Page 15

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Seb

A throbbing ache pulses behind my eyes as I pry them open, wincing at the slant of sunlight slicing through the curtains. Great . The last thing I need is a hangover on top of everything else. I reach blindly for my phone, squinting at the screen as I see a flood of missed calls from my father. I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. Whatever he wants, it can’t be good.

What’s strange, though, is the total absence of messages from Elle. She’s usually the first to text me after a night out – either a string of emojis or some scathing critique of my life choices. But today, nothing. Just radio silence.

I start to type a quick message to her, thumb hovering over the screen, when my phone vibrates in my hand. Asher’s name flashes on the screen. Sullivan , I remind myself. He insists on Sullivan when he’s all business, which isn’t the best sign this early in the day.

“Sullivan,” I answer, my voice raspy.

“Are you alive?” Asher’s dark chuckle echoes down the line. “Thought you’d ghosted everyone permanently.”

“Funny.” I sit up, trying to push back the headache. “Why are you calling so early?”

“Early? It’s nearly five in the afternoon. Speaking of which, meet me at the club in a few hours. We’ve got business to discuss.”

I rub my temples, internally groaning. I’m not up for business today. “Can’t this wait?”

“Not really. Couple of hours,” he insists in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He laughs again, this time full and amused. “No, not tonight. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

The line goes dead before I can ask him what he’s talking about. Frowning, I look down at the time. And sure enough, it’s just after five. I mutter a curse under my breath. I’ve wasted the whole day sleeping after being up all night, and I still haven’t checked in with Elle.

Before I can open my texts, my phone vibrates again. I glance down, and this time it’s the last person I want to deal with right now: my father.

I pause, thumb hovering over the screen as I hesitate.

I stare at the screen for a moment longer, my finger hovering over the green button to answer. But I don’t. Instead, I press the red one, sending it straight to voicemail. I’m not ready for this. Not yet. Not with everything that’s running through my head. I know I need to clean up, eat something, and get ready for tonight, but everything else feels like it can wait.

I strip off my clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket, and step into the shower. The hot water hits my skin, steam rising and filling the small space. I scrub my hair, rinse off the sweat of last night, and try to shake off the weight pressing on my chest.

It’s a moment of silence, of clarity, of solitude, and I cling to it. I close my eyes, letting the water run down my back, pushing away the gnawing thoughts of my father’s voice, the missed call, the unanswered questions.

Instead, I stand under the hot water, the steam enveloping me, trying to clear my head. My fingers trail lazily over the bar of soap as my thoughts slip, as they always seem to, toward her. Elle.

I can’t help it. Even now, after everything that’s happened between us, she lingers in my mind like an itch I can’t quite scratch. I picture her in that black dress she wore on our date, the way it clung to her curves, the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of defiance and something darker, something that mirrors my own desires. Then I think about the last time I saw her, walking the dogs, and the soft, breathy moans she let out when I kissed her, when I made her feel something she wasn’t sure she wanted but couldn’t deny.

My body reacts almost instantly, heat pooling low in my belly, a sudden surge of desire coursing through me. I find myself imagining her in the club tonight – sitting at the bar, those tight heels dangling from her fingers as she sips something expensive. Or maybe I’d pull her out onto the dance floor, grinding against her, taking her right there in front of everyone. She’d be mine , her eyes locked on me, no escape, no hiding.

I bite down on a groan, my hand moving down to wrap around my dick which is already rock hard and throbbing. Squeezing tightly, I lose myself in the fantasy as it intensifies, my mind filling with images of her dressed in nothing but a pair of heels, her breath coming faster as I press her against the nearest wall, my lips on her neck, marking her.

But as the tension builds, something shifts. I stop.

It’s not right. Not tonight. I shouldn’t bring her with me. Not while there’s still this other business to handle. Asher wants to talk, and as much as I want to ignore it, I can’t. I don’t even know what the fuck he wants, but I’m not going to drag Elle into it. Not when the last time I got involved with Sullivan was such a fucking mess.

I release myself with a sharp exhale, slowly letting go of the pressure building inside me. My breath steadies, and I roll my shoulders in frustration at myself in the fogged mirror opposite the shower. I shouldn’t have let my mind wander there. She deserves more than a night of lust and whatever game I’d be playing tonight. If I want her, I need to do it right.

