Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“I hate that he’s dead and I’m still scared,” I say.
Sebastian’s face changes. Not much, but enough.
“That’s normal. You’ve still got a lot of trauma to process. Your body hasn’t caught up to the fact that the danger’s passed.”
“He’s gone,” I say.
“Yes.”
“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”
Sebastian sits on the bathroom floor in front of me, dressed in dark pants and a white shirt like this is a perfectly normal place for him to be.
“Because he spent a long time making sure you were afraid of him. His death doesn’t undo that in three days.”
The next morning, I make it downstairs because I’m sick of the bedroom and I need some vitamin D. The kitchen is quiet when I get there. Sebastian is at the island with coffee, his phone, and a stack of papers he immediately turns over when he sees me. I pretend not to notice. He pretends not to know I noticed. We’re very mature.
“Coffee?” he asks.
I give him a look.
He smirks. “Tea?”
“Fine.”
He gets up and makes it himself, even though there are at least four people in this house who’d probably materialize out of a wall if he snapped his fingers. I sit at the island, one hand resting on my stomach, and watch him move around the kitchen like he’s not entirely sure where anything lives.
When he sets the mug in front of me, I wrap both hands around it.
“I meant what I said,” I tell him.
He stops.
I don’t look up from the tea. It feels easier to say it that way.
“In the basement,” I add. “I meant it.”
He sits down across from me. “I know you did.”
I finally look at him.
“Can you just let me be emotionally brave for at least fifteen seconds?”
“All right.” He smirks.
I take a breath. “I love you. I’m scared of that. I’m scared of needing you. I’m scared of how much easier it would be to trust you if I could pretend you weren’t dangerous. But you are. You’re also kind to me in ways I don’t always know what to do with. That makes it worse.”
His face does something I don’t know how to read.
“I love you,” I say again, because the first one didn’t kill me. “Even though you’re bossy and impossible.”
For a second, he doesn’t say anything. Then he laughs, not that anything’s funny. More like he’s exhausted and relieved and didn’t expect his body to make that sound before he could stop it.
I stare at him.
He drags a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“No, please. I love making declarations while men laugh at me.”
“Loving you scares the shit out of me, too.”
That shuts me up. It’s not romantic in the traditional sense. Probably the least polished thing he could’ve said, which is exactly why I believe it.
“Well,” I say after a second, “there you go.”
“I love you,” he says again. No qualifiers.
He stands, and I stand, too, even though I’m not sure why until he’s in front of me and his hands are at my waist. He moves slowly enough that I can say no. I don’t.
When he kisses me, the basement flashes through my head for half a second, and my body stiffens before I can stop it. Sebastian pulls back immediately.
“I’m okay,” I say quickly.
“You don’t have to be.”
“I know. But I am. I just need a minute.”
His thumbs move lightly against my waist. “We don’t have to do anything.”
“I want to.”
“Valentina…”
“I want you,” I say, and that comes out steadier than I expect. “And I can’t let my fear stop me from having what I want.”
Something in Sebastian’s face hardens, then softens just as fast.
“If you want me, I’m yours,” he says.
“Good.”
“And I’ll stop the second it’s too much.”
“I know.” I reach up to kiss him again.
Our bodies press together, perfectly aligned. It takes seconds for my brain to empty of every thought but his lips on mine, his tongue sliding against mine. He becomes my air, and then he’s backing me toward the stairs, the two of us making a slow, sloppy path back to his bed.
Clothes get discarded on the staircase. I consider, for just a moment, that I don’t want any of his staff finding them, but then I realize I couldn’t care less. There’s only room in my head for the way his skin feels against mine.
We only make it to the top of the stairs before I stumble and he follows me down, hovering over me on his strong arms. I can’t help but laugh as he looks down at me with concern.
“This is probably good,” I mutter, reaching up to pull his face down to mine.
“I have, like, ten guest rooms,” he says between kisses. “We can do better than the floor of the landing.”
“We have time,” I remind him. “We can have sex in literally every bedroom, on the landing, and even in the kitchen.”