Chapter 11
As the blindfold falls away, light floods my vision, and I blink away the soft glow of the candles.
Colors bleed back into my world after hours of darkness, and Sebastian comes into focus, his breath held, muscles coiled tight as if preparing to flee. Raised ridges of scar tissue carve a path from his temple down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his expensive sweater.
Wariness flickers across his face as he waits for my reaction. “Now you see.”
My first instinct is to reach out, but when he flinches back, my hand freezes mid-air.
Instead of touching, I study him, taking in the full picture of the man who’s been hiding behind screens and blindfolds.
The scars pull at the corner of his left eye, dragging his features downward on that side.
But the flecks of gold in his clear, hazel gaze holds me captive.
My fingers hover inches from his face. “Can I touch you?”
Sebastian swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. “If you want to.”
With his permission granted, I close the distance, fingertips ghosting over the raised tissue. The texture surprises me, smoother than it appears, with valleys and ridges that form the landscape left by a horrific accident.
Sebastian flinches at first contact but doesn’t pull away.
I brush the slice through his eyebrow that could have left him blind. “What happened to you?”
“I was in a car accident when I was sixteen.” He searches my face for revulsion or pity.
My palm flattens on his cheek, cupping the scarred skin. “Does it still hurt?”
“No.” His eyelids flutter closed at my touch. “Not physically.”
But emotionally. How many people have seen his face and rejected him for these scars? My heart twists, and I reach for his hand, lifting it to flatten his palm over my sternum, letting him feel the steady, strong beat of my heart.
“See?” My lips curve into a small smile. “Not afraid. Not disgusted. Not pitying you.”
Sebastian’s shoulders drop, the first layer of tension melting away. His fingers curl, bunching the fabric of my robe. “You’re the first person who hasn’t…”
“Their loss,” I whisper, pulling him down to press my lips to the highest point of scarring near his temple. “These are marks of survival. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
A shuddering breath escapes him as his arms encircle my waist, pulling me flush to his body. The movement dislodges my poorly tied robe, which falls open, the lace of my lingerie meeting the soft fabric of his sweater.
Sebastian captures my mouth in a kiss that contains equal parts relief and hunger. His tongue slides over mine, more confident now, as if my acceptance has unleashed a desire long caged. Wine lingers on his lips, mingling with the salt of unexpected tears, his or mine, I can’t tell.
When we break for air, I tug at his sweater. “Too many clothes.”
A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he lifts his arms, allowing me to pull the garment over his head.
The scars continue down his torso, mapping a path of destruction across his left shoulder and upper arm.
But what catches my attention is the definition of muscle beneath his skin, the strength evident in his broad chest and flat abdomen.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, slipping the robe from my shoulders. It pools at our feet, leaving me in nothing but emerald lace.
Sebastian’s hands hover over my hips, seeking permission. I nod, and his fingers trace the edge of the lace where it cuts across my thigh. The touch sends electricity racing up my spine, and I step backward, leading him toward my bedroom without breaking eye contact.
The backs of my knees hit the mattress, and I sink down, pulling Sebastian with me until we lay face to face on the tangled sheets. His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my bottom lip.
“I’ve thought about this so long,” he confesses with a rumble. “Ever since I first saw you.”
Heat pools in my stomach at his words. “Show me what you’ve imagined.”
His mouth finds mine again as his weight shifts, pressing me into the mattress.
I arch into him, seeking friction, and he responds by trailing kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, and down my chest. His tongue traces patterns over my nipples through the lace, the dual sensation of wet heat and textured fabric pulling a moan from deep in my chest.
Sebastian continues his journey downward, mapping my body with his lips and tongue. When he reaches the waistband of my underwear, he glances up, seeking permission again. The sight of him between my legs, scars illuminated in the soft light, steals my breath away.
“Please,” I whisper, lifting my hips in invitation.
