Chapter 5 – Sebastian #2
“If you don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice rough and low, “I’m not going to leave this room tonight.”
She laughs and pushes me back. For a second, I think she’s finally come to her senses, but then she drops to her knees, looking up at me with those eyes that will lead me to an early grave.
She yanks off my belt and tugs down my zipper.
“Sienna. Sienna,” I groan, threading my fingers through her hair to stop her.
But she pulls my pants down and takes my cock into her mouth before I can speak another word. My grip tightens in her hair; I don’t know if I’m trying to push her away or pull her closer. The sight of her red lips closed around my cock almost sends me over the edge.
“Damn it, Sienna.”
My head falls back as blood rushes into my ears and head. I’m vibrating with a tension so tight I feel like I’m going to snap in half.
“Sienna. Sienna,” I choke out.
I should push her away. I really should.
My hand is buried deep in her hair, my knuckles white, but instead of pushing her away, I find myself anchoring her there.
My body has completely betrayed my mind.
The warmth of her mouth is an undoing, a rhythmic, pulse-pounding heat that makes my vision go dark at the edges.
I’m losing my grip on reality. Every time she swirls her tongue or applies even the slightest pressure on the crown of my cock, a low, guttural sound ripples out of my chest—sounds I didn’t know I was capable of making.
My hips twitch forward instinctively, searching for more, even as my brain screams at me that this is dangerous, that I’m playing with fire.
But let it burn. If she wants to destroy me like this, I’ll let her.
I look down, catching a glimpse of her through half-lidded eyes—the way she looks up at me, the sheer power she holds in this moment. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. She’s taking everything I have, and I’m giving it to her gladly.
“Enough,” I rasp, though my hands don’t move an inch to pull her away. “Sienna, I’m…I’m right there.”
Instead of stopping, she pulls her lips tight, gripping me like a vise. I growl and yank her to her feet. My fingers wrap around her throat, and I lean forward until I can taste her breath.
“You brought this upon yourself, yarkaya.”
“Enough talk,” she whispers. “Just fuck me already.”
“Oh, soon. Soon.” I lift her into my arms and stride down the hallway. “Your room?”
“First door on the left.”
I shoulder into the room and toss her onto the bed. She bounces against the mattress, but before she can move, I grab her ankles and yank her back to the edge.
I hover over her, my shadow swallowing her whole against the white sheets. She looks up at me, breathless and defiant, her fiery hair fanned out like a dark halo.
“You think you can play with fire and not get burned?” I growl, my voice vibrating in the space between us.
I don’t wait for an answer. I reach for the hem of her dress, my knuckles grazing the skin of her thighs. The friction is electric. She arches toward my touch, a small, broken sound escaping her throat that nearly shatters my last shred of restraint.
“I told you I wouldn’t be able to stop,” I remind her, my gaze dropping to her lips.
I strip the fabric away, my eyes devouring every inch of her. She’s beautiful—dangerously so. I move between her knees, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. The pulse in her neck is racing, thrumming against my palm.
“Please, Sebastian,” she breathes, her eyes searching mine.
“‘Please’ what, Sienna?” I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear. “Please stop? Or please never stop?”
I trail my mouth down her neck, over her collarbone, and down toward her breast. She struggles against the grip I have on her wrists, but I don’t let go. I want her body spread before me like this—mine to worship, mine to punish.
I take one aching nipple into my mouth, and she cries out, her breath hot and shallow against my cheek.
“Oh, fuck, Seb, please…” she begs, her voice breaking.
I use my tongue to tease and suck at her while I capture her other breast with my free hand, rolling the tip between my fingers and applying a sharp, demanding pressure.
She arches into my touch, a sharp gasp escaping her as I pop the nipple from my mouth and move immediately to the next.
While I tease the other tip, my hand slides down her curves to the heat between her thighs. She’s incredibly sensitive, responding with breathless cries and writhing everywhere I touch.
She’s aching for me, and I finally graze her clit with a single digit, find her wet and ready, and sink it deep inside. A scream tears through her throat and rips the quiet air. It’s a beautiful sound. It intoxicates me.
She grabs the front of my shirt again.
“Sebastian.” Her voice is rough like gravel. “Please. Fuck me. Now.”
I’m too insane to rethink or draw this out.
I capture her lips in mine and lie over her, my body shuddering with the desperation of my desire.
I wrap my erection in my fingers and pump it as I kiss her.
She wraps her legs around me, reaches between our bodies, and aligns the crown of my cock to her heat.
Impatient, I drive into her in one deep, forceful motion. The breath leaves her lungs in a sharp cry, her eyes fluttering shut as she clings to me. I don’t give her time to recover. I find a rhythm that’s punishing and perfect, each thrust a claim, each breath a battle for air.
