Her head falls back against the brick, exposing more of her neck to my ministrations. "This is crazy," she whispers, but her hands are still gripping my shirt, still holding me close. "You're my boss. This is—"
"I don't give a fuck about any of that right now," I growl against her skin, nipping at the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She gasps as her hips jerk forward, and I have to brace my forearm against the wall to keep from losing control entirely.
"One week," she pants. "One week of treating me like dirt, and now you think you can just—"
I silence her with another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding. My tongue sweeps against hers, claiming her mouth with a possessiveness that should terrify me but only makes me want more. When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard.
"I'm sorry," I say, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "I'm sorry for being a fucking bastard. For pushing you away when all I wanted was to pull you closer."
Her eyes search mine in the dim light. "Why?" she whispers. "Why treat me like that?"
"Because I'm a coward," I admit, the truth bitter on my tongue. "Because wanting you terrifies me more than anything I've ever felt."
Chapter 15
Mia
Istare at Sebastian's face, at the hard angles softened by vulnerability, and something shifts inside my chest. It would be so easy to fall into him completely, to let his confession wash away all the hurt. But beneath the heat still coursing through my veins, the memory of public humiliation burns almost as hot as his touch.
Placing my palms against his chest, I push him back, creating just enough space between us for my head to clear. The alcohol buzz from earlier is fading, replaced by a different kind of intoxication—one made of Sebastian's cologne, his taste still lingering on my lips, and the heat of his body so close to mine.
"A few kisses and pretty words won't make up for the way you treated me," I tell him, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You can't just—"
Sebastian leans in, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below my ear and my protest dies in my throat, replaced by a soft gasp that would mortify me if I had any pride left.
"I know," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. Each word punctuated by another kiss, trailing down the column of my throat. "And I'm planning on making it up to you."
His voice has dropped to that rough, husky tone that bypasses my brain entirely and shoots straight between my thighs. I should push him away again. Should demand actual answers instead of letting his mouth distract me from a week of professional torture. But my body is a traitor, responding to his touch like he's been nothing but gentle with me.
"Sebastian," I manage, though it comes out more plea than protest. "We need to talk about—"
"We will." His teeth graze my collarbone, and my head falls back against the brick wall with a thud I barely register. "I promise we'll talk about everything."
His large hand slides up my outer thigh, pushing the fabric of my dress higher with each inch. His touch is deliberate, maddening in its slowness, as his fingers trace patterns on my skin but stopping just short of where I suddenly, desperately want them.
Then he kisses me again, harder this time, his tongue demanding entrance that I'm helpless to deny. His body presses mine against the wall, a delicious contrast of sensations—the cold, rough brick against my back and shoulders, the solid heat of his chest against my breasts, and the unmistakable hardness of his erection against my hip.
I moan into his mouth, unable to stop myself. My hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and I drink him in like I'm dying of thirst.
His hand continues its torturous journey up my thigh, thumb tracing the sensitive skin of my inner leg but never venturing where I need him most. I arch against him, a wordless plea for more contact, more pressure, more freaking anything.
When Sebastian breaks the kiss, his breathing is as ragged as mine. "You have no idea how often I've thought about this," he whispers against my ear. "How many nights I've lain awake imagining you spread out beneath me, those wild curls on my pillow, your legs wrapped around my waist."
His confession shoots another bolt liquid heat. The image he's painting is too vivid, too close to my own secret fantasies of him.
"I've wanted to taste every inch of you," he continues, voice dropping even lower as his hand slides higher, fingers now tracing the lace edge of my panties. "Wanted to feel you come apart under my tongue, hear you scream my name when I finally let you come."
My breath hitches, catching on a moan I can't quite suppress. His words are filthy, explicit in a way I never imagined coming from Sebastian's perfectly controlled mouth. It's a revelation, this side of him.
"Would you like that, Mia?" His lips brush against the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Would you like me to drop to my knees right here and put my mouth on you? To show you exactly how sorry I am with my tongue?"
"Holy fuck, yes," I breathe before I can stop myself.
He chuckles, a dark sound that makes my insides clench with want. "Not here," he says, fingers still teasing along the edge of my underwear without dipping beneath. "When I finally taste you, it won't be in some filthy alley. It'll be somewhere I can take my time. Hours, Mia. I plan to spend hours learning exactly what makes you fall apart."
I whimper, beyond caring how desperate I sound. My body is trembling with need, every nerve ending firing at once. I press my thighs together, seeking some relief from the ache building there, but Sebastian's knee slides between my legs, keeping me open and vulnerable to his touch.
"Please," I whisper, hardly recognizing my own voice. "Sebastian, please."
