Page 76 of Late Harvest

“I, uh,” Remy’s cheeks flushed, frustrated that she could barely form a sentence. “Thanks. Yes. I’d appreciate it.” She turned, giving him her back.

The room was silent, and for long, torturous moments, Bash didn’t move. Remy’s breath was almost stalling in her chest. Eventually, she sensed rather than heard him step closer, a faint hint of his spicy aftershave magically turning her nipples into hard buds under her dress, which had such sufficient built-in structure, she hadn’t needed a bra.

He fingered the delicate ties at the back of her waist. “I like these naughty little strings hanging down.” Sebastian’s voice was low and gravely, and Remy’s breasts ached for his touch.

“Th-thank you for the dress, Sebastian. I’ve never worn anything so stunning before.”

He eased the zipper down, one agonizing snick at a time. “A stunning dress for a stunning woman. I picked the closest shade of blue that matched your eyes. I’m obsessed with your eyes, Arabella. Even when you’re rolling them at me.”

Sebastian huffed a small laugh of amusement and Remy’s own lips tilted up. She did, in fact, roll her eyes a fair amount at him. But fondly. Mostly.

Then his words hit her. “You—you picked this out?” She fought for breath amidst a riot of emotions—desire. Fear. Awe at his care and his attention to her.

Happiness.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

What is the most romantic fruit?

A date.

—From Bash’s dad joke collection

Bash

“Idid indeed. And I’ve never seen a lovelier woman than my date tonight.”

He finished his ministrations on her zipper, pausing to drag a knuckle along the base of her spine. Arabella shivered and Bash could only pray she was as turned on as he was. He’d never considered an artfully slow unzipping such a potent form of foreplay, but the steel in his pants was clear affirmation.

All night, he’d fantasized about taking that bewitching, elegant dress off his bewitching, elegant woman. Bash would follow Arabella’s cues on her readiness for any kind of physical intimacy, honoring her needs, and always mindful of her thorn-covered walls that he was slowly defoliating. But he was pretty sure he’d curl up in a ball and weep if she didn’t let him worship her body tonight. After whacking off in the bathroom, of course. Something he’d done with increased frequency since meeting his ice queen.

Clamping her dress against her with one arm, Arabella glanced at him over her shoulder, insecurity written all over a face that had come to mean everything to him. “What about that influencer woman you were with? Stanza? She’s gorgeous.”

He smirked. “Poet.”

“Oh, right. I knew it had something to do with freshman year English class.” His queen waved a dismissive hand. One he couldn’t help but notice trembled slightly.

Interesting.

Bash pressed a kiss to one exposed shoulder, then brushed his lips where that satiny shoulder met her neck. Was it weird that he wanted his teeth on that spot? Gently, reverently. But enough to mark her as his.

Inside his slacks, his neglected cock was positively howling for attention. He cleared his throat, mostly as a pause to pull himself together, and turned her gently to face him, careful not to dislodge her arm still grasping the fabric covering her chest.

“Poet was a feast for the eyes, but not for the soul. For a woman to be truly beautiful, the inside needs to be more gorgeous than anything makeup and plastic surgery could accomplish.”

Holy shit. As soon as the words left his mouth—left his heart—he knew them to be deeply true. Maybe that was the reason he’d only ever been in lust. Real love required texture, nuance. Depth.

“Oh,” Arabella breathed, her eyes lowering to his mouth before lifting again.

Heated sapphire eyes pinned to his, she slowly shifted her arm, the dress falling to the ground.

The breath whooshed from his chest. There stood his angel, his queen, regal and bared to him in a black lace thong and nothing else. Her breasts—smaller than he was accustomed to in his plastic world—were the perfect handful. Dusky rose nipples furled, and Bash’s mouth actually watered with the need to suck those luscious tips into hardened points. He flexed and released his hands, fighting the desire to pick her up and take her against the nearest wall.

No, not a hard fuck like that. His queen needed to be worshipped, thoroughly. And then fucked hard.

Bash dragged his gaze from her tempting body to the face that had quickly come to mean everything to him. Steady blue regarded him, not a hint of fear or uncertainty evident. She lifted her chin, eyes flashing with impatience.

“Are you just going to stand there, Sebastian Wheatley? Or are you going to touch me the way I’ve been aching for you to touch me all night?”