Because the desire in her gaze isn’t subtle anymore. It’s open. Curious. Wanting.
And I want her just as badly.
But sex would complicate things.
Sex would change things.
And leaving afterward would be…cruel.
I decide to fake a call. When she hurries into the kitchen to grab a napkin, I quickly text Marko to call me so I can get out of here before I do something that’ll make me hate myself. I want a clean break.
Ten minutes later, as Sienna animatedly tells me how she made the salmon, my phone buzzes. It’s Marko.
Sienna pauses and glances at the screen.
“Can you give me a moment, please?” I pick up the phone.
“Sure.”
I exhale through my nose like I’m annoyed, like this is inconvenient, unavoidable, then I take the call.
“Yes,” I say quietly. A pause. “Now?” Another pause, longer this time. “I understand.”
I run a hand through my hair. When I look up, she’s watching me over the rim of her champagne glass, eyes sharp despite the casual tilt of her body.
I slip the phone into my pocket and straighten.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, already standing. “Something just came up. I have to go.” I hesitate, then add, softer, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
She rises too.
She doesn’t speak at first. She simply closes the distance between us, close enough that I can smell her perfume again. Her fingers catch the front of my shirt lightly, not pulling, just anchoring.
“Sebastian,” she murmurs.
She yanks my dress shirt from my slacks and slips her hands underneath. The heat of her palms sends blood rushing straight to my cock.
“Sienna.”
She stands on the tips of her toes and grazes my jaw with her teeth. I groan.
“Sienna, please.”
“Don’t you want me?” she asks, trailing kisses down my neck. Her hands explore my chest before one slides down to grip me through my pants. I groan again.
My breath hitches as Sienna’s hands move with a bold, rhythmic intent. The friction of her palm against the fabric of my trousers is a slow torture, making my head roll back against the wall.
“You know I do,” I rasp, my voice dropping an octave, rough with the effort of keeping my composure.
“Then don’t fight this.” She unhooks my belt.
“Fuck, Sienna,” I rasp, my hands finding her waist, my fingers bruising the silk of her lingerie as I pull her flush against me. I want her so much it feels like a physical ache. I want to lose myself in her, to forget everything but the way she feels in my arms.
I spin us around, the wood of the table thudding against her hip as I pin her there. I need the leverage; I need to feel the full weight of her against me before I lose my mind completely. My heart is thundering, a frantic rhythm against my ribs that I know she can feel.
I lean down, my forehead resting against hers, our breaths mingling in the small space left between us.
“If you don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice rough and low, “I’m not going to leave this room tonight.”
