First Comes Marriage (Aster Bay #3)

Chapter twenty-three

Baz tossed his keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter and sifted through the overcrowded kitchen cabinet until he found his best bottle of Scotch. Since when did he have four different kinds of breakfast cereal and at least as many packages of cookies in his cabinets? Since Sabrina. The thought only stoked his frustration as he pulled the mostly empty bottle from the back of the cabinets and poured himself a drink. Behind him, he heard the soft snick of the front door as Sabrina entered the apartment, and there was that irrational anger he’d first felt in the carnival parking lot.

Anger that she was in his space—in his life—for who knew how long, but certainly not forever. Not for keeps.

That he was another temporary safe harbor for her, good ol’ punching bag Baz who’d always be there to take one more punch, no matter how bloodied and bruised it left him. Dependable, disposable Baz. That’s who he was to her, just like he’d been for her sister once upon a time.

That he even gave a fuck about any of it.

This was supposed to be about sex, and only until Christmas. So why did that thought make him angrier than any that had come before it?

Despite having his back to her as he nursed his Scotch, his free hand braced on the kitchen counter, he was all too aware of her moving through the apartment. Kicking off her shoes by the front door, sliding into a seat at the kitchen island. Watching him. Waiting.

“Sebastian—”

“Not now.”

If he talked to her now, when every part of him was itching for a fight, when he wanted to push and push and push until there was nothing left but him and his Scotch and the quiet—if he talked to her now, he’d say things he couldn’t take back. And even though he was angry, he’d been angry often enough before to know that the feeling always abated eventually, that lashing out at her wouldn’t actually make it go away.

“Yes, now.” He froze at her words, low and assured, like she was holding a lit match above a keg of gunpowder and daring him to open the lid.

“Go to bed, Sabrina.” He threw back the last of the Scotch and set the glass down on the counter a little too hard, the sound of the glass hitting the marble making him wince.

“You know this is what she wanted, right? We didn’t follow their script, so Holly wanted to come and throw a grenade into our lives. She wants us to be fighting right now. You can’t—” She broke off with a growl and he couldn’t help but turn to look at her over his shoulder. “You can’t seriously think I would have married one of her other exes.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Why not?”

“Why not?” she shouted. She was up out of her seat now, pacing the length of the room with the kitchen island between them. “First of all, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought if you believe that.”

“Why shouldn’t I believe it? I just happened to be the one who was there.”

“Do you know how happy I was to see you? That wasn’t about Holly, you big idiot. That was about— ”

“Will you stop calling me an idiot?”

“— you. I wanted to talk to you . To make things right with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I missed you!”

“Why, Sabrina?” He pushed off from the counter and braced his hands on his side of the kitchen island as she continued to pace.

“Because—” She broke off, planted her hands on her hips and turned to face off with him across the slab of marble. She opened her mouth as though she had more to say, her eyes darting between his, but whatever she saw there had her closing her lips without saying a word. With another one of those frustrated noises, she turned away from him, retreating to the far wall of the open plan space, staring out at the bay in the moonlight.

“You had ten years to make things right between us. Why now?” He rounded the island to move towards her even as he kept a careful distance between them. Blood rushed in his ears and his whole being practically vibrated with this restless energy he didn’t trust.

“This whole thing was your idea,” she muttered in reply.

“My idea?”

“Yes! You’re the one who had the brilliant plan to make her think we were together.” She turned to face him, her back to the wall of glass, as he slowly advanced on her.

“I didn’t mean for us to get married.”

“Neither did I! I never wanted to get married again ever !”

Her words hung in the air between them. He couldn’t explain why it should matter, but it still slashed to ribbons his secret, fragile hopes of keeping her.

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “My first marriage took everything from me. Not just my partner, because now I know Jordan never was that, but my home, my town, my work. I signed away half of everything and was left with barely enough to scrape by. Marriage is a trap.”

He rocked back on his heels. “You think I trapped you?”

“ I trapped you !” She spun away from him, pressing her hands and forehead into the glass in a posture he’d adopted himself on far too many occasions. His hands clenched at his sides as he fought the desire to go to her. “You offered to help me for one night and I’ve saddled you with months of dealing with my problems.”

“I did that willingly,” he said, stabbing a finger at his chest. “I’d do it all again.”

“Why?”

“Why did you miss me?” He threw the question back at her and watched as she once again dodged it.

“I don’t know.” Her refusal to answer felt like a challenge, that lit match dangled over the powder keg, held so loosely it could fall at any moment.

He scoffed, some sick part of him lighting up with satisfaction at the incredulity in her eyes at the sound.