Tomorrow. I’ll make things up to her. A grand gesture. I’ll apologise. I’ll prove that I’m not just the man who uses people for his own pleasure. I’ll show her that she means more than just a passing indulgence. I need to think through what I’m doing first, and if that means being a little more patient, then so be it.

With a deep breath, I finish rinsing off and step out of the shower. The cool air hits my damp skin, and I quickly wrap a towel around my waist, grabbing another to dry my hair. The sound of pounding on the door, urgent and angry, makes my pulse jump.

I move across the bathroom, my mind still buzzing with the remnants of the fantasy, the need to do better by Elle, and the dread that always follows when I see my father’s face. Because I know it’s him at the door. It couldn’t be anyone else, and besides, I’d recognise his furious fist pounding in any alternate universe.

I reach the door and peer through the peephole. His angry eyes lock with mine, and my heart sinks. The sight of his face makes my stomach tighten in ways I wish I could ignore. His features are sharp, his jaw clenched, and his eyes burning with that all-too-familiar anger. His expression makes my heart sink, and for a second, I consider pretending I’m not home.

But I know he’s not going to let this go.

Shit.

I step back and take a slow, steadying breath.

I need to get dressed, find something to eat, and figure out how to make it through tonight. I’ve got plans, and they don’t involve dealing with my father’s drama. Not now. Not ever.

But then – bang, bang, bang .

The sound is so forceful that it makes me flinch, the door rattling in its frame as if it might break. I freeze, the towel still clutched around my waist, heart thumping against my chest.

“Sebastian! Open up! I know you’re in there!”

It’s never a good sign when he uses my full name.

I move slowly, as if the longer I take, the less real this will feel. I reach for the door, my hand gripping the cool metal of the doorknob as I hesitate.

But I know better.

The last time I did that, it didn’t end well.

“Sebastian!” he bellows, throwing his weight against the door as I open it so that I have to jump back. The door crashes into the wall behind and I let out a long sigh. My old man has never been one for subtlety.

He’s scowling like he’s just been stabbed in the back. He marches into the room, slamming a newspaper down on the table with enough force that it rattles. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at, eh?” he growls, glowering at me.

I glance down at the paper, barely able to stomach whatever he’s going on about now.

A large, if blurry, picture of me smiling down at a small blonde fills the front page. Her face isn’t visible to the camera, but there’s a brunette hanging off my arm on my other side, and it’s clear that I’m surrounded by women. The headline glares up at me.

Sebastian Sterling-Knight Seen Partying with Multiple Women After Engagement Ring Purchase .

I click my tongue. This is what it’s come to? I can’t even breathe without getting dragged into the mud. How do they know about the engagement ring though, I wonder.

My father’s face is turning redder by the second, and I know this is about to blow up in ways I’d rather not deal with. I glance back at him, trying not to laugh because I know that’ll make it worse.

“Why the hell are you out whoring around, eh?” he demands, his voice dripping with disgust. “You’ve bought an engagement ring, and now you’re gallivanting around like some bloody bachelor. What kind of example is that, Sebastian? What’s your fiancée going to think of this? You’re embarrassing yourself, son. And more’s to the point, you’re embarrassing me.”

I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret. It’s all too much, all too bloody much.

Then he drops the bomb.

“I want to meet her. I don’t care if it’s the weekend, I want to meet this woman you’re supposed to marry. And you need to get your act together. No more of this nonsense. If I see one more headline about you, I’ll cut you off, engagement or not.”

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. The stress of it all builds up in my chest, tightening. My pulse is racing, making my hands tremble, just slightly. The idea of being cut off – it’s not new, but it still gnaws at me, making everything feel ten times worse.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he’s storming out, yelling back over his shoulder. “Get your shit together, Sebastian, or it’s over. The engagement, the money, everything. You won’t get another penny from me.”

The door slams behind him, and I’m left standing there, staring at the paper. I don’t even want to read the article, but I can’t help myself. My eyes move across the page, and I can already feel the tension mounting in my neck, in my back.

I skim it quickly. They’ve got the details all wrong, of course. The whole thing’s a mess. Some photos of me with a few women, having drinks, looking friendly. But being friendly isn’t what the paper’s are after. No, it’s always got to be something more scandalous.

My stomach churns, and I toss the paper down. This isn’t just about the headline. It’s about everything I’m trying to keep together and the fact that my father doesn’t trust me. Never has, never will.

I need to do something, anything to get this out of my system. I can feel the tension building, pressing down on me, pushing all my thoughts into a tight, angry knot.

