He’s staring at me with an intensity that’s slightly scary—and extremely sexy.
The mask rests on top of his head. His dark eyes blaze as he studies me, gauging my mood. Just like he did when he was pleasuring me.
I had a taste of what he felt this week when he told me to stay and left the room. His absence was louder than his presence.
When he returned, I wanted to sob in relief. I knew he was going to punish me.
Totally worth it.
He finally gets it. He thought he wanted space, but he doesn’t. He proved it when he came looking for me. The mask was an added bonus.
“You look pleased,” he says.
I smile. I don’t bother hiding it. “I am. Not only from the orgasms, but because you finally stopped pretending.”
Something sharp and satisfied flickers in his gaze. “So did you.”
My arms are still wrapped around his neck, keeping him close. He told me he doesn’t intend to ever let me go. The feeling is mutual.
He reaches over and grabs the knife. My arousal coats the handle of the knife.
His smug smile has me rolling my eyes. “Guess I’ll take care of washing this while you get dressed and pack.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “Pack?”
He studies me for a long moment. Long enough that my skin hums with awareness. “I’m taking you home.”
The words land low and heavy in my chest.
“Okay,” I say softly.
His brow lifts a fraction. “That easy, huh?”
I shrug. “It’s that easy.”
That earns me a slow, dangerous smile.
He leans forward, lips pressing against mine. “Can you make it up the steps?”
I stretch my legs. “I think so.”
“Good.” He gets to his feet, then reaches down and grabs my hands. “Don’t forget your shoes and jacket.”
I kick my other foot out of my leggings. He pulls me to my feet. I grin at him and move without hesitation. My bare behind is chilly now that the fireplace has nearly burned out.
It doesn’t take me long to dress. I grab my suitcase and duffel bag and start throwing clothes and toiletries inside.
When I’m finished, I head to my office. Grabbing my backpack, I load my laptop and textbooks into it, then step into the hallway. He stands there, waiting for me.
He grabs my suitcase and duffel bag. He tries to take my backpack, but I roll my eyes at him. “I can manage.”
We head downstairs. I grab my keys.
“The patio door is locked,” Sebastian says.
“That’s a first.” I study his face. “Where’s your mask?”
He gestures to the pocket of his hoodie, like it belongs there now.