His fingers hook into the waistband, tugging the lace down my thighs and off. Cool air kisses my heated skin for only a moment before Sebastian’s mouth engulfs me. The wet heat around my dick sends sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, and my fingers tangle in his short hair.
“God, Sebastian,” I gasp, hips bucking.
His hands spread over my thighs, holding me in place as his tongue swirls around the head of my dick.
The gentle pressure of his palms grounds me, preventing me from thrusting too far into his mouth.
His technique speaks of experience, each movement calculated to drive me higher without pushing me over the edge, and a spark of jealousy fills me over his past partners.
His hand moves between my thighs, rolling my balls before moving farther back, and I moan as I spread my legs. “Yes. I want you inside me.”
The first finger breaches me slowly, my slick easing the way. Sebastian’s mouth never leaves my dick, creating a counterpoint of sensations that has me writhing on the sheets. By the time he adds a second finger, I’m panting, my body strung tight between the dual points of pleasure.
“So wet,” Sebastian murmurs, curling his fingers to stroke over my prostate.
The pressure sends a bolt of white-hot pleasure through me, and my back arches off the mattress. My fingers grip the sheets, knuckles turning white with the effort of holding back my release. Sebastian’s rhythm grows more insistent, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to push me higher.
“Sebastian, I’m close,” I warn, my toes curling.
He responds by taking me deeper into his throat while sliding a third finger inside me, stretching me further. The combined sensations overwhelm me, and my vision blurs at the edges as heat coils at the base of my spine.
Release crashes through me with an intensity that steals my breath. My body tenses, back arching as waves of pleasure radiate outward from my core. Sebastian works me through it, swallowing around my length, his fingers still moving inside me until the aftershocks fade into trembling sensitivity.
Then he straightens and uses his slick soaked fingers to stroke himself to completion, his eyes on me the entire time.
Afterward, he grabs tissues to wipe us clean. Then he climbs back up my body, kissing my sweat-dampened skin. When he reaches my face, I cup his cheeks, both the smooth and the scarred, and pull him into a deep kiss, tasting myself on his tongue.
In the quiet aftermath, with Sebastian’s heartbeat steady against my chest, I trace the path of his scars with gentle fingertips. Each ridge tells a story of pain and survival, of a man who expected rejection but found acceptance instead.
The room settles into a fragile kind of silence, broken only by our breathing and the faint tick of the radiator.
Warmth still hums in my veins, but beneath it I sense Sebastian’s restlessness in the way he keeps glancing toward the window, the way his body tenses even as he holds me close.
For him, trust and vulnerability aren’t just luxuries, they’re risks.
And risks always demand vigilance.
The mattress shifts as Sebastian grabs a blanket to pull over me, then kisses my temple. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
He rises, his pants still undone as he strides out of the bedroom.
As sounds come from the bathroom, I grab a soft pair of lounge pants off my floor and tug them on.
His sounds move to the kitchen as he opens cabinet doors, followed by the faucet running in the kitchen.
When he returns, his clothes are back to rights, and he carries a glass of water.
I lick my lips as I study the front of his pants, where his softened cock bounces. “Did you take off your boxers?”
“They were a little damp.” He flushes as he holds out the glass. “I should buy you more sports drinks. You need to replenish your fluids with something better than water.”
“I ran out of my usual electrolyte powder.” I scoot up to prop myself on the headboard. I take the glass and drain it before passing it back. “I’ll order more with my next grocery delivery.”
“Along with your stock of ramen?” he teases as he climbs back into bed.
“Hey, don’t mock my comfort food.” Without waiting for an invitation, I crawl into his lap to settle between his legs. “Ramen is also a source of electrolytes.”
He hums noncommittally as he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens a browser with one hand while tracing circles on my bare thigh with the other.
When he turns the screen toward me, images of security cameras and motion sensors fill the display. “These are the systems my family uses.”
