Sebastian
I never bring women here.
This house is mine. My fortress, my sanctuary, my throne. It isn’t a playground for forgettable bodies and painted smiles. Those women stayed in penthouse suites, their perfume washed from my sheets before the sun rose.
But Caitlyn walks across my marble floors barefoot, wearing my shirt, her hair still tangled from my hands, and all I feel is pride. Possession.
She belongs here.
I follow her slowly, watching the way she trails her fingers along the smooth banister, the way her gaze flicks to every detail as though cataloguing it for later.
Of course she does. Her mind is a scientist’s, hungry, logical, restless.
She doesn’t move like the women I usually see at parties, gliding with calculated grace.
She moves like she’s actually here, present, unpretending.
That was what caught me at the masquerade.
I’d gone out of boredom, truth be told. Another annual ball where men in masks toast to their empires and measure their dicks in wealth and violence. Women lined up like ornaments, polished, rehearsed, empty. I was already half-drunk on vodka and disinterest when she appeared.
I saw her before I touched her. Standing near the orchids, her mask slightly askew, her shoulders tense with nerves. She wasn’t there for us. She wasn’t performing.
And every man in that room noticed.
I saw the way Anton’s eyes lingered. The way Dragunov leaned toward his men and muttered in Russian, the word devushka curling with hunger. Predators, all of them, scenting something new.
I wanted to kill them for looking.
Instead, I claimed her first.
And now she’s here, in my home, still too innocent to realize how dangerous last night really was.
She pauses in front of a painting, oil on canvas, abstract streaks of black and red. “This feels… violent,” she murmurs.
“It is,” I say simply, stepping behind her, sliding my hands onto her hips. “But so is life.”
She shivers, leaning back into me, her scientist’s curiosity and her body’s instinct warring. I lower my mouth to her ear. “You’re safe here. With me.”
Her breath hitches. She believes me. Good.
I guide her upstairs, into the master suite. The room is stark, clean lines, dark wood, white sheets. No softness, no clutter. She hesitates at the threshold.
“You really live like this?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“It feels… empty.”
“Not anymore.” I close the door behind us.
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. She sets her bag down by the window and turns to me, her eyes bright, searching. “Do you ever regret it?”
“What?”
“The masquerade. The world it represents.” She bites her lip, nervous. “It was beautiful, but underneath… it felt dangerous. Scary. Do you ever wish you could step out of it?”
I study her. Honest questions, from an honest woman. No games. No posturing.
“No,” I answer finally. “Because men like me don’t get to step out. But I can choose what I keep safe inside it.”
My hand cups her jaw, tilting her face up. “And that’s you now.”
Her lips part on a trembling inhale. I kiss her before she can argue, hard and claiming, lifting her against me until her legs lock around my waist. She gasps into my mouth, her hands clutching my shoulders.
The kiss is fire and promise, a reminder of last night and a warning of what’s to come. I carry her to the bed, laying her down gently, though my hunger roars.
“Sebastian…” Her voice is soft, uncertain.
“Yes, little botanist?”
“Last night—” She swallows, cheeks flushing. “I don’t usually… I mean, I’ve never—”
“I know.” My thumb strokes her lip. “That’s why it matters. Because it wasn’t just last night. It’s every night from now on.”
Her eyes widen, but her body arches into mine, betraying her logic again. I smirk, pressing a kiss to her throat, biting gently until she gasps.
“You’re mine,” I growl against her skin. “And the men who saw you at the masquerade? They’ll all learn that soon enough.”
She shivers, her breath catching. “What if they don’t accept it?”
“Then they die.”
The blunt truth makes her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. She searches my face, as though weighing whether I mean it.
I do.
I kiss her again, slow this time, pouring every ounce of possession into the press of my mouth. She melts beneath me, and I know. She may not understand my world, but she understands me.
And she won’t leave it again.