Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance: Chapter 25

AFTER DINNER, I have every intention of locking myself in Izzy’s room for the evening. Sebastian left a tray of baked ziti in the fridge; I had some standing at the counter, barely waiting for it to cool down before attacking it.

Then I dragged myself upstairs, allowed exactly fifteen minutes for mindless scrolling through Instagram, and sat down with my highlighters and pens. For the past three hours, I’ve been annotating papers for tomorrow’s roundtable with Professor Santoro and the rest of the team. Alice reminded me several times today to make sure I had something useful to contribute. I just told her to focus on her own analysis, which I’m sure didn’t win me any points with her.

Yet the moment I notice headlights in the driveway, I set down my highlighter. I didn’t lie to Izzy when we last spoke. We’re not dating. But that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of Sebastian whenever he’s nearby. I still have an article and a half to slog through, and maybe if I don’t see him right now, I’ll manage to keep my hands to myself, but despite those very rational thoughts running through my mind, I find myself hurrying down the stairs.

I get to the last step as he opens the door.

Part of me—a bigger part than I care to think about—wants to jump into his arms. I manage to restrain myself, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands instead. For half a beat, we just smile at each other. I feel, absurdly, like some housewife in an old movie.

“Seb—”

He presses me against the front door, using the force to shut it, and kisses the breath out of me. He tastes of lip balm and sweat. The evening air still clings to his skin, slightly cool and fresh. He works my hair out of its bun, tugging on a fistful as he nips my bottom lip.

Kissing Sebastian makes me . Not for food, or for breath, or even just for him. My soul expands, yearning for something on the horizon. Something I can taste in his kiss, feel in his hands, and sense in the air like a mirage.

He makes a low noise as he breaks away; when he leans in again, I yank him close by the collar, licking a line down his throat before finding his lips once more. I only release him when my lungs burn for air, and even then, I reach out, lacing my fingers through his.

I used to hate kissing, but something changed when he pressed his lips to mine for the first time. It was a bitterly cold January day, and my gloves fell in a puddle outside the library, and my phone was full of texts from him, and when he smiled at me in the stacks, I couldn’t help it, something inside me snapped, and I dragged him to the nearest private space—an old seminar room hidden on the fifth floor of the library. It was quiet and two degrees too warm, and I felt the hunger in both of us, satiated a little more with each kiss.

Now, he squeezes my fingers as he smirks at me. “Nice to see you too.”

I straighten, tossing my hair over my shoulder. The urge to pull him into another kiss is nearly overwhelming, but I stay rooted in place. “I’m sure you’re starving.”

The look he gives me makes me feel naked, even though I’m in a sweatshirt and leggings. “I could eat.”

I manage what I hope is an appropriately stern expression, even as my stomach does a somersault. I don’t think he showered before coming home, and the thought of tangling with him while I can taste the salt on his skin makes me shiver. “The pasta you made.”

He pretends to think it over. “Nah. I’m starting with dessert.”

He scoops me into his arms and starts up the stairs.

“Sebastian!” I twist in his grip, or try to, at least; he’s too strong. When I pinch him, he just grins.

“Mia,” he repeats, an amused note in his voice. “You can’t greet me looking like this and not expect consequences.”

He sets me on my feet in front of his bedroom door. I gesture down at myself. “You have eyes, right? Should we go get them checked?”

“You’re always beautiful,” he says.

A blush erupts on my face, strong enough I have no choice but to hide it with a kiss. He makes an approving noise, backing me into his room as he nips at my lip. His hands tug at my sweatshirt; I pull it over my head and let it fall to the floor. I shove down my leggings as he sheds his own clothes, chucking them in the hamper’s direction. I find my way into his arms once more. Heat sparks low in my belly at the brush of his hands on my hips. When we kiss, it’s less frenetic than before, more exploratory.

Still, he pushes me onto his bed. I bounce once, sitting up on my elbows to admire him. I wonder if kissing me makes him feel the same things I do. When he looks at me, does he feel that same rich, unending hunger?