“Why did you offer to help me? First, to make Holly mad and now, with the health insurance?” She advanced on him, but he held his ground, refusing to back away from the fiery redhead threatening to send his whole life up in flames. “Why come to my parents’ house? Why stand up for me? Why—”

“Because you’re my wife ,” he roared, the words ripped from his chest. “Maybe you did trap me. That’s how I feel. Trapped, Sabrina. I can’t let you go, but I can’t keep you. What am I supposed to do?”

“I—I’ll go,” she said, her wide eyes turning glassy. “If that’s what you want—”

He gripped her arm and pulled her towards him. “That’s not what I said.”

“Yes, it is!” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “I don’t understand. What do you want? ”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her before he could think better of it, before she could misunderstand that too. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was tongue and teeth and her nails digging into his biceps as they crashed together. He pressed her against the wall, trapping her between the glass and his body, as he trailed biting kisses down the column of her throat. She moaned his name, one hand buried in his hair and holding him against her.

“Tell me what you need, wildflower, and I’ll give it to you,” he promised.

And he meant it. She could ask for anything— anything —and he’d tear himself apart to give it to her, as if that wasn’t the worst trap of them all. But a trap he welcomed, one he’d cling to willingly, even if he didn’t understand it. Even if it would break him to watch her leave when it was over.

Her hand in his hair tightened as he lifted his face to meet her eyes. With the slightest pressure, she pushed him down, holding his gaze the entire time, and it was as though she’d finally dropped that match, as though his entire being was consumed by flames as he willingly went to his knees at her feet. Because this he could do. He couldn’t fix her awful ex or her horrible parents or even whatever secrets she was keeping, but right here, now, he could make her feel good.

He slid his hands up the back of her legs, over the strong calf muscles and sensitive skin at the back of her knees, over the thighs hidden beneath her sundress and the perfect curve of her ass, until he hooked his fingers in the waist of her panties and pulled them down.

She watched him, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths and one hand still lost in his hair. Her touch gentled, the insistent tugging on his hair turning to soft strokes, and suddenly it wasn’t enough to be on his knees for her. He wanted to see her, every inch of her skin, every freckle that marked her, every secret, soft place she’d kept hidden away .

Baz tugged on the hem of her dress. “Off.”

She only hesitated for a moment before she gathered the hem in her hands and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion. She unhooked the strapless bra that caged her torso and that, too, fell away. Baz sat back on his heels and took in the sight of her, completely bare for him.

He sat up on his knees and skated his hands over her hips, the dip of her waist, the angry red marks wrapping her ribs where the bra had been, until his thumbs came to rest on a small tattoo on her side.

He ran his fingers over the small, colorful bouquet of wildflowers, usually concealed beneath her clothing, and the buzzing in his blood grew louder, faster, tangling in knots in his chest and wrapping tendrils of flame over his skin. When had she gotten his nickname for her permanently inked onto her skin? The idea of it, of her sitting in some tattoo parlor getting this particular tattoo while he was thinking the worst of her, was enough to make him dizzy with wanting.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the tattoo, murmuring, “My wildflower,” into her skin. “My wife.”

Her hand returned to his hair, moving the loose strands away from his face, so he knew she saw when he lifted his eyes to hers and began kissing a path across her skin, down the soft curve of her belly. He pressed his face to her mound, breathing in the scent of her arousal as his hands curled around her body and cupped her backside, kneading the flesh there.

“Is this where you need me, wife?” He nipped at the tender place on her inner thigh and smiled against her skin when she sucked in a breath in reply. “Can I taste you now? Please?”

She exhaled her permission and used that hand in his hair to guide him to the apex of her thighs. He dragged his tongue through her slit, forcing himself to take his time, to memorize the taste of her.

She whimpered. “Stop teasing me. ”

“You like when I tease you.”

He grabbed great handfuls of her ass, spreading her cheeks as he licked into her pussy, burying his nose in her soft curls. She spread her legs wider to accommodate his shoulders and he rewarded her with the scrape of his teeth over the pert little bud at her center. She gasped and melted against the glass behind her as he tipped her hips towards his waiting mouth.

“You can’t pretend with me, Sabrina. This pretty pussy tells me the truth.” He licked her again, deep and slow, humming in satisfaction at her taste on his tongue. “You get so wet when I tease you like this. Maybe I should tease you all night, keep you needy and wanting.” She groaned, her hips rocking into his touch. “You like that idea, baby?” Another burst of wetness against his tongue and he chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Sebastian, please,” she groaned.

