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The look of disappointment, of disgust, of rage on my father’s face this morning, right before I turned to flee.
I try to keep it together, to keep the seething, roiling mess of my thoughts from showing on my face, but I must not succeed, because Sebastian reaches for me. “Do we need to talk about this?” he asks in an obvious echo of his earlier question.
My answer is the same now as it was then, as well. “No.”
He looks unimpressed, his smile rueful and his electric green eyes anything but amused. “Yeah, well, now that my dick isn’t actively involved in the conversation that answer isn’t going to cut it.”
“It’s going to have to.” I nod toward the black chrome clock hanging on the opposite wall. “I need to clean up. I’m supposed to be on the floor in fifteen minutes.”
“Fuck the floor,” he tells me, and outside of sex, it’s one of the few curse words I’ve heard Sebastian use. It gives me pause. Or maybe it’s the tone of voice he says it in—firm, no-nonsense, absolute, that stops me in my tracks. He usually doesn’t talk to me like that unless he’s fucking me and judging from the fact that he’s yanking his own clothes back into place—and putting distance between us as he does it—an instant replay really isn’t an option right now.
But standing here, hashing over my feelings and my past, isn’t, either. Not now. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now. And definitely not with him.
“I don’t really have any desire to do that,” I say, going with flippant to get me out of this mess, because everything else is too complicated and hurts too much. “God only knows where it’s been.”
The look he shoots me is distinctly annoyed. After-sex humor definitely not for him, then. Good to know. Especially since that’s about the range of emotional depth I have to offer him right now. If he doesn’t want it, that’s not my problem.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom again?” I ask, already striding across the lush executive carpet to the even more lush executive bathroom in the corner. “I’ve got to clean up.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” But when I step into the luxurious room, Sebastian won’t let me close the door in his face like I did yesterday. Instead, he nudges me deeper into the bathroom and then follows me inside. It’s a good-size room, but right now, when my emotions are so out of control, it’s nowhere near big enough for the both of us.
“What are you doing?” I demand, suddenly shaky. I came in here because I need a minute to regroup, a minute to get my head on straight and my emotions under control. I can’t do that with him around—if I could, I wouldn’t have asked to use the restroom in the first place.
“I would have thought that was obvious.” He’s crowding me now, pressing me up against the sink.
“I need to clean up!” I squawk at him, too freaked out at this point to worry about being polite. Everything is pressing in on me—my family, my life, Sebastian and the kind of sex we have—and I need a minute to process it. To get control so I can get my shit together once and for all.
“Who’s stopping you?”
“You are, obviously.”
I’m facing away from him now, and our eyes meet in the mirror. His are calm and steady and absolute and the look on his face flat-out says that he will not be denied. Not now, not in this.
I jerk my eyes away, duck my head. I can’t look at him anymore and I sure as hell don’t want to look at me right now. Not when I’m so disheveled and out of sorts and clearly—clearly—not in control. Which is bogus, because that’s the one thing Sebastian promised me and it’s the one thing I’ve wanted all along. The control that comes from having sex like ours.
But here I am, shaky and freaked out and anything but in control while Sebastian is doing exactly what he wants when he wants. How is any of that about me gaining control?
I’m just angry enough to ask him, but then he’s right there, arm wrapping itself around my waist and pulling me back against the hard planes of his chest. He rests his cheek against the top of my head on one side, and then uses his other hand to tilt my chin up so that I have no choice but to look in the mirror. No choice but to see just how out of control I’ve gotten.
“Look at yourself,” he whispers. “Look at how strong you are.”
It’s like he’s inside me, like he knows my every weakness and vulnerability. “I’m not—”
“You take me on like it’s nothing. Demand what you want and refuse to give until you get it. You racked that bastard with the grabby hands to protect that girl, no matter the cost to yourself, and I’ve seen the way you are with the customers. Seen the way you keep them in line with just a glance.”
He thinks I’m strong because I talk a good game, because I can fake it with the best of them. But if he knew what was inside me, knew how scared and worried and hurt I am—
“Look, Aria,” he tells me again, his shoulder knocking against mine for emphasis. “See what I see.”
I’m angry that he’s doing this, forcing me to see what I’ve spent so much of my life hiding from. But if I don’t look, if I don’t listen to him, something tells me we’ll end up standing here until hell freezes over. I’m stubborn, but Sebastian is beyond belief.
Except, when I finally yank my gaze away from him long enough to take in my own reflection, that vulnerability, that weakness, isn’t what I see. In its place is a more colorful, more kickass version of myself.
My hair’s a little messed up—strands tousled and sticking out in different directions—but whose wouldn’t be when their lover just spent the last half hour running his hands through it? My skin, though. My skin looks ridiculous. Bright and flushed and glowing, I look like I’ve just spent the last hour being fucked senseless in the best possible way. Combined with my dress, the straps of which are falling off my right shoulder, there’s no hiding what’s been going on in Sebastian’s office.
Not that I want to hide it, exactly—I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing. But I don’t want to broadcast it, either. It’s nobody’s business but ours.
