers. Carefully, I pushed the briefs down so he could step out of them.

He was beautifully, gloriously naked and I drank in his beauty and his strength as he stood before me, unembarrassed, eyes soft with love.

“You are my world, Caro,” he said.

“And you’re mine.”

He smiled and pulled me into his arms then walked me slowly backward toward the bed.

I sat down and wrapped my arms behind his thighs, pulling him closer. I placed a soft, wet kiss on his tip and watched as his eyelids fluttered.

“Do you still want me to tie you up?”

He blinked several times then smiled again and shook his head.

“Not tonight. I want to be able to touch you—all of you.”

He grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and gently pulled it over my head.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He kneeled in front of me, resting his hands on my hips. He leaned forward to kiss my breasts, playful little nips, and then his tongue was washing over me, laving my cleavage. I arched my back, letting my head hang backward and suddenly his hands were urgent. He pushed me onto the bed and leaned over me, his mouth, breath, tongue, hot against my skin. He groaned loudly then stood up. I struggled to sit but he slid one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, picked me up bodily and slung me higher up the bed. I was so surprised, the breath whooshed out of my lungs. He stretched out alongside then reared up to hover over me, his erection pointing confidently toward my belly. Before I could reach out for him, he knelt across me, lifted me up with one hand and with the other expertly unhooked my bra.
Jeez! Had he been practicing?

I knew what was coming next but before he could reach for my pants, I pushed him away and rolled onto my side, struggling to turn off the bedside lamp. The curtains were still open but the dull, orange illumination of the streetlamps was the only light.

“What are you doing?”

His tone was surprised.

I had my reasons. The marks on my legs were no longer painful, with the exception of my right foot that throbbed relentlessly, but they were unsightly. And I didn’t want him distracted, not by that. I had other distractions in mind.

I shimmied out of my pants and panties while he watched me, and tossed them randomly, not caring where they landed.

I could see his silvery gold outline on the bed next to me as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I sat up and found that my skin was too tender to kneel across him. Instead I seated myself in his lap and stretched my legs out in front of me.