It’s been a while, but I know where I need to go.

Tonight, I’m going to do more than just meet Asher to talk business at the club. I’m going to scene.

It’ll release some of the pressure, if only for a few hours.

Because if I don’t, I’m going to snap.

The club is busy tonight, the usual crowd filling the air with chatter and music, but my mind’s elsewhere. It’s been a long day – too long considering I’ve only been up a few hours – and I need something to take the edge off. The kind of night where I’m just here to unwind, play, and forget about everything.

But of course, it’s never that simple. Asher wants to meet tonight. And when Asher Sullivan asks to meet, you don’t say no. Especially not when I need him so badly.

I make my way through the crowd, finding him easily. He’s sitting in one of the quieter corners of the club, sipping a drink and looking like he’s ready to get down to business. The man always carries himself with an air of control. Nothing slips past him.

I walk over, and Asher doesn’t need to look up to know I’m here. He gives a brief nod, acknowledging my presence before speaking. “Sebastian. Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, sliding into the seat across from him. “What’s so urgent you needed to drag me here?”

Asher’s calm, calculating gaze meets mine, his sharp green eyes assessing me like he’s reading every thought in my head. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. I want to discuss a few things. You’ve got some ideas I’m interested in.”

I raise an eyebrow. “My ideas? Thought you had a plan for this.”

He chuckles, a low, smooth sound. “I always have a plan, but I want to hear yours first. Your thoughts, your proposals. I want to know what you’re really offering.”

The way he’s looking at me, like he’s sizing me up for a deal, makes me realise he’s already got a direction in mind. He’s letting me talk first. That’s how he works – he’ll let you lay your cards out, and then he’ll see if it’s worth his while.

“Well,” I begin, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve got a project I’m considering. It’s a bit of a gamble, but if it pays off, it could open up some serious doors for both of us. I’m not interested in the family business, so my shares could be offered up as collateral if things were to go sideways.”

Asher listens, his eyes narrowing as I explain the outline of my plan. I’ll admit, I reached out to him because I don’t have the unique connections he does in order to get the job done, but in terms of offering him something to sweeten the deal, it’s easy to come up with on the spot. The details come easy to me – numbers, projections, timelines – all the things I know he’ll want to hear if he really wants a share in the business once we’re done. But I’m holding back a bit. I know Asher’s not the type to jump in without knowing all of the risks. He’ll need to see the full picture before he makes any decisions about coming on board.

When I finish outlining the proposal, there’s a long pause. Asher takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. I’m waiting for him to respond, but he’s making me sweat it out a little.

Finally, he sets his glass down and leans back, folding his arms. “Interesting,” he says, his voice cool and collected. “But you’re right – it’s risky. And you know I don’t like to take unnecessary risks unless the potential reward is worth it. What else do you have?”

I don’t hesitate. I’ve got more up my sleeve, ideas that could make this venture work even with the risk factor. The key is being able to convince him it’s worth the gamble. Because if I could pull this off, it could get me out from under my father’s control once and for all.

I lay out the next set of details, feeling the tension in the air shift as Asher listens closely. He’s not interrupting – just absorbing everything I throw at him whilst casually sipping his drink. And when I’m done, he nods, slowly.

“I’ll need to run some numbers and think about it,” he says. “But I like what I’m hearing. You’ve put some thought into this, and it’s clear you’ve got more than just one idea. That’s a good sign.”

I exhale, realising I’ve done what I set out to do – keep his attention, show him I’m not just some trust-fund kid throwing around ideas with no substance. Asher Sullivan doesn’t do deals based on gut feelings. It’s all about the facts, the figures, and whether the plan is going to work in the long term.

“I’ll have something for you in a couple of days,” Asher adds, standing up. “But it looks like we’re on the same page. Keep me posted with any updates.”

I get to my feet too, my heart still racing, but I can feel the relief washing over me. This could actually work.

“Cheers,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder before he disappears back into the crowd.

I take a moment to let the club’s noise wash over me. It’s strange, how in a place so loud, I can still hear the faint echo of my father’s words from earlier. But with Asher’s interest now in this project, I feel like I’m finally moving forward.

I’m trying to focus, but the pulsing beat of the club’s music is nothing but background noise compared to what’s happening on the stage. My attention keeps getting drawn to the main floor, where the crowd is gathering. Vixen’s up there, taking control of the space, striding across the stage with an air of confidence that commands silence. The crowd, hungry for the spectacle, falls into place, all eyes on her and her partner for the demonstration tonight.

