Chapter 15 #2
"I'm not going to fuck you in an alley," Sebastian continues, his crude language a sharp contrast to his usual precise vocabulary.
"Not the first time. Not any time. When I finally have you, it's going to be in a bed.
My bed. Where I can take you apart piece by piece, where I can see every inch of you, where I can hear every sound you make when I'm inside you. "
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "What makes you think I'm going to let you do any of that after how you've treated me?"
His lips curve into a smile that's more predator than amusement.
"Because you want it as much as I do." He steps forward again, closing the distance between us in one fluid movement.
"Because despite everything, despite how much of an absolute bastard I've been, your body still responds to mine like it was made for me. "
Before I can form a coherent response, he surges forward and captures my mouth in a kiss that's nothing like the ones before.
This isn't exploration or even passion, it's possession.
He grips my hips, fingers digging into the flesh with enough pressure to leave marks, and, so help me, I hope they do.
I want physical evidence that this wasn't just another feverish dream.
His tongue claims my mouth with the same authority he commands in the hospital, and I surrender to it completely, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through his shirt.
The kiss is hard, demanding, leaving no doubt about his intentions.
I'm dizzy with want by the time he finally pulls back, both of us breathing like we've run a marathon.
Sebastian's eyes are nearly black now, pupils dilated so wide there's just a thin ring of brown around the edges. His hands stay on my hips for a moment longer, fingers flexing once, twice, before he forces himself to step back again.
"You're not allowed to go home and touch yourself," he says, his voice low and commanding.
I blink at him, certain I've misheard. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His eyes drift down my body again, lingering on where my dress is once more riding up my thighs. "No getting yourself off tonight. No fingers, no toys, nothing. That pleasure belongs to me now."
The audacity—the sheer arrogance of the statement—should infuriate me. Should have me delivering a scathing lecture about bodily autonomy and how he doesn't own me. Instead, it sends a jolt of heat so intense through my core that I have to press my thighs together to keep from whimpering.
"And if I do?" I challenge, lifting my chin despite the flush I can feel spreading across my cheeks.
His smile is slow, deliberate, and oh-so-dangerous.
"Then I'll know. And the consequences will make tonight's frustration seem like nothing.
" He reaches out, his thumb brushing across my lower lip in a touch so brief I might have imagined it.
"I want you desperate for me, Mia. Want you thinking about me every second until I see you again.
Want you wet and aching and knowing that only I can give you what you need. "
With that, he steps back completely, his hands dropping to his sides.
The loss of contact is physical pain, my body protesting the sudden abandonment.
I'm struck speechless, my mouth opening and closing without producing sound.
Did he just... forbid me from touching myself?
And did my body just respond with eager, traitorous enthusiasm to that command?
"You can't be serious," I finally manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.
"I've never been more serious about anything.
" Sebastian adjusts his shirt collar, the only sign that he's affected by what just happened between us.
Otherwise, he looks frustratingly composed while I'm still trembling against the brick wall.
"I'm dropping you at your place. My car is around the corner. "
"I can get my own ride," I protest, though it lacks conviction. The thought of being confined in a car with him, the scent of him surrounding me while my body is still humming with unresolved desire, is both terrifying and irresistible.
"That wasn't a question." He offers his hand, and I stare at it for a long moment, understanding that taking it means something. Means surrender to whatever game he's playing. Means acknowledging that whatever this is between us has shifted into something I can't control.
I take his hand.
The walk to his car is silent, my legs still unsteady beneath me.
The night air cools my heated skin but does nothing for the ache between my thighs.
Sebastian keeps me close, his hand at the small of my back, possessive in a way that should offend my feminist sensibilities but instead sends another pulse of want through me.
His car is sleek and black, of course. Expensive without being flashy. I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my bare legs. He closes my door with a decisive click that sounds like finality.
When he gets in, the space immediately feels smaller. His scent fills the confined area—sandalwood, a hint of whiskey, and something uniquely him.
He starts the engine, and the car purrs to life beneath us.
"I should be furious with you," I say after several blocks of charged silence. "After how you've treated me this week."
His jaw tightens, but his eyes remain fixed on the road. "Yes, you should."
"You were deliberately cruel."
"Yes." No excuses. No justifications. Just simple acknowledgment.
"And you're sorry?" I ask, needing to hear him say it again.
"More than I can express." His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "It was... a defense mechanism. I was trying to keep my distance."
I laugh without humor. "By being an absolute jerk?"
"By being what I thought I needed to be." He glances at me briefly, then back at the road. "Professional. Detached. Not thinking about how your voice makes my heart race or how I can't focus when you're in the room."
The confession sends warmth blooming in my chest. I turn to look out the window, watching the city lights blur past, afraid my expression might reveal too much.
"That's still not an excuse," I say, though my voice lacks the conviction I'd like.
"No, it's not," he agrees. "And I'll spend as long as it takes making it up to you."
The promise in his words makes my skin tingle. I shift in my seat, crossing my legs to alleviate some of the pressure still building between them. Sebastian notices, of course he notices, and his mouth curves into that infuriating half-smile.
"Having trouble sitting still, Dr. Phillips?"
"Don't," I warn, though there's no heat behind it. "Don't you dare gloat."
He has the audacity to chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep inside his chest. "I wouldn't dream of it."
We fall into silence again as he navigates through downtown toward my apartment.
The quiet between us feels charged, electric with possibilities and unspoken words.
I steal glances at his profile—the strong jaw now darkened with stubble, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates on driving, the fullness of his lower lip that was just on mine minutes ago.
When we pull up outside my building, I don't immediately move to get out. Neither does he.
"Come upstairs." The words escape before I can think better of them.
Sebastian's jaw tightens. "No."
The rejection stings more than it should. "No?"
"If I come upstairs right now," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that makes my insides melt, "I won't be able to keep my promise."
"Which promise is that?" I ask, genuinely confused.
His eyes meet mine, dark and intense. "The one about taking my time with you. About doing this right." His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, to where my dress has ridden up my thighs again. "If I follow you inside, I'll have you against the nearest wall within thirty seconds."
The thought of him taking me against a wall sends a fresh wave of heat through my body. "That doesn't sound like a problem to me," I whisper, leaning closer to him.
He closes his eyes briefly, his chest rising with a deep breath. When he looks at me again, there's something dangerous in his gaze that makes me shiver.
"Trust me, Mia, when I say you deserve better than a quick fuck against your hallway wall." His voice is rough, strained with the effort of restraint. "Though I promise you'll get that too, eventually."
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "So what happens now?"
"Now," he says, reaching across to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek, "you go upstairs. Alone. You take a very cold shower. And you think about all the things I'm going to do to you when the time is right."
"And when will that be?" I can't keep the frustration from my voice.
His mouth curves into that maddening half-smile. "Soon. But not tonight." He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. "Remember what I said. No touching yourself. That pleasure belongs to me now."
I pull back, meeting his eyes with defiance despite the heat pooling between my legs. "You don't own me, Sebastian."
"No," he agrees, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "But I will own your pleasure.”
With that, he gives me a quick kiss before leaning over me to open my door.
“Goodnight, Mia.”
There’s a strange sense of anticipation and giddiness flooding my veins as I step out of the car and watch him drive off.
I’m not sure what the heck I’ve gotten myself into but damn if I’m not excited to find out.