So does he.
For a few tight seconds, the world narrows to that sound. The noise of reality pressing in on the raw, sweat-slick space we carved out for ourselves. We stay locked together, breath held, hearts thundering. My thighs are still bare. His pants are still open. We smell like sex. Like heat. Like us.
And we’re one laugh away from being caught.
Sebastian’s arms tighten around me, and I feel the tremor in his body as clearly as my own. He lowers his head, lips grazing the shell of my ear as he breathes out hard.
“We have to stop,” he says, voice raw, barely controlled.
“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”
But neither of us moves.
Because stopping isn’t the same as letting go.
And whatever this is between us, it’s not done.
Not even close.
His arms are still around me, his cock still pressed hard and aching between us, slick against my stomach, my thighs sticky and trembling. The sounds outside fade, but the damage is already done. Our moment, wild and raw and ours, has been forced back behind a closed door.
But he doesn’t let me go.
His grip only tightens.
His lips press to my temple, a soft, desperate kiss that feels more like a plea than anything else. His chest rises against mine in ragged waves, his breath still unsteady, like every second without me inside his hands might unravel him.
And then, quietly, rough and thick with everything we don’t say, he speaks.
“Stay here tonight,” he pants, voice cracking.
“Just... stay.”
The words knock the air right out of me.
Not a command. Not a clever line meant to tempt me back into his bed. It’s honest. The kind of thing someone only says when they’re terrified they’ll lose the high of your skin against theirs the second you walk away.
I don’t answer right away.
Because my body is still burning. My heart’s still racing. My mind is still trying to catch up with what we did, what we almost did, seconds from being heard, from being caught. And yet…
The part of me that was trembling before?
That part goes still.
Because I hear it in his voice. The truth.
This isn’t just about fucking.
It never was.
And when I meet his eyes, still flushed, still wide with something more, I know exactly what my answer will be.
But I let the silence stretch. Just long enough for him to feel it. To want it.
And then I whisper, barely above a breath:
“Okay.”
