Chapter 15
Mia
Istare at Sebastian's face, at the hard angles softened by vulnerability, and something shifts inside my chest. It would be so easy to fall into him completely, to let his confession wash away all the hurt.
But beneath the heat still coursing through my veins, the memory of public humiliation burns almost as hot as his touch.
Placing my palms against his chest, I push him back, creating just enough space between us for my head to clear.
The alcohol buzz from earlier is fading, replaced by a different kind of intoxication—one made of Sebastian's cologne, his taste still lingering on my lips, and the heat of his body so close to mine.
"A few kisses and pretty words won't make up for the way you treated me," I tell him, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You can't just—"
Sebastian leans in, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below my ear and my protest dies in my throat, replaced by a soft gasp that would mortify me if I had any pride left.
"I know," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. Each word punctuated by another kiss, trailing down the column of my throat. "And I'm planning on making it up to you."
His voice has dropped to that rough, husky tone that bypasses my brain entirely and shoots straight between my thighs.
I should push him away again. Should demand actual answers instead of letting his mouth distract me from a week of professional torture.
But my body is a traitor, responding to his touch like he's been nothing but gentle with me.
"Sebastian," I manage, though it comes out more plea than protest. "We need to talk about—"
"We will." His teeth graze my collarbone, and my head falls back against the brick wall with a thud I barely register. "I promise we'll talk about everything."
His large hand slides up my outer thigh, pushing the fabric of my dress higher with each inch. His touch is deliberate, maddening in its slowness, as his fingers trace patterns on my skin but stopping just short of where I suddenly, desperately want them.
Then he kisses me again, harder this time, his tongue demanding entrance that I'm helpless to deny.
His body presses mine against the wall, a delicious contrast of sensations—the cold, rough brick against my back and shoulders, the solid heat of his chest against my breasts, and the unmistakable hardness of his erection against my hip.
I moan into his mouth, unable to stop myself. My hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and I drink him in like I'm dying of thirst.
His hand continues its torturous journey up my thigh, thumb tracing the sensitive skin of my inner leg but never venturing where I need him most. I arch against him, a wordless plea for more contact, more pressure, more freaking anything.
When Sebastian breaks the kiss, his breathing is as ragged as mine. "You have no idea how often I've thought about this," he whispers against my ear. "How many nights I've lain awake imagining you spread out beneath me, those wild curls on my pillow, your legs wrapped around my waist."
His confession shoots another bolt liquid heat. The image he's painting is too vivid, too close to my own secret fantasies of him.
"I've wanted to taste every inch of you," he continues, voice dropping even lower as his hand slides higher, fingers now tracing the lace edge of my panties. "Wanted to feel you come apart under my tongue, hear you scream my name when I finally let you come."
My breath hitches, catching on a moan I can't quite suppress. His words are filthy, explicit in a way I never imagined coming from Sebastian's perfectly controlled mouth. It's a revelation, this side of him.
"Would you like that, Mia?" His lips brush against the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Would you like me to drop to my knees right here and put my mouth on you? To show you exactly how sorry I am with my tongue?"
"Holy fuck, yes," I breathe before I can stop myself.
He chuckles, a dark sound that makes my insides clench with want.
"Not here," he says, fingers still teasing along the edge of my underwear without dipping beneath.
"When I finally taste you, it won't be in some filthy alley.
It'll be somewhere I can take my time. Hours, Mia.
I plan to spend hours learning exactly what makes you fall apart. "
I whimper, beyond caring how desperate I sound. My body is trembling with need, every nerve ending firing at once. I press my thighs together, seeking some relief from the ache building there, but Sebastian's knee slides between my legs, keeping me open and vulnerable to his touch.
"Please," I whisper, hardly recognizing my own voice. "Sebastian, please."
His eyes darken at my plea, satisfaction flashing across his features. "Please what, Mia? Tell me what you want."
"Touch me." I’m well aware I’m begging but I one-hundred percent past the point of pride or pretense. "I need you to touch me."
His fingers trace higher, ghosting over the damp fabric covering me, but never applying the pressure I'm desperate for. Just the barest hint of contact, enough to make me gasp but not enough to give any satisfaction.
"Like this?" he asks, voice deceptively innocent as his fingers slide back down to my thigh, abandoning the place I need them most.
I make a frustrated noise, somewhere between a growl and a whine. My hips chase his touch, seeking friction that isn't there. I'm wet—embarrassingly so—and I know he can feel it through the thin fabric of my underwear.
"You're cruel," I pant, the accusation lacking any real heat when I'm practically writhing against him.
"No," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to cup my face with surprising tenderness. "I'm patient. There's a difference." His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "And you, Mia, deserve patience. Deserve to be worshipped properly, not rushed against a wall like we're teenagers."
The contrast between his words and actions—between the gentle touch on my face and the deliberate, maddening teasing between my legs—is driving me insane. I'm caught between wanting to slap him and wanting to beg him never to stop.
"What if I want to be rushed?" I challenge, my voice breathier than I'd like. "What if I've spent the last week thinking about you fucking me against a wall?"
His control slips, just for a second—a flash of raw hunger that makes my heart skip—before his expression settles back into that predatory intensity. His hand slides back up my thigh, this time with more purpose, and I gasp in anticipation.
Just as his fingers slide beneath the edge of my underwear, Sebastian abruptly steps back.
The sudden loss of his heat against me is like a bucket of ice water, shocking my system.
I stumble slightly, my back still pressed against the brick wall, lungs struggling to remember how breathing works.
For a moment, I think I've imagined the whole encounter.
That my Sebastian-obsessed brain has finally snapped and created this elaborate fantasy, but the throb between my legs is too real, too insistent to be anything but the result of his deliberate torture.
"What—" I start, but the word comes out as more of a gasp than a question. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze of lust from my mind.
The bastard actually takes another step away from me, putting enough distance between us that I can no longer feel the heat radiating from him.
His eyes travel slowly down my body, taking in my disheveled state with an intensity that makes me simultaneously want to cover myself and strip completely naked for him.
I follow his gaze, suddenly aware of how I must look.
My dress is hiked up almost to my waist, revealing my emerald lace underwear.
My chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, breasts straining against the thin fabric that's somehow shifted to reveal more cleavage than I intended to show tonight.
I look thoroughly ravished. And he's just... standing there. Watching me.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demand, my voice breathless and incredulous as I tug my dress back down to a semi-respectable length. "Are you just going to tease me and then walk away?"
Is this just another mind game? Build me up only to cut me down? My body still hums with unfulfilled desire, nerves endings screaming for his touch to return, but a seed of anger starts to bloom beneath the want.
Sebastian's expression shifts, something darker and more predatory settling over his features. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowed slightly as they lock onto mine. He doesn't speak immediately, just studies me with that intensity that somehow manages to be both hard and hungry at the same time.
When he finally answers, his voice is lower than I've ever heard it. "No."
One word. Just one. But delivered with such conviction that it sends a fresh wave of heat between my thighs.
He takes a step toward me, then stops himself, hands flexing at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from touching me again. "I'll ruin you slowly," he continues, each word deliberate and precise. "That's how this goes."
My breath catches in my throat. "How what goes?"
"Us." His eyes never leave mine. "You and me, Mia. This thing between us that I've been fighting since the moment you walked into my department."
A small, rational part of my brain tries to remind me of all the reasons this is a terrible idea—he's my boss, he's been treating me like dirt, this could destroy my career—but that voice is getting fainter by the second, drowned out by the thundering of my pulse and the ache between my legs.