“Shut up,” Harper breathed, tugging at his shirt buttons with impatient fingers.
Her back met the wall—when had they moved? Sebastian’s mouth traveled to her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear. Harper gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.
“Your bedroom,” Harper said, decision made. “Now.”
Sebastian didn’t need to be told twice. He led her down the hallway, their hands intertwined, pausing only to press her against the wall twice more—once to kiss her senseless, once to let her return the favor.
His bedroom was a surprise—elegant but understated, dominated by a king-sized bed with navy sheets that looked sinfully soft. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city lights.
“No mirrors on the ceiling?” Harper teased, trying to calm her racing heart.
“They’re in the guest room,” Sebastian deadpanned, already working on the buttons of her blouse.
Harper laughed, then gasped as his lips found the hollow of her throat. He took his time undressing her, slowly discovering each newly revealed inch of skin with his hands and mouth.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she complained, tugging at his shirt.
“Easily remedied.” He stepped back, making quick work of his remaining buttons.
Harper sat on the edge of his bed, suddenly looking uncertain. The fierceconfidence wavered, just for a moment. She had always been in control. Of interviews. Of consequences. Of herself. But here, with him, in this moment—she wanted to know what it felt like to just… fall.
“Hey,” Sebastian said, noticing her hesitation. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she said quickly. Then, softer, “I’ve wanted to for months. Even when I hated you.”
“Especially when you hated me,” Sebastian said with a crooked smile.
Harper laughed, and the tension broke. She pulled him closer to her, and his mouth crashed against hers with a hunger that should have terrified him. He’d kissed women before—plenty of them—but this was different. This was Harper, all fire and sharp edges and devastating intelligence, meeting him with equal ferocity.
What followed was everything he’d imagined and nothing like he’d expected. Sebastian learning her body—carefully, methodically, cataloging every reaction until he knew exactly how to make her fall apart.
Harper’s hands weren’t idle either. She explored the hard planes of his chest, her fingertips tracing scars he’d forgotten he had, mapping muscle and bone with the same intensity she brought to everything else. When her nails scored down his back, Sebastian groaned into her mouth, the sweet sting sending fire straight through him.
“Harper,” he whispered, her name a prayer on his lips as she moved beneath him, all graceful limbs and soft curves.
At one point she gasped something that might have been an argument or might have been a particularly creative curse, and Sebastian grinned against her skin—even breathless, Harper Sinclair was magnificent at being contrary.
They moved together through waves of pleasure until they were both spent and shaking, collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and sweat-dampened skin.
At one point, as they lay catching their breath, Harper trailed her fingers down his body and murmured, “We should probably do that again. You know, just to verify at it wasn’t a fluke.”
Sebastian’s laugh was rough and delighted. “I do appreciate your attentionto detail.”
And they did—twice more through the night, each time with an urgency that suggested they both knew this might be their only chance. All that frustration and tension and want poured out between them until they were both completely wrung out.
Later, with Harper curled against his side, Sebastian traced patterns on her bare shoulder and tried to process what had just happened. She looked different like this—softer, more vulnerable, though no less beautiful. Her guard was down, and Sebastian felt privileged to see this side of her.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Harper murmured, but Sebastian could hear the uncertainty beneath the bravado.
He laughed as his fingers combed through her hair. “Of course not.”
But as Harper’s breathing evened out and sleep claimed her, Sebastian stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of every inch of her pressed against him—bare skin, tangled limbs, the quiet rhythm of her breath matching his.
The sex had been intense, yes. But this—this quiet, unconscious closeness—felt more intimate than anything.
That’s when it hit him.
He was in serious trouble.