ChapterTwelve
Rosalia
The sheets twist around my legs as I shift positions again, replaying every moment of tonight’s dinner with Sebastian.
And I swear I can smell the decadent chocolate wafting from the nightstand.
The scent seems stronger now in the quiet of the night, becoming an invisible thread pulling at my memories.
I reach for the truffle, picking it up and running it under my nose. It’s dark chocolate with hints of something deeper, more complex—like the man who gave it to me.
I place it back, unsure whether to savor it or throw it away. I lie back down and close my eyes. I will sleep to come, but it’s elusive.
Pulling the comforter over my body, I snuggle into the soft embrace of my bed, hoping it might wrap me away from the day’s tension. And from a desire I can’t afford to feel.
But when I close my eyes, I’m back in his car. The leather seats cool beneath me, the space intimate and charged. Sebastian has asked if he can call me, and I’ve leaned in to kiss his cheek, but this time, when my lips accidentally brush the corner of his mouth, neither of us pulls away.
The distant sound of a siren wails somewhere in the city, rising and falling before fading, much like my resolve to stop thinking about him. I should force my thoughts away from where I know this is headed, but screw it, I’m in.
In this version, there’s no impending doom hanging over my shop. There’s only him, me, and the electricity crackling between us.
Guilt about my deal with Thorne threatens to surface, but I push it down. Tomorrow, I can hate myself. Tonight, I want Sebastian.
His hand comes up to cup my face, holding me there for a heartbeat. “That wasn’t quite right,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine.
“Your driver,” I whisper.
“Not a problem.” Sebastian’s gaze never leaves mine as he pushes a button, and the privacy divider glides up, sealing us in our own world of shadows and anticipation.
His lips curve into that crooked smile that makes my knees weak. “Now, where were we?”
He pulls me closer, his mouth claiming mine in the darkness. The kiss is deep and hungry from the first touch. There’s no hesitation this time. In my fantasy, he takes what he wants. And what he wants is me. His hands move from my face into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss.
“Sebastian,” I gasp when we break apart, both breathing hard.
My hand drifts down my stomach, drawn by the heat pooling between my thighs. I slide my fingers into my panties .
In my mind, Sebastian’s hands are everywhere, exploring with confident precision. The luxury of the car cocoons us with its tinted windows, soft leather, and the faint hum of the engine, providing a veil of privacy in the middle of the city.
My back arches as I sink deeper into the mattress. My body trembles as pleasure builds with each stroke of my fingers.
The fantasy shifts, transforming into his bedroom or a luxury hotel suite. He backs me against a wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other tracing the curve of my waist. His touch is reverent yet possessive, as if he’s mapping territory he intends to claim thoroughly.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the moment you smiled at me over that stack of romance novels.” His lips hovering a breath above mine. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Rosalia?”
My breath catches as my fingers find their target, circling with increasing pressure. Heat radiates outward from my center like ripples in a pond, each circle of sensation more consuming than the last.
The smooth texture of his expensive shirt slides beneath my fingers as I unbutton it, revealing warm skin underneath. His cologne intensifies with the heat of his body, oak and spice, making my head swim.
He looks at me with those penetrating eyes, darker now with desire. “I need to see all of you,” he breathes, his thumb brushing across my lower lip.
My hips rise involuntarily from the mattress as I sink deeper into both physical pleasure and fantasy. My entire body is flushed and trembling. The sheets slide across my sensitive skin, adding another layer to the mounting tension.
In my fantasy, he undresses me slowly, each newly revealed inch of skin explored with fingers and lips. There’s no rush; time doesn’t matter, only pleasure. He lavishes attention on my collarbone, the curve of my breast, the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“You’re exquisite. Even more beautiful than I imagined.” His fingers trace patterns of need across my skin. “I want to memorize every sound you make. Every sigh, every moan. ”
My movements become more urgent, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach. In the fantasy, Sebastian is everywhere. His hands, his mouth, his words of praise wrap around me like the darkness that fills the bedroom.
“Sebastian,” I whisper his name aloud, the sound barely audible in the quiet room. The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel the warmth of his breath against my neck, the slight roughness of his stubble against my tender skin.
My hips rock as sensations cascade through me like falling dominoes, each triggering another more intense than the last. My mouth parts in silent pleas as Sebastian’s imagined touch becomes more real than the sheets beneath me.
When he finally moves inside me, the fullness, the perfect friction, is everything I’ve craved and more. “So good,” I moan.
“Look at me,” he commands.
The hunger in his gaze pushes me over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, leaving me trembling and gasping his name. My free hand clutches at the bedsheets as my body bows off the mattress.
As the aftershocks gradually subside, I lie still, eyes pressed tight, prolonging the fantasy for a few more precious seconds.
Sebastian would gently kiss my forehead, my temple, my cheeks, bringing me back to earth.
He’d pull me against him, my head on his chest, and I’d listen to his heartbeat slow to normal.
But then reality seeps back in, cold and unwelcome.
My tiny bedroom is suddenly too large, too empty.
I readjust my pajamas that had become twisted.
The soft fabric is a poor substitute for the imagined touch of Sebastian’s hands.
I hug a pillow to my chest, trying to fill the emptiness that’s crept in now that the escape of pleasure has faded.
My phone chimes from the nightstand and I jolt. The sound is jarring in my too-quiet bedroom. I reach for it, heart leaping when I see Sebastian's name on the screen.
Thank you for dinner tonight. I haven’t enjoyed myself that much in a long time.
I’m frozen, my fingers hovering over the keypad.
What am I supposed to say? That despite your company, or at the very least your brother, is threatening to destroy everything I’ve worked for, I just brought myself to climax imagining your hands on my body?
That I’m furious and heartbroken and still, somehow, desperately attracted to you?
After several minutes of deliberation, I type simply:
I had a nice time too.
Safe. Non-committal.
A car door slams outside my building, the sound sharp in the night air. The faint hum of my refrigerator pulses like a metronome, counting the seconds as I lie here alone with my thoughts.
I set my phone back on the nightstand and curl deeper under the covers, pulling my knees to my chest. The warmth of my fantasy has completely dissipated now, leaving only cold reality in its wake. Tomorrow, I’ll need to be practical and start making more contingency plans for my store and my life.
But tonight, in the quiet darkness of my bedroom, I allow myself one more moment of weakness and imagine a world where Sebastian Blackstone is an ordinary man who I met at my bookstore or the library.
A man whose touch I crave, whose smile I’ve memorized, whose presence makes my heart race for all the right reasons instead of all the wrong ones.
Screw it. I reach out and take the chocolate truffle from my nightstand.
I place it on my tongue, letting the dark, bitter exterior melt until it reveals the sweet center hidden inside.
The complex flavors bloom across my palate—rich, forbidden, complicated, just like Sebastian.
I swallow, wondering if giving in to this small temptation means I’ll eventually surrender to them all.