His thumb swipes through various models. “High-definition cameras with night vision capability, motion sensors that send alerts to your phone, and this one”— he taps on a sleek black camera no bigger than a golf ball—“can be concealed almost anywhere.”
I twist to look up at him. “You want to turn my apartment into Fort Knox?”
“After what happened with that package, I need to know you’re safe.” The intensity in his gaze leaves no room for argument. “Especially when I’m not here.”
The memory of those photos sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the bed. Travis was watching me through my window.
“How much would all this cost?” I ask, already calculating what I can afford to sacrifice from my budget.
Sebastian frowns. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Sebastian—”
“I’m handling it.” He cups my face. “This is what I do, Micah. This is my job.”
The tenderness in his touch contrasts with the firm set of his jaw. I want to argue about the cost, about accepting such an expensive gift, but the memory of those photographs silences my protests. The thought of Travis watching me without my knowledge twists my stomach into knots.
“We should talk boundaries,” I say instead, turning to face him. “I can’t live in a fishbowl.”
Sebastian sets his phone down, giving me his full attention. “Tell me your concerns.”
“Cameras in the living room and by the front door make sense,” I concede, pulling the blanket up to cover our legs. “Kitchen, too, I guess. But none in the bathroom or bedroom. Those spaces stay private.”
His mouth tightens, clearly wanting to argue. “The bedroom window is vulnerable. That’s likely where the photos were taken from.”
“We’ll hang blackout curtains,” I counter. “No camera can see through that.”
“And when you’re streaming?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Those lights you use make everything visible from outside, even through curtains.”
Heat rises to my face as I realize he’s right. My ring lights and back-light create the perfect silhouette for anyone watching from across the street. “Fine. One camera in the bedroom, but angled only at the windows, not the bed.”
Sebastian considers this compromise. “Okay. And a system connected to my phone. If any motion is detected around your windows or door when you’re not home, I’ll also receive an alert and come over.”
The idea of him receiving alerts about my apartment sends an unexpected thrill through me. “You’d drop everything to check on a false alarm?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no qualifiers.
His certainty spreads warmth through me. Sebastian reaches for his phone again, opens a note-taking app, and begins sketching a rough outline of my apartment. His fingers move with precision, marking entry points and camera placements with small Xs.
“Four cameras total,” he explains, turning the screen so I can see. “One here by the front door, one in the front room covering the windows and balcony door, one in the kitchen near the fire escape, and one in the bedroom focused on the windows only.”
I lean against his shoulder, studying his sketch. “When would you install them?”
“Tomorrow, if possible.” His arm wraps around my waist. “The sooner we secure your space, the better.”
The thought of Sebastian working in my apartment, making it safer, sends a different kind of warmth through me that feels dangerously like domestic bliss.
“Okay,” I agree, kissing his shoulder. “Tomorrow.”
The electric drill whirs to life as Sebastian secures the bracket for the living room camera to the wall.
He stands on a small stepladder, his movements well practiced and efficient.
A tool belt hangs from his hips, the weight of it pulling his slacks lower, revealing a strip of skin whenever he reaches up.
I pretend to read on the couch while watching him work, coming and going from my apartment, installing equipment, adjusting settings, and teaching me how the system works. The small cameras blend well with my décor, the unobtrusive black domes easily mistaken for smoke detectors.
“These will all connect to the app,” Sebastian explains, mounting the camera to its bracket. “You can check the feeds anytime, from anywhere. So can I, if you share access.”
A sizzle of awareness streaks through me. Giving Sebastian access means allowing him to see into my life even when I’m not playing to an audience, and the idea of him always watching thrills me.
“I want you to have access.” I close my book. “I trust you.”
Sebastian pauses in his work, his expression softening. He climbs down from the ladder and crosses to where I sit, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I won’t abuse that trust.”
I lick my lips. “You can abuse it.”
“Oh?” His lips move to mine. “You want me watching you?”
Nodding, I pull him down onto the couch with me.