Page 17 of Hiss and Tell (Harmony Glen #2)

Chapter Sixteen

A spen

Milo’s been asleep for an hour, but I’m still lying here staring at the ceiling, replaying that kiss over and over. Sebastian’s hands on my face, the way his snakes moved like they were dancing, the heat of his mouth against mine. Those amazing otherworldly eyes.

My apartment feels too small, too quiet. Every time I close my eyes, I see the way he looked at me—like I was something precious, something worth protecting. When was the last time anyone looked at me like that?

Derek certainly never did. Even in the beginning, before everything went wrong, he looked at me like I was convenient. Available. A placeholder until something better came along.

But Sebastian… Sebastian looks at me like I’m the destination.

Rolling over, I press my face into the pillow and try to banish the thoughts that have been tormenting me since we said goodnight. Thoughts about how hard his body was beneath my fingertips. About the way his voice drops to that gravelly whisper when he’s trying to control himself.

About what it would feel like to have those hands everywhere.

Stop it, I tell myself. You can’t have this. You can’t risk it.

But my body doesn’t care about logic. Heat pools low in my belly as I imagine Sebastian’s mouth on my throat, his snakes brushing against my skin like living silk.

In my fantasy, there’s no medical condition, no careful conversations about transmission rates and medications.

There’s just want and need and the freedom to take what we both crave.

My hand slides down my stomach almost without my permission, slipping beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts.

I’m already wet, already aching from that kiss, from the memory of his hands on my waist and his mouth claiming mine.

When I touch myself, it’s Sebastian’s name that falls from my lips in a broken whisper.

“Sebastian,” I gasp into the darkness, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as I imagine his massive hands on my body.

Those hands that can encircle my entire waist, that cradle children’s books with such gentle care, that could hold me down or lift me up with equal ease.

His snakes would wrap around my wrists like silken bondage, holding me still while he takes his time exploring every inch of my skin.

I picture him between my thighs, that beautiful mouth working magic on parts of me that ache for his touch. He’d use that careful, methodical attention he brings to everything he cares about, driving me slowly out of my mind with deliberate precision.

“Please,” I whisper to the empty room, my fingers working faster as the fantasy builds.

I imagine him rising over me, all that controlled power finally unleashed, his eyes dark with desire as he takes what’s his.

The thought of being claimed by Sebastian—truly, completely claimed—sends me arching off the bed.

I press my palm to my lips to muffle my cries as waves of pleasure crash over me, his name a broken, guttural sound against my fingers. When the aftershocks finally fade, I’m left breathless and shaking, more turned on than sated.

Because even my fantasies can’t compare to what it felt like to actually be in his arms.

When the aftershocks finally fade, I’m left breathless and shaking, more turned on than sated. Because even my fantasies can’t compare to what it felt like to actually be in his arms, to taste his desire, to feel the barely leashed power in his touch.

The prescription bottle on my nightstand seems to mock me in the moonlight. All that pleasure, all that want, and I still can’t have what I crave most.

Because no matter how much I want Sebastian Fangborn, no matter how perfect he seems, I know how this story ends. It always ends the same way—with me alone, protecting others from something I can’t control, something I’ll carry forever.

Some fairy tales don’t have happy endings. And some monsters are the ones we create for ourselves.