Page 114 of A Cold Hard Truth

Remington sighed and walked toward the bed, sitting down on the edge of the expensive pillow top mattress. The bed didn’t groan, the wooden frame didn’t creak. He smoothed his hands down the comforter that wrinkled beneath his weight, but looked toward the door and held Sebastian’s stare.

“There’s a lot of things that don’t come naturally to me,” Remington explained. “People, for one. Relationships another. This kind of relationship a very strong third.”

“This kind…”

“Come on, Sebastian. This is different and you know it.”

“It’s different,” Sebastian agreed.

“I don’t have experience with any of this. With how to be the person you need.”

“It clearly comes naturally, Allan,” Sebastian said, rolling his eyes and calling Remington’s mind back to their initial conversations online as other versions of themselves.

“With you it does,” he agreed. “Even before I knew you were George, I wanted to…”

Remington trailed off with a small frown, unsure of the words he’d been looking for. There was a time when he’d wanted to throttle Sebastian for being so spoiled and insufferable and another when he’d wanted to fuck him until he shut his smart mouth and learned to quiet down. Through all of that, he’d circled back to wanting to strike Sebastian, but for entirely different reasons. Now because Sebastian needed it, because he needed it.

Remington caught Sebastian’s wide-eyed stare and his flushed cheeks, realizing in that moment it was what Sebastian needed most.

“Wanted to what?” Sebastian rasped.

“I want to shut you up,” he said. “Get you out of your head and over my knee.”

“Do you enjoy spanking me?” Sebastian asked.

“So much.”

Sebastian breathed loudly. “Me too.”

Remington held out his hand, arm outstretched and palm up. “Give me back my tie.”

“I wanted to keep it,” Sebastian mumbled, fishing it out of his pocket and dropping the warm fabric into Remington’s waiting hand.

“I’ll give it back later,” he promised. “Take off your clothes, Sebastian. Let me see you.”

“You’re dressed.”

“Take off your clothes,” he said a second time.

Sebastian shivered, then set to work on his shirt. He undid one button at a time, his fingers moving so slowly, Remington worried he might explode during the wait. Instead, he forced himself to use the time to catalogue the things he loved the most about Sebastian St. George. If Remington had been a writer, he could have managed volumes about the things that spoke to him, but he wasn’t. So when Sebastian’s shirt hit the floor, he started a list.

Remington loved Sebastian’s bravery.

His tenacity.

He loved the way Sebastian had loose lips after a drink, the way the alcohol made him bold. Remington wanted Sebastian to find that bravery sober, but he couldn’t deny he loved the soft and easy way it came after a glass or two of wine.

Sebastian’s belt landed at his feet, followed by his slacks and briefs, and lastly his socks. Remington could tell he wanted to cover himself, but Sebastian fought against it, holding his hands at his sides.

That was another thing he loved about Sebastian.

His vulnerability.

His perfection.

This man before him stood bare and beautiful and worthy of all the praise Remington would ever be able to bestow upon him.

“What?” Sebastian finally mumbled under his breath.