Page 53 of The Sun & Her Burn (Impossible Universe Trilogy #2)
Linnea herself was set up just down the hall from my room in a guest room that I realized was woefully generic until it was cluttered with boxes of her belongings and swathes of cloth she used to make her colorful dresses and, apparently, scraps of lace and satin lingerie, the sight of which left my mouth dry.
I texted Chaucer to clear out one of the other bedrooms so Linnea could have her own design studio here, and then emailed my friend Jensen, who was the creative director at St Aubyn Fashion House, to see what kinds of equipment I needed to order for her.
Sebastian stayed with us for the most part, helping without complaint, flirting with Miranda, who inexplicably thought he was an old paramour named Clark, and teasing Linnea out of her anxiety about changing things so drastically for her mother.
He was a saint, and it only reminded me how much of a sinner I was.
How good these two beautiful humans were and how unworthy I was of their friendship.
I clung to my gratefulness that they were here, in my orbit, at least for now, and banished my own self-hatred to the attic to haunt me again some other time.
Bruce made dinner for the three of us, which we ate outside on the terrace under the pergola.
They both coaxed me into laughter, as if it were a game to see who could make me smile the most, but the worst part was the touching.
Sebastian’s hand squeezing my shoulder, Linnea’s grip on a little too high on my thigh, watching as Seb swept away a smear of tomato sauce from the lower corner of Linnea’s pouty lower lip.
By the time we had finished, I was so hard it hurt, and I knew if I didn’t get away from them, I would savage them both on the patio table, consequences be damned.
I thought a night of sleep would slake my thirst—and a furious session with my fist, a bottle of lube, and my vivid fantasies of them both—but I woke up with an erection that was almost purple it was so hard and aching.
Sebastian had gone home the night before, thank God, but Linnea was asleep under my roof and even running on the treadmill for an hour and then doing a ninety-minute weightlifting session did not diminish the restlessness in my limbs that compelled me to go to her.
So I spent the rest of the morning locked up in my office, taking meetings and checking in on my various business interests before things closed down for the weekend.
I also posted a donation link in my Picturegram account to a Frontotemporal Dementia charity and included a quote from Linnea’s speech to the media on her front lawn.
Mali texted me to say it was a brilliant idea and that the media were loving my defense of my girlfriend.
It made me grit my teeth because that was not the reason I did it, even though the entire reason I was even with Linnea was to boost my reputation.
I had a bloody brutal headache after that.
It was the Critics Choice Awards the next day, so I would be forced to spend time with Linnea then, but I was determined to take the day to dismantle the desire that had grown monstrous inside me after spending over twenty-four hours with her and Sebastian.
If I couldn’t get a grip on it, I told myself, by the end of the day, then I would go to the club and find relief that way.
It made me uneasy to think of touching anyone other than Sebastian and Linnea even though we weren’t exclusive or even together in a concrete way, but I figured directing a nonsexual scene would release some of the tension so I could get some sleep.
It was with that in mind that I finally ventured out of my office to grab water and something to eat for a late lunch.
I realized I was practically tiptoeing around my house, trying to avoid Linnea, and told myself to stop being such a prat.
The kitchen was empty, but the floor-to-ceiling accordion doors were open to the terrace, where I caught a glimpse of Linnea cutting through the pool on a brisk front crawl.
I dropped ice into a glass, poured some homemade lemonade, and let my feet take me closer to the edge of the room where I was half hidden by a pillar with a full view of the saltwater lap pool.
Linnea moved with the ease of a lifelong swimmer, cutting through the azure water with nary a splash. It was mesmerizing, the rhythm of it and the sight of her at home in my house.
So I didn’t realize she was getting out of the pool until it was happening, her bare shoulders emerging bronze and glistening, her golden hair slicked away from her striking features.
I forgot to breathe.
Even though I had kissed that luscious mouth and had my fingers in her tight, wet pussy, I had yet to see Linnea naked or anything like it. We had meant to go surfing together again, but time hadn’t permitted, so I hadn’t even witnessed her in a swimsuit until now.