I try to ignore it, to pull my thoughts back to the conversation with Asher, but I can’t. Vixen raises her flogger, her fingers curling tightly around the handle. The sub kneels before her, and I don’t even notice at first, but there’s something about the posture that’s…different.

Then it hits me. The sub is a woman. I squint through the dim lighting, trying to get a better look, but I know it’s her the second Vixen lands the first strike.

“Oh, fucking hell,” I groan under my breath.

My body freezes as my pulse quickens. I know I should look away, but I can’t. It’s like something primal inside me is forcing me to watch. The rhythm of the flogger swishing through the air, the sound of it hitting soft flesh, it should disgust me – she’s giving herself over to someone else, to Vixen . But instead, everything within me wars.

My blood boils with rage, yes, but it’s rushing straight to my dick, making me hard, my cock twitching with need. It’s a twisted mix of fury and desire, and I don’t know which one is stronger. I want to punish her. I want to grab her off that stage and make her pay for putting herself on display like this. But at the same time, I want to rip off her dress, take her in front of everyone, and fuck her senseless.

Mark her as mine, because that’s what she is. Mine .

Vixen strikes again, harder this time, and Elle moans. The sound of it sends a jolt straight through me and my dick responds, throbbing. She’s aroused, and I know it’s just my imagination, but I swear I can smell her, even from the back of the room.

She looks so beautiful, so vulnerable. The way she arches her back, the way her body trembles as she’s taken to the edge of pleasure, it’s enough to make my control slip, to make me want to break every rule that’s been set. I want to be the one that makes her moan, not someone else.

I can’t take my eyes off her. Every part of me wants to stop this – wants to grab her, throw her over my shoulder, and take her away to somewhere private, but something deeper inside me knows it’s not that simple.

My fists clench as I rise from my seat, ready to storm the stage. I need to end this. Now.

But before I can take a step, a hand lands on my shoulder. I turn around, glaring. It’s Wint. He doesn’t need to say a word – his grip is firm enough to stop me dead in my tracks. I scowl, eyes blazing, but he holds my gaze, calm as ever.

“Seb,” he says quietly, his voice barely above the noise of the crowd, “You know the rules.”

I growl, the rage bubbling over, but he’s right. Fuck, he’s right. Elle’s consent is what matters here. As much as I want to rip her away from this, she’s made her choice, and I have no right to take that away from her, not like this.

“She’s mine,” I hiss, the words leaving my mouth like a raw threat.

Wint gives a small shake of his head. “She’s a grown woman. You know she’s consenting to this.”

My blood is pumping in my ears, but I nod begrudgingly, the frustration gnawing at me. I know he’s right, and still, I feel the need to intervene, to claim her, to stop this twisted scene unfolding before me.

But all I can do is watch as Vixen continues to strike, each lash sending Elle higher into the cloud of sensation. Her body trembles, her breath coming in gasps, and when Vixen’s fingers brush against the bare skin of her sexy backless dress, I swear I can see Elle’s whole body shudder with need. The way her chest rises and falls, the flush of her skin, the moan that escapes her lips – it’s like I’m being consumed by her pleasure, even from where I stand.

The tension in me grows unbearable. Every time Vixen strikes, I feel it. Every breath Elle takes, every whimper she lets out, it twists my insides, driving me closer to the edge.

By the time the scene finally comes to an end, I’ve had enough.

I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t let her walk away from this, can’t let her think she can give herself to someone else like this and expect me to just stand by.

She needs to be punished.

I storm up to the stage, the crowd parting around me as I push through, the weight of my anger heavy in the air. I reach Elle just as she’s trying to gather herself, her body still trembling from the aftermath of the scene.

Before she can even react, I grab her arm, dragging her away from the stage. “What the fuck was that?” My voice is low, tight with fury, but underneath it, there’s something darker, something hungry. “You don’t get to do that. Not like this. Not without me.”

She stares at me, her eyes wide, a mixture of confusion and defiance in her gaze. But I don’t care. I can barely see straight, the need to claim her and punish her is burning in my chest so fiercely. I don’t know what’s worse – the jealousy ripping through me, or the undeniable arousal thrumming in my veins.

But one thing’s for sure – I’m not letting her out of my sight again.