Chapter 18 – Sienna #2
As soon as the silk is gone, he’s back on me. He doesn’t wait. He slams his palms against the wall on either side of my head, pressing his body into mine with a force that steals my breath. The cool wall is a sharp contrast to the scorching heat of his skin.
He buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply as if he’s trying to memorize my scent all over again. His hands leave the wall to slide down my sides, his touch firm and possessive, tracing my curves.
I arch my back, my skin humming wherever he makes contact, my hands finding his hair to pull him even closer.
He reaches down, his hands hooking under my thighs and hoisting me up. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, my arms locking around his neck as he holds me against the vertical wood. He is pure, solid muscle, and the sheer strength of him makes my head spin.
With one hand still bracing me, he reaches between us. His eyes never leave mine. They are dark, focused, and predatory. He doesn’t use words; he doesn’t have to. The way he aligns himself against my heat tells me exactly what’s coming.
He lunges forward, driving into me with a single, powerful thrust.
A sharp gasp hitches in my throat, my head hitting the wall with a soft thud as I take the full length of him. It’s an intense, stretching fullness that makes my toes curl. He doesn’t let me settle. He begins to move immediately, his rhythm hard and demanding.
The wall vibrates behind me with every heavy strike of his hips.
It’s raw and unyielding. My fingers dig into his shoulders, my nails drawing thin red lines on his skin as I try to hold on to something stable in the storm.
Every time he thrusts, he lifts me slightly higher, only to let me slide back down onto him, deeper and deeper.
“Sebastian,” I moan, the sound echoing off the high ceiling of the studio.
He growls low in his throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my shoulder as he picks up the pace. The friction is incredible—hot, wet, and relentless. I can feel the tension coiling in my gut, a tight spring ready to snap.
He’s gasping now, his breath hot against my ear, his movements becoming more frantic. I’m right on the edge, my vision blurring as the pleasure takes over. I tighten my grip, my legs squeezing his waist as the world narrows down to this wall, this heat, and this man.
The wall is cold, but Sebastian is fire. He doesn’t slow down, his thrusts coming hard and fast, pinning me so firmly against the wood that I feel like I’m becoming part of the room. Every impact sends a fresh jolt of electricity through my spine, making my head toss back and my eyes roll shut.
He isn’t being gentle anymore. He’s reclaiming me with a raw, primal energy that leaves no room for doubt. His hands move from my thighs to my waist, his fingers digging into my skin to hold me steady as he drives deeper and deeper.
“Look at me, Sienna,” he commands, his voice a jagged rasp.
I open my eyes, my vision hazy with tears of pure pleasure. He is watching me break, his face a mask of intense concentration and raw hunger. Seeing the way I affect him only pushes me closer to the edge.
The coiling tension in my stomach finally snaps.
I shatter against him, my body jerking as a massive, blinding climax takes hold. I scream his name, my voice echoing off the studio walls as wave after wave of heat washes over me. I’m helpless, clinging to him like a lifeline while the world dissolves into white noise.
A second later, Sebastian lets out a low, guttural roar.
He thrusts one last time, buried as deep as he can go, and freezes.
His muscles turn to stone, his head falling into the crook of my neck as he follows me into the abyss.
His heart is a frantic hammer against my chest, and his breath comes in ragged, broken gasps that burn against my skin.
For a long time, he doesn’t move. He keeps me pinned there, high against the wall, our bodies still joined as the aftershocks slowly fade into the quiet.
The silence is heavy, filled only with the sound of our shared breath.
He doesn’t let my feet touch the ground.
Even as the tremors are still fading from my thighs, he shifts his grip, pulling me tighter against his chest. He carries me out of the studio.
He moves with a steady, quiet purpose, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic on the stairs as he takes us down to the bedroom suite.
Neither of us speaks. The silence between us isn’t empty; it’s thick, charged with the weight of what just happened against that wall.
My head rests in the hollow of his shoulder, and I can hear the fading thunder of his heart slowing down to match mine.
When we reach the suite, he pushes the door open with his shoulder. The room is dim, bathed in the soft, blue glow of the moon filtering through the window.
He walks toward the massive bed, but he doesn’t just drop me.
He lowers me onto the silk sheets with a slow, deliberate care that feels almost more intimate than the act itself.
He follows me down, his shadow stretching over me as he settles between my legs once more, bracing himself on his forearms to look at me.
His eyes are dark, searching my face as if he’s trying to find the girl I used to be—or perhaps trying to accept the woman I’ve become. His hand reaches up, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip, which is still swollen from his kisses.
He kisses me again, like he can’t get enough.
Afterward, I rest against his chest, breathing him in, letting the rhythm of him steady my own.
But even in this intimacy, there’s a truth I still haven’t told him. A weight I haven’t shared. My hands curl against his chest, trembling. If I don’t share it all, then the little I told him will be a waste of time.
I try to pull away, to make space, but his arm tightens around my waist, anchoring me in place.
“Sebastian,” I murmur, voice small, hesitant. “There’s more.”
His lips brush my temple. “I know,” he says, low and certain, as if he’s been waiting for me to say it, as if he already carries my truth with him.
His trust gives me a flicker of courage.
“He’s not just hurting your business,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “He wants you gone.”
Sebastian goes rigid. The warmth I felt in his chest a moment ago drains away, replaced by a steel I’ve never seen before.
I slide off his lap, careful, deliberate, though every step toward the wardrobe is a torment. My hands shake as I pull the envelope from the drawer, my fingers brushing against the smooth paper. I turn and hold it out to him.
He’s already sitting up, sheets bunched around his waist. I try not to look—really, really try—not at the way the light hits his chest, the muscles taut beneath the skin, the way he’s always seemed to carry the weight of the world without breaking.
“This is everything he gave me. Everything he plans,” I say, my stomach almost caving.
He takes the envelope, eyes darkening the longer he looks at it. Carefully, he opens it, flipping through the documents. Falsified records. Plans to push multiple galleries into litigation. Incriminating evidence hidden in shipping logs. Schemes to frame him for international art theft.
The air between us thickens.
His expression goes cold. Terrifyingly cold. The warmth, the softness, even the Sebastian I know—they vanish behind a wall of controlled fury. Every line of his jaw sharpens, his eyes narrowing like blades.
And I realize, in that moment, just how much danger I’ve dragged into our home.
“I’m so sorry, Sebastian.” My voice shatters under the weight of shame and fear.
He looks up, and my stomach lurches. His anger isn’t directed at me. Not really.
“He used you as bait,” Sebastian says slowly, each word measured, cold, like a blade sliding across glass. “While planning a war.”
“I didn’t know,” I gasp, desperation spilling out. “I swear—I had no idea.”
Before I can even register it, he slips from the bed, the sheets falling around him, and his naked body presses against mine. The heat, the strength, it’s overwhelming, but it doesn’t feel like anger. It’s control. Protection. Power.
“I believe you,” he whispers, his lips brushing my temple as he holds me close. The panic that had been spiraling through me—the fear, the guilt—dissolves into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
I sag against him, relief punching the air from my lungs, almost too much to bear.
“But now,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something darker, sharper, lethal in its softness, “we end him.”