“Do you not think so?” Sebastian asked.
“I couldn’t presume.”
“You undressed me,” Sebastian continued.
Sebastian’s pupils were dark, and Remington clenched his jaw. He had been all of those things, done all of those things, but the intentions in his head hadn’t been pure. It wasn’t that he would have taken advantage of Sebastian—or anyone for that matter—but, God, how he’d wanted to.
Every time Sebastian softened and showed those secret little parts of himself, Remington felt weak. But life had taught him that little parts rarely made a whole, and he knew better than to try to build a life, or even a fantasy, on pieces of dreams.
“Sebastian,” he said.
“You washed my face. You told me a story.”
Sebastian’s eyes closed. “You told me happiness was inside me.”
“Did I?” he rasped, knowing full well he had.
“None of it makes sense when I’m sober. I stop myself from looking, from thinking.”
“Is that why you drink so much?” Remington asked.
“I drink because I’m utterly miserable,” Sebastian answered sharply, his eyes bright and face flushed. He looked away. “If you must know.”
“That’s not a healthy coping mechanism.”
“You left me water. Aspirin.” Sebastian carried on as if Remington hadn’t even spoken.
“You were surely going to be hungover when you woke up,” he said. Remington slipped his hands beneath the table, fisting his napkin between his sweaty fingers, hating the way his cock was still hard over Sebastian’s softness, hating the way it leaked with want over a man he wasn’t even sure he knew or liked.
“I would almost think you cared, Remington.”
The way his name sounded on Sebastian’s tongue was indecent. Like rough flames licking out from behind Sebastian’s full and wet mouth, the syllables meant to tease and torture him. This was new, and it was not good, and when the hell had he become attracted to Sebastian St. George?
Chapter Ten
Sebastian Takes a Chance
After lunch, Sebastian jacked off in the shower.
He thought about Allan, thought about filming that video for Allan, then he thought about Remington, and then he came. He stared at his feet as the water swirled away the evidence of his orgasm and he sighed, dropping his chin toward his chest, wondering and worrying what it all meant.
He stayed under the spray until the water ran cold, then reluctantly stepped onto the bath mat and dried off. Sebastian shuffled his feet all the way to his closet where he stared at his clothes as if one of his button-ups would have the answer to all of his problems.
He pulled a black shirt off a hanger and shrugged it up his arms, staring at the buttons, instead of his face, in the tall mirror against the wall. Until lunch, his interest in Remington had always felt so casual, almost non-urgent, but something had changed. He didn’t know if it was the way Remington watched him or talked to him, or if it was just the way he felt while all of those things happened, but SebastianwantedRemington. He wanted more of the way his skin prickled with nerves and anticipation every time Remington opened his mouth. He wanted more of the way Remington flushed when he talked about books, more of the way he ordered Sebastian about in the most casual of ways.
He was a liar; he knew that even if he wouldn’t admit it. Sebastian left the top two buttons undone and practically tore a pair of light gray slacks off another hanger. He’d harbored an unspoken fascination with Remington since the first time he’d seen him, going as far as to donate two hundred and fifty thousand fucking dollars to his work, anonymously of course, so Remington could continue to drag those sinfully long fingers around two hundred year old paper.
Or parchment.
Or whatever it was.
“You’re a fool,” he muttered under his breath as he finished dressing. “A fucking fool.”
Sebastian masterfully avoided his phone, which had the days old message from Allan sitting on read. He hadn’t done what Allan had asked him to. He hadn’t even bothered to reply. He hadn’t meant to put it off as long as he had, but it was already Saturday and it had been ignored, and he worst of all, he didn’t even know if he wanted to send the video now.
He liked the easiness of things with Allan. Instruction and command when he wanted it, maybe when he needed it, but after being teased today by Remington and seeing the promise of what his wants could take the shape of if he allowed it… he didn’t know how to settle for emails and text messages from a stranger. What had once been more than enough now felt impossibly lackluster.
Shoving his feet into a pair of leather oxfords, he clutched his phone and keys, then headed downstairs. He pulled up a rideshare app on his phone and five minutes later was on the way to Callahan’s house for Remington’s impromptu party.
