Chapter Ten #2
He started steering us away, and I let my hand drift over his back until my thumb slipped into his belt loop. I resisted the urge to look back.
There was a certain magic to slow reggaeton tracks.
Sultry as fuck, all bass and heat, Spanish lyrics rolling low and heavy through the speakers.
In a room thick with strobing lights and sweat, they hit even harder.
They made everything feel more vivid—every brush of skin, every sway of hips—an invitation to get away with touches you wouldn’t dare anywhere else.
Perfect for right now. Perfect for the way Henry had his hands on me, guiding me into something almost obscene, both of us milking the rhythm for everything it could give.
For him, it was performance. Showing off for the person watching him across the room—the one he actually wanted but couldn’t walk up to.
For me, it was the same game, except I didn’t want Sebastian to just watch. I wanted him to crave. I wanted him to burn at the sight of me in someone else’s arms. I wanted that careful control he kept around me to finally fracture. I wanted to be the spark that made him snap.
Henry slid his hands from my hips to push his hair back, sweat plastering it to his forehead. I reached up and did it for him, dragging my fingers through the strands, slow enough to sell the moment.
He arched a brow, hands returning to my hips as he leaned into my ear. “Are you up to something?”
My smile didn’t budge. “What?”
“You’re being excessively affectionate, and it’s starting to make me uncomfy—and you know it takes a lot to do that.”
“Luca called me desperate.”
Henry hissed. “And he’s still alive?”
I shrugged. “I figured I’d show him what a desperate man really looks like.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “Oh, bad Ethan. You’re using me to make Ash jealous? Why am I getting dragged into this? I’m having a happy day.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Henry grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the edge of the dance floor—still in Sebastian’s line of sight, but out of the crush of bodies and sweat.
He scanned the room, then looked back at me. “He looks like he wants to murder me.”
I snorted at the flat look he gave me. “Sorry. That’s enough for tonight.”
Henry sighed. “You owe me one.”
I tugged on his shirt to bring his attention back. “What do you mean, a happy day?”
His lips curved—not tense. Just soft. “I talked to my dad about everything. It was… a good talk.”
Warmth rushed through my chest. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” A small shrug. “I think I’m gonna try the therapy thing again. See if it sticks.”
“That’s a great idea, Henny.”
His eyes drifted to our table—to Mateo, obviously—before dropping to his feet. “I don’t want to keep missing out on everything anymore.”
When he looked back up, his eyes were a little red, and it hit me right in the gut. I threw my arms around his neck and yanked him into a hug.
Henry chuckled. “Come on, now. I don’t want to die right after I’ve had this epiphany.”
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I said, tightening my hold until his arms finally squeezed back. “You deserve everything in this world, okay? All the best things. They should all be yours.”
Henry sniffled, a wet little laugh escaping him. “God, you’re a sappy drunk.”
I loosened my hold and cupped his face. “I’m not drunk. I just love you and your stupid face.”
Henry’s eyes glistened. “I love you and your stupid face too.”
I pushed up and pressed a quick peck to his lips before hugging him again. “Want to go back?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I need the bathroom first.”
Henry raised a hand as we parted. I pushed my way to the bathroom, stood in line for what felt like forever—fucking clubs—and then headed back to the table.
I was halfway there when I spotted Sebastian walking away, shoulders tight, posture stiff. The magnetic pull between us dragged me after him, bypassing the VIP section entirely.
He was leaning against the end of a corridor, probably leading to the offices—Sebastian’s favorite kind of hiding spots. He looked serious, brows drawn and lips pressed into a thin line.
“What are you doing, stranger? Lurking in the back like a creep,” I teased.
His eyes flicked up to mine, then away. No humor. Just a low hum in response.
I smiled to myself. Look at him, all jealous. A sharp flicker of thrill shot down my spine—that dangerous, addictive lure that had always lived in the space between us.
Stepping into the corridor, I leaned back against the opposite wall, facing him. My tongue dragged over my lower lip, unable to help the grin tugging at them. “You mad at me?”
His jaw twitched.
It was hot back here, and I probably looked like a mess from dancing—hair pushed back, shirt open more than it should be. He, of course, looked great. Weatherproof, as always. Even the faint sheen on his neck somehow worked for him.
I tapped his shoe with mine. “Say something.”
