The sensation is a physical blow. He uses his tongue with a terrifying kind of precision, flickering over that tiny bundle of nerves until the world outside the room ceases to exist. I am a mess of shaking limbs and broken gasps, my fingers tangling in the sheets as I try to hold on to reality. He sucks and teases, his mouth a hot, wet vacuum that feels like it’s drawing the very soul out of me.
I’m drowning in the pleasure he’s giving me, my hips bucking upward to meet him, begging for the release that feels like a looming storm.
He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he becomes more aggressive, his tongue lashing against me with a relentless rhythm that makes my head thrash against the pillow. He knows exactly where I’m most sensitive, and he refuses to let up.
His hands move from my hips to my thighs, pinning my legs wide so I can’t hide from the sensation. The pressure of his mouth increases, suctioning deep until I feel the first spark of an explosion deep in my core.
“Sebastian,” I moan, my voice cracking.
He ignores me, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud of my nerves just enough to make me cry out. The pleasure is sharp, bordering on a beautiful kind of pain. I can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, my muscles vibrating as the waves begin to crash over me.
I can’t hold it back anymore. My body stiffens, my toes curling into the sheets as I finally break. I shatter completely, a long, broken scream leaving my lips as the orgasm rips through me. It’s a violent, shaking release that leaves me breathless and dizzy.
He doesn’t stop immediately. He continues to drink me in, his tongue catching every drop of my surrender until the last of the tremors fade. Only then does he pull back, looking up at me with triumphant eyes, his lips wet and glistening.
Sebastian doesn’t give me a moment to recover. Before the tremors even fade from my thighs, he’s moving, his body a dark shadow looming over mine. He strips out of his own clothes with a frantic, silver-tongued speed that speaks of a hunger he can no longer contain.
In another moment, he tears the foil off the condom and rolls it on. I’m as inpatient as he is, and when my legs lock around him, he plunges into me without preamble.
Then he goes still, buried deep inside me, his forehead resting against mine. The air in the room shifts from frantic to heavy and thick with something that feels like devotion.
He begins to move, but it isn’t the punishing rhythm I’m familiar with. It’s slow. Sensual. He slides out and back in with a soft, sliding friction that makes my eyes well with unexpected tears. Every stroke is a long, lingering caress that seems to reach past my skin and pull at my soul.
“Sienna,” he breathes, his voice no longer a growl, but a broken whisper.
He cups my face with both hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as he watches the pleasure wash over me. I feel every inch of him, every muscle in his arms trembling as he holds his weight up to look at me. His body is a map of heat and tension, but his movements are like silk. I arch my back in anopen invitation, my hands sliding up his chest to feel the frantic thud of his heart.
The pleasure is different this time. It isn’t a sharp explosion; it’s a slow, rising tide that warms me from the inside out. He watches my expression change, his gaze soft and searching in the dim light, capturing every hitch in my breath.
When he finally reaches his limit, he doesn’t pull away. He pushes deeper, his body coiling as he lets out a shaky exhale against my neck. I feel him shatter, a soft shuddering release that ripples through both of us. I follow him over the edge, my eyes closing as a sweet, heavy ache spreads through my limbs, anchoring me to the bed and to the man I should have stayed away from.
He collapses softly against me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his breath warm and steady. For the first time in years, the silence between us doesn’t feel like a war. It feels like a truce.
After, as I lie against his chest, his fingers tracing slow circles on my hip, a thought claws at me:
Maybe I don’t need to destroy him. Maybe I just needed him to hurt like I did. And maybe he has been hurt enough.
Later today, I must call Viktor and put an end to this.
I start to slip from the bed, but his arm tightens around my waist. “Please…don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs.
“I have to pee,” I whisper.
He lets me go, watching me with those impossibly sharp eyes, and I leave him, stepping into the cool floor of the suite.
My phone beeps from the counter. I grab it, curiosity twisting my stomach into knots.
A new message. Unknown number.
“Phase one complete. His gallery investors will receive the falsified documents tonight. Prepare for collapse.”
My chest tightens, a lead weight dragging me down. This isn’t the careful, measured revenge I’d planned. This is darker. Sharper. Personal. Mikhailov-level.
I stare at the screen, heart hammering. My pulse races in my ears.
What have I done?
Chapter 17 – Sebastian