By the dark promise in his eyes, I think he does.

“Lie back, sweetheart.”

I do as I’m told, swallowing hard as I look at the ceiling. I set this in motion the moment I walked out of Izzy’s bedroom. If I was serious about staying away, I would create boundaries.

I need to try better.

Just… not tonight.

He cages me underneath him, kissing me as a hand runs down my side. It settles on my thigh, curling possessively as his thumb rubs at the soft inner skin. I think he says something, but I can’t focus on that, not when he’s suddenly so close to touching my core.

The anticipation of contact makes my toes curl; I can feel my arousal, which kicked up the moment we kissed, deepening.

He swipes his tongue over mine. I dig my nails into his back, bringing my legs up to hug his hips. He presses another bruising kiss to my lips before starting down my neck and chest. He kisses all the way to my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth while pinching the other. I arch my back, hoping for more contact, but he just mouths down my stomach instead.

“Sebastian,” I can’t help but whine. “Don’t tease.”

“Couldn’t hold back even if I wanted,” he says against my skin. He spreads my legs and settles between them. I’m trembling now, aching for contact. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of my sex. I tug at his hair sharply, and he just huffs out a laugh. Bastard.

“Easy,” he says.

“I’m not a horse.”

He laughs harder, which makes me snort. “I’m serious.”

He looks up at me. “So am I, Mia Angel.”

Damn him. He always knows the right moment to break out that phrase. I dig the heel of my foot into his back for punishment. “I thought you promised no teasing.”

“I did, didn’t I?” he murmurs.

Then he licks a long stripe down my folds.

I let out a strangled noise, my stomach clenching. I feel his laughter rather than hear it, but it feels too good to retaliate. He knows all the right places to turn me into a trembling mess, even as he avoids my clit. I bite down on my tongue, so I won’t do something embarrassing like beg him to suck it. He knows it’s what I need, and even if he said no teasing, he’s teasing at least a .

Well, screw that. I’m not going to give in.

He fucks me with his tongue as he strokes me with his fingers, deliberately avoiding that little bundle of nerves. I lift my hips, trying to force contact, but he doesn’t give in. I’m soaked, but even though my stomach is in knots, I won’t come without that little extra push.

“I have a present for you,” he says against my inner thigh.

I run my hand through his hair. “Again?”

“I think you’ll want this one.” He sucks on my sensitive skin, then bites down. I gasp softly. “Took me a while to find it, but it finally arrived.”

“You have to stop buying me presents.”

He grins up at me. “Nah, no way. Want it now, or after you come on my face?”

“

.”

“Stay still for me,” he says as he slips off the bed.

I nearly whine again at the loss of his warmth. “I hate you.”

My heart pounds with the lie. I’m the furthest thing from hate, or dislike, or even indifference. I haven’t been indifferent to Sebastian since the moment we met outside the movie theater.

He settles back with a bag in hand. “Such a little liar.”

He sounds smug enough that I circle my clit with my finger. “Maybe I’ll just get myself off.”

He grabs my wrist, holding my hand in place. Even though he raises a single eyebrow—cool, collected—I sense the possessive heat simmering underneath.

He might be trying to push my buttons, but I know his too.

“You wouldn’t,” he says.

I curve my lips into a pout. “Watch me.”

“Tempting thought,” he says, “but not today. Open the bag.”

I already recognize it—it’s the velvet pouch that Lucinda came in. Like the boots and the jacket—and even the lunches—I pause, my heart rate kicking into high gear. I think he’d be a thoughtful person to anyone in his life, but it still took effort to remember what I like. Even though I keep telling him not to buy me gifts, I don’t actually want him to stop.

I pull out the toy. It’s even the same purple shade that I had before. My cunt clenches at the thought of that friction exactly where I need it. He presses the button for me, and it comes to life in my hand.

“Show me your favorite setting,” he says. He reaches down, stroking his cock. I stare unabashedly; he’s fully hard, thick and no doubt aching like I am. “Show me, so I know how to take care of you, angel.”