“I’m not drunk. Maybe alittletipsy before, but not anymore,” I say, stepping closer. “And I’m aware of what I want.”
He exhales, eyes closing for half a second, like he’s praying for patience. When he looks at me again, it’s fire and conflict. “I think it’s best that you stop—”
“What did I say about you making decisions for other people? I’m a big girl. I can make my own choices.”
His voice drops, barely more than a whisper. “And what is it you’re choosing right now?”
The air thickens. My pulse thrums. “You.”
He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes dark and unblinking. For a moment, everything stills. No sound, no space, just this unbearable tension stretching thin between us.
“Come here,” he says, voice roughened by something that sounds a lot like surrender.
And God help me, I do. I step toward him slowly, my heels clicking softly against the floor until I’m standing between his spread thighs. His breath leaves him in a quiet exhale, a murmur slipping from his lips that I can’t quite catch but feel all the same as it vibrates through me.
“Just for tonight,” I whisper, closing the final inch between us. “Forget the rules. Forget all the reasons this shouldn’t happen.”
He rests his palms against my legs first, before sliding upward. The hem of my dress lifts, bunching around my thighs as his touch burns a trail across my skin. My breath stutters. My fingers find his shoulders, tracing along the solid muscle there, before sliding to the nape of his neck. His hair is soft under my fingertips, and the small sound that leaves him nearly undoes me.
His breathing grows heavier, matching mine.
“You should stop me,” he says, though his hands keep moving, fingertips grazing the soft inside of my thigh.
I manage a shaky smile. “You don’t really want me to.”
He tilts his head back, eyes dragging up over me like he’s memorising something forbidden. “This isn’t smart, Olivia.”
“Neither was kissing you,” I murmur. “Didn’t stop me then either.”
“Trouble.” He hums.
The nickname hits differently now. It’s not just a tease. It’s an admission. A warning.
“Maybe.” I lean close until my lips brush the edge of his jaw. “But you can’t seem to stay away, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this.”
Sebastian’s hands tighten at my hips, pulling me flush against him, and the sound that escapes him is hoarse, gravelly, and entirely undone. At that, I know he’s finished fighting. He grips my thighs, the motion firm, possessive, drawing me down until I’m straddling him. The breath leaves my lungs in a shaky rush. His hands frame my face, rough thumbs grazing my jaw, and for a heartbeat, we just breathe the same air, one suspended second before everything collapses.
The kiss hits hard. Hungry. Desperate.
Sebastian’s mouth moves against mine with a kind of restraint that feels like it might break at any second. I can taste the faint whiskey on his tongue, and the ache that’s been simmering between us for too long, since that first kiss, finally finding an outlet.
“Bash,” I pant against his mouth.
He catches my lower lip between his teeth, the ghost of a smile in his voice. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”
“Touch me.”
His hands still, just for a second, like he’s making sure he heard me right. The smallest smile tugs at the corner of hismouth, and he gathers my dress higher—rough, warm palms brushing over my thighs. When his fingers brush the edge of my underwear, I shiver. “Here?”
I groan at his touch. “More.”
Sebastian’s words fan across my cheek. “You sure about that?”
But he already knows the answer. His fingers slip past the lace until they find the wet heat between my thighs. The first drag of his touch over my clit sends my hips jerking, my mouth falling open around a sound I can’t control.
Oh.
Oh.