The sight of her in the tiny yellow bikini should have been illegal.
I was hard so suddenly, it made my teeth ache.
Water sluiced down her caramelized skin and long, shapely limbs, gathering in the narrow gap between her heavy breasts and trickling in a line over her flat belly to the nearly transparent fabric of the small triangle covering her mound.
When she hit the deck, she turned to walk away from me toward a lounge chair covered in a towel and arrayed with a fashion magazine and cracked-open can of bubbly water.
It gave me an unmitigated view of her tight, round arse and the sway of her hips.
Jesus Christ, I was just a man and she? She was a bloody goddess.
I watched with my heart beating in my throat as she flopped to the chaise lounge, one leg on the tile and the other up on the cushions so that the ribbon of fabric between her legs was bared to me.
“Get it together, man,” I muttered to myself even though my feet were cemented to the floor, and I found myself reluctant to blink.
Just as I was gathering the strength to break away and retreat, swiftly, back to my office, Linnea’s hand swept from between her breasts to the top of her groin and played under the top of the fabric.
My mouth lost all moisture.
Her eyes closed as she lazily touched herself beneath the fabric, rolling fingers over her clit and down to her entrance.
I inched forward until I was leaning against the pillar. If she opened her eyes, she would see me, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
She groaned, a sound tinged with frustration, and moved her long, nimble fingers to the ties at her waist, undoing them so that her bottoms fell away to reveal her bare pussy, glistening wetly under the sun.
I rolled my forehead against the cool pillar and groaned softly under my breath.
My God, how was I supposed to resist the temptation?
Linnea arched her back as she dipped a finger inside herself, and the unraveling thread of my control finally snapped.
I stalked out from my hiding spot toward where she lay.
Her eyes opened slowly, completely unsurprised by my appearance.
I wondered if she had known all along I was watching, the little minx, and decided I didn’t care. If she wanted to goad me, I would show her just how dangerous a game I liked to play.
I sat on the lounge chair across from her with my forearms braced on my thighs, my glass dangling between my legs, and I studied her.
A flush spilled from her cheeks down her throat to her chest, even her nipples pinked.
“Just what,” I asked in a low, sinuous growl, “do you think you are doing, Linnea Kai?”
“Thinking about you,” she said seamlessly, her legs working restlessly as she dragged a finger over her clit.
“Were you?” I murmured.
She nodded, trapping her lower lip between her teeth before saying, “And Sebastian.”
“Ah,” I crooned, completely lost to the heathen side of myself as if I had been possessed by another spirit, one that did not care about legal obligations or emotional consequences. Only about sex and sin. “And what were we doing in these fantasies?”
“Touching me. Touching each other,” she breathed, her lids so heavy I could barely see through her lashes to the violet centers.
“Show me how we were touching you,” I told her, sinking into that cool, calm place where everything felt under my control. “I want to watch you touch yourself while you tell me how Seb and I would please you.”
A small sound like a truncated whimper escaped her parted lips as she cupped both of her breasts through her wet bikini top, her nipples clearly defined beneath the thin fabric.
“You both have big hands,” she rasped. “Whenever I look at them, I wonder what they would feel like on my breasts and tweaking my nipples.”
“Pinch them,” I ordered her, leaning back on my hands in the seat as if I had all the time in the world to impassively watch her perform for me. “Harder.”
She gasped as she obeyed me, her back arching slightly off the chaise.
“Pull the fabric aside.”
Her fingers fumbled in their haste to do so, pulling the wet material to the outside of each breast so they were plumped together and framed by the yellow fabric.
My mouth watered, and I had to flex my hands around my glass and the edge of the chair to keep from touching her. Restraining both of us, though, was half the fun.
“So pretty,” I praised, watching as the flush on her chest deepened. “What do you suppose Sebastian would say if he could see you now? Touching yourself while you thought about him.”
She licked her lips. “I think he would come over and offer to touch me himself.”
“Do you?” I drawled.
“Yes,” she said defiantly. Even as she continued to writhe, she pulled and pinched at her reddening nipples. “He would, even if you won’t.”