BTPR Excerpt

Avery

“Oh God, Callan,” I whimper, muscles clenching. I’m so close, that bittersweet euphoria waiting just beyond the edge of the cliff I want to fall over. 

But then, I freeze when I hear the sound of footsteps. I turn my head slowly and, leaning against the doorframe like he owns the place, is Sebastian. 

His eyes are dark and dilated as they devour me, the dim light from the bathroom making his silhouette look more sinister. My gaze drinks him in, still half asleep and drunk on lust. I can’t miss the way his hands flex as if he is trying to maintain control, his nostrils flaring in an emotion I can’t read. His chest is bare, aside from the black ink tattooed across it. But most impressive is the bulge pressing against his joggers that tells me exactly how long he’s been watching.

My breath catches. “Get out,” I whisper, but even I can hear the tremble in my voice. 

He doesn’t move or speak. He just drinks me in like I’m something filthy and sacred all at once. I watch him lick his bottom lip as if he were begging for a taste, just how I imagined Callan looking at me just a minute ago.

Heat floods my cheeks and my limbs go rigid. Maybe if I play it cool and pretend I was only napping, I can salvage this.

I shift onto my side, tugging the blanket higher. “You watching me sleep now?” I mumble, hoping I can use sarcasm as a shield. “That’s not creepy or anything.”

He doesn’t take the bait, just leans a shoulder against the frame, jaw ticking. “You talk in your sleep.”

I scoff. “I do not.” Turning in the bed, I try to hide my damp fingers as I look at him.

“You did just now,” he says, tone raspy. “You said his name.”

I freeze.

My throat tightens. I don’t have to ask whose name because I already know. 

“Of course I did,” I snap defensively. “This is his bed and I’m wearing his fucking hoodie. His scent is still on the pillow. It’s only natural I’d talk about him in my sleep.”

“You weren’t sleeping.” He grins, biting that lip my gaze was fixed on just a second ago.

“Was so.”

Sebastian steps into the room and kicks the door shut with his heel. The click of the latch sounds louder than it should.

My heart jumps while his expression hardens. There’s something behind his gaze, jealousy maybe? 

I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet with me. “What do you want, Sebastian?”

His breaths are short, eyes dropping to where the sheets are twisted around my legs. They linger far too long and I shift under the weight of his stare. The heat between my legs roars back to life as if his presence alone fuels the desire I didn’t get to finish.

His eyes flick up, locking on mine. Something in them smolders, like he walked in and caught the end of my undoing and now he wants to pick up where I left off. And fuck me, maybe I want him to. 

My mind is still half asleep, half with him. I’m probably not thinking clearly, and right now I’m not sure I want to. Is it awful that I want him right now, that I want him to make me forget and feel good just like he did in the woods? 

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he says as he comes closer and closer. “That’s not like you.”

I gulp, clutching the sheet tighter. “I have a lot on my mind.” 

“Yeah?” He takes a step closer, thighs touching the bed right beside me now. “Like Callan?”

I flinch. “Don’t go there.”

“Why not?” He trails a finger down my heated cheek. “You’re living in his room, sleeping in his bed and masturbating to his memory.”

My breath hitches and I pull away from his touch. “Fuck you.”

“No need,” he says, voice dark and steady. “Looks like you’re already doing that to yourself.”

He’s so close now I can smell him and his scent twists my insides. Even when we were out in the woods, when I was terrified and confused and covered in dirt, his scent made me feel calmer, safe. Even if Sebastian is the furthest thing from safe there is. 

“Did you come in here to start a fight?” I bite, lifting my chin. “Because if so, congratulations. You win.”

He leans down, one hand planting firmly on the bed beside me. “I didn’t come to fight, Little Lamb. You’re the one always looking for a battle.”

“Don’t call me that,” I whisper, not strong enough to speak louder because his presence causes that ache I was chasing to build.

“Why not. Afraid you’ll start to like it?”