Sebastian shook his head tightly, gaze still fixed anywhere but on me. “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”
“We’re friends.”
A dry, humorless laugh scraped out of him. “That didn’t feel very friendly.”
I pushed off the wall and took a step closer. “You know we’re just—”
But he’d reached his limit. “You know I try my best not to show any kind of affection,” he cut in, dark eyes finally locking on mine. “Not in front of you. I told you I would never do that to you.”
Something in his voice made my grin falter. “What are you talking about?”
“With Luca.”
My stomach dropped.
But he wasn’t done.
“I don’t do it because I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Because I fucking care about you.” He straightened, shoulders squaring, taking up more space—and I hated how much taller he looked. How small I felt.
And suddenly the heat between us felt different. Like a different brand of danger.
“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I said, the words coming out clipped. “You didn’t hurt my—”
“Well, you hurt mine!” Sebastian snapped.
I froze, lips parting.
Shit.
I hadn’t meant—
“Whatever happened to you not doing that to me?” His brows were low, voice shaking with anger—or something close to it. “To not doing it with my own fucking brother?”
“I’m not doing anything to you,” I said, softer now, attempting to slow down his spiral. “Henry and I are just friends, you know that.”
His expression hardened instead of easing. “Because you act like that with all your friends, do you?”
I gave him a small smile. “Ash, we were just dancing.”
It didn’t work.
“You dance with your friends like that? Touch like that?”
“Yeah—”
“Kiss like that?”
I blinked. “Kiss like…” My eyes widened as it hit. “That was a fucking peck.”
His chest rose unevenly. “You still kissed him.”
“This is ridiculous.” I shook my head, trying to rein it back in. “It was innocent. You know that. And you have a whole fucking boyfriend, and you’re giving me shit for kissing my friend—”
“My brother,” he corrected instantly.
“My friend,” I said, quieter but firm. “And we were having a moment. You’ve never done something like that?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on.”
He crowded into my space. “You knew that was going to hurt me.”
“No, I didn’t.” I stared up at him, refusing to step back. “That’s like thinking patting someone on the back is going to hurt your feelings.”
“You kissed him,” he insisted, but the words sounded less like anger and more like something breaking loose.
I exhaled slowly. “You’re acting like a kid having a tantrum.”
“Because you’re lying. You don’t kiss all your friends—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I fisted the collar of his shirt and yanked him down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “There, see? It’s just a—”
I didn’t finish.
Couldn’t.
Because his mouth met mine again, cutting off the argument entirely.
It was a short kiss. Soft.
But the shift in energy was seismic.
Neither of us moved. His gaze held mine, dark and impossibly intense, before dropping again. His breathing had changed—shuddering, shallow pulls, controlled like he was forcing it to stay that way.
And I could feel it—the need burning behind his eyes was a tangible thing.
I was free-falling off a fucking skyscraper. No air. No sense. Just him and my heartbeat thundering in my chest. His eyes lifted back to mine, and beneath the heat there was something fragile, almost unsteady. A question.
Can I?
Before I could think—before the consequences could even take shape in my head—I nodded. And then, in a movement more instinctive than breathing, our lips met again.
And again.
And again.
Each time we pulled back, we hovered—breath brushing breath—before falling in once more. Gentle, impossibly soft passes of his mouth over mine. His breath warming my lips. The faint scratch of his beard.
Because it was him.
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
I was kissing Sebastian Langley.
My brain finally lurched back online, sluggish and scrambling, fighting against the sensory overload to catch up to what my body already knew. This was real. Happening.
And then something snapped.
He must’ve registered that same reality at the same exact moment, because suddenly my back hit the wall, and he closed the space everywhere, his mouth stealing helpless pants from mine with every slow press, as if he couldn’t get enough air, enough contact, enough of me.
His tongue brushed the seam of my lips—tentative—and I all but surrendered, parting for him, letting him in, finally tasting him again.
Fucking whiskey.
Sweet and smoky, colliding with my own breath on my tongue. And the sound he made—low, wrecked—vibrated straight through my soul.
My body arched into his, hands sliding up to cup his face just to feel the solid rasp of his beard under my palms. I opened up for him once more, letting the kiss deepen, and his hands roamed—hot on my arms, my waist—pulling, urging.
One of my legs lifted instinctively, rubbing against the side of his thigh, and I rose onto my toes, chasing the contact.