I’ve never felt anything as powerful as this in my entire life. She’s tight and warm, milking and pulling me in at the same time. I cover her breast with one hand and lean down to capture the other nipple with my mouth.
“Seb. Seb. Seb.” My name filters out of her mouth like music, and I find myself teetering toward the edge.
But I want to take her with me, so I slip my hand between our sweaty bodies and flick her clit. Once. Twice. On the third time, she completely shatters beneath me, calling my name like an anchor. I pull out of her, jerk myself once, and spill onto the bed.
She curls into me, not saying a word, warm and trusting, like this is the most natural thing in the world. My arm comes around her instinctively, pulling her against my chest. I tell myself it’s temporary. Just a few minutes. Just until the moment passes so she doesn’t feel dismissed or used.
Yes. That’s all.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to. The room is quiet except for our breathing, the city muted beyond the walls. Seconds fold into minutes. Her body softens. Her breath evens out.
She falls asleep.
Something in my chest cracks open.
Fuck.
It was the best night of my life—and the worst possible mistake.
I stare at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing. I never should have let her get this close. Never should have let her past the armor.
This isn’t a relationship. It was never supposed to be. There’s no space here for tenderness. No room for this quiet intimacy that feels dangerously like belonging.
I should leave.
But I don’t.
I stay, holding her until I’m certain she’s deep in sleep, until there’s no chance she’ll wake and see the conflict written all over my face.
***
The next thing I know, I’m waking up.
The room is dark. My neck aches slightly from the angle I fell asleep in. Sienna is still there, curled toward me, lashes resting against her cheeks. I study her in the dim light, committing every detail to memory—the curve of her mouth, the faint line between her brows.
She looks unreal. Untouchable.
Too bad this is the last time I’ll see her like this.
Carefully, I slide out of bed. I pull on my pants, move quietly, and draw the sheets up over her shoulders. She sighs in her sleep but doesn’t wake.
In the living room, I grab my jacket and phone. My fingers hesitate over the screen before I type the message she’ll see when morning comes.
Me: Marko called again. I had to go. Sorry I left before you woke up. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.
A lie wrapped in something that sounds like a promise.
I tell myself I’m still in control. That this is about timing. About her review. About finishing what I started.
I don’t let myself question why my chest feels hollow as I step out into the night. I leave without looking back.
***
Her review goes live the next morning.
I’m in the studio when Marko storms in, tablet in hand, eyes sharp with something between triumph and accusation.
“Sienna posted a review of your work,” he says. “First thing this morning.”
I don’t respond immediately. I’m standing in front of a half-finished canvas, charcoal smudged on my fingers, pretending my pulse hasn’t already picked up.
Marko clears his throat and reads aloud anyway.
Sebastian Rusnak reveals a depth I previously failed to see. His work is haunting, intricate, brilliant, and devastatingly honest. This collection marks not a correction, but an evolution.
A beat.
It’s a glowing redemption. A professional resurrection.
I smile.
It’s small. Controlled. Satisfied.
“The business line is lighting up nonstop,” he says. “Notifications stacking, emails flooding in.” Marko scrolls the device. “I can’t even keep up.”
I hum.
“It’s viral. Abram Powers left three messages. He wants a private meeting. Congratulations, you’re officially untouchable again.”
“Ignore them,” I say calmly.
Marko looks up. “I knew you’d say that.”
I don’t respond.
He studies me for a moment. “What’s next?”
Before I can answer, my phone starts ringing. Marko grabs it.
“It’s Sienna.”
Her name fills the screen, and for half a second—just half—I feel it. That tug. That warmth. That dangerous pull in my chest.
Marko sees it. Of course he does.
“Pick up,” he says. “Start over. Stop pretending this was only revenge.”
I shake my head. “No.”
He exhales sharply. “Sebastian—”
“I don’t need her anymore.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I glare at him. “Drop it.”
“She likes you,” Marko presses. “And you like her. Very much—”
“I don’t,” I snap. The word comes out like a growl. “This is over.”
The phone stops ringing. Then starts again.
Marko folds his arms. “What if she retracts the review?”
I laugh—cold, sharp. “She won’t.”
“People turn when they feel used.”
“It’s already live,” I reply evenly. “If she retracts it, the internet will crucify her. Critics don’t get mercy. She knows that.”
The phone vibrates again.
Marko’s voice softens. “You don’t have to do this.”
I take the phone and swipe the screen to decline the call. Then I block the number. Delete the message thread. Every laugh. Every late-night text. Gone.
The silence afterward is deafening.
I ignore the ache spreading in my chest, the strange pressure behind my ribs. It’s irrelevant. It means nothing.
I look up at Marko, jaw set.
“Now she knows,” I say flatly, “never to put her mouth in my business.”
Marko doesn’t smile.
But I do.
Revenge done.