31
SEBASTIAN
I didn’t plan to come over here.
That’s the lie I tell myself as I pull the mask from the glove compartment and slide it over my face.
This isn’t desperation.
Or losing control.
This is… recalibration.
Pushing the door open, I climb from my car and walk through the darkness, sticking to the shadows.
It sucked having to wait this long, but I had no other choice. Daylight was just too risky.
I slip around to the back of her house.
Her patio door is unlocked. Not surprisingly, even though it makes me grit my teeth. Ivy lives like the world is exactly as safe as she expects it to be. She has a false sense of security that just because she was in danger once, it won’t happen again.
I step inside quietly, closing it behind me with deliberate care.
Her house smells like her. Clean linen, vanilla sugar,something soft and faintly floral underneath. Familiar and warm.
I take two steps forward.
Ivy stands at the end of the hallway, barefoot, wearing my sweatshirt. Her eyes widen when they land on me. Fear flashes in them for a second before recognition settles in.
And then—hunger.
Her lips part. Her pupils blow wide. Her chest lifts on a sharp inhale she doesn’t bother to hide.
That’s not what I expected.
I take another step toward her.
She doesn’t move back. “Sebastian,” she breathes, like she tastes my name on her tongue.
I tilt my head. “Is that disappointment I hear, Ivy?”
She swallows. Hard. Then shakes her head.
I chuckle, the sound dark, as I cross the rest of the distance between us slowly, deliberately—giving her every chance to retreat.
She doesn’t.
I back her into the wall with nothing but my presence, my body close enough that she can feel heat without contact. I brace one arm beside her head, caging her in without touching her.
“Did you miss me, Ivy?” My gloved hand slides to her face, then lower, my thumb tracing over her pulse, which beats wildly in her throat.
Her breath hitches, but she remains silent.
She stares up at me with a look I recognize. One I’ve seen on my face in the mirror.
I lean in just enough to whisper, “What’s wrong, Ivy? You look a little… turned on.”
Her breath stutters.