He slid one hand between her legs, probing at her entrance with a single finger as he resumed his slow exploration of her with his tongue and teeth. She squirmed against him, as though she could get closer to his touch. When her thighs began to quiver with need and her soft exhales were tinged with desperation, only then did he slide a second finger inside her and suck her clit between his lips, drawing her pleasure from her in long pulls and the quick flutter of his fingers. She came apart around him, one hand in his hair and another on her breast, and her eyes locked on his as he drew every last drop of her orgasm from her.

He was tempted to stay there at her feet forever, but there was so much he wanted with Sabrina, and he was suddenly struck by the certainty that he was running out of time. He got to his feet and gathered her into his arms, all her bare skin scraping against his clothing as she kissed herself from his lips. With a single hand, he undid his belt and zipper, shoving his pants to the floor while she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. At last he was naked, her soft smooth places against the coarse hair of his legs, his chest, sparking fire along his nerve endings every place that they touched.

Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he slammed a hand against the glass beside her head, gritting his teeth to keep from coming at that first demanding touch. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to his as she explored the length of him, her clever fingers lingering over the piercing at his tip.

“Tell me what you want, Sabrina,” he demanded.

“I want you inside me.”

“You want me to fuck you,” he clarified, rocking into her fist. She nodded.

He dropped his hand from her chin and stepped out of her grip, reaching for the wallet in his pants pocket and retrieving a condom. He held her gaze as he slid the latex over his shaft, her wide-eyed anticipation tangling with that fiery knot in his chest and growing into something bigger, something more urgent, something he’d never felt before.

He hooked one of her legs over his hip and captured her nipple between her teeth, tugging gently until she melted back against the glass behind her. Lifting his mouth back to hers, he lined himself up with her entrance, pressing against her.

“You want me to fuck you here, baby? Like this? Where anyone out on the bay tonight could look up at this window and see what a good wife you are?” She sucked in a shocked breath, but her hips rocketed forward and he slid inside her—not all the way, but enough for them both to groan in relief. “Fuck, you’re tight like this.”

He dropped one hand between them, stroking her clit in those rough little circles she liked until she relaxed around him and he could push another inch inside.

“Sebastian,” she whined, watching the place where he disappeared inside her in disbelief.

“You can take it.” As if to prove his point, he pushed forward again, her gasp setting off a riot of warmth blossoming in his chest. “I’m going to make it so good for you,” he promised, pressing his forehead to hers as he slid the rest of the way into the hot clutch of her.

“I know you will,” she said.

And fuck if that trust didn’t lash against his skin, stinging and sharp, and yet he wanted more despite the burn. He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in, her surprised inhale urging him on to do it again and again, tilting his hips until he was sure his piercing teased at the right spot. Her hands were everywhere—in his hair and scraping over his back, digging into his ass and pulling him into her over and over, and still he wanted to be closer, to slow down and feel each slide of his skin over hers, each spark along his nerves, to speed up and lose himself in the inexorable rhythm of their coupling.

“Why?” he whispered against her lips. He wasn’t sure what exactly he meant— why are you letting me be with you like this? Why did you come back? Why didn’t I know it could be like this, why didn’t you find me sooner, why do you have to go? Why does it feel like I’m being unmade and remade all at once?

She laced her fingers with his and guided his hand from where it had been toying with her nipple to press against the tattoo on her side, their fingertips brushing the bottom curve of her breast. As she held his palm to the ink on her skin, she stared into his eyes, as though inviting him to read the answers there if only he would look hard enough. But all he saw were more questions—his own mingling with hers and tangling into this knot of doubt that urged him to fuck her harder, faster, to race against that distant ticking clock taunting them.

She cried out his name as she came, her inner walls clutching at him with each frantic thrust until he joined her with a roar, the pleasure racing down his spine and tearing him open. It was too good, too bright. His cock jolted within her, and he tried to get closer, deeper, to fuse himself with her in ways he didn’t understand. He wanted to keep her like this—face frozen in pleasure, his name on her lips, her body pulling him in—until they both forgot all about anything other than this, this perfect moment, this pure bliss where there was no time and she was his.

As the pleasure receded, she dropped her forehead to his chest, the aftershocks of her orgasm fluttering around his softening cock. He dropped a kiss to the sweaty mess of her hair, then reluctantly pulled away to dispose of the condom. He returned to the living room to find her exactly as he’d left her, slumped against the glass with a hazy look on her face that mimicked the tentative satisfaction in his own chest.

He took her hand and led her to his bedroom, leaving their clothing scattered about the living room. He tucked her into his bed and pulled her into his arms as if he could calm the panic clawing up his throat if he held her tight enough. And if, half-awake in the night, he slid into her from behind and held her against his chest so he could feel her shake in his arms when she came, if he slept tangled between her legs with his lips pressed to her tattoo, it was only to calm that restlessness he still didn’t understand.