Page 95 of The Sun & Her Burn

A shameful, idiotic excuse.

I watched as the words hit Seb like a blow. He absorbed it, rocking backward and forward slightly, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers with his shoulders raised slightly in a tense, defensive line.

“Bene,” he said. “Okay.”

Absolving me. Always absolving me of guilt.

“Will you come?” he asked, not looking at me.

Look at me, I wanted to shout, everyone else be damned.Devour me whole so I have no choice but to be consumed.

“I will,” I said quietly, almost drowned out by the music.

Someone bumped into Sebastian as they danced and he nodded once without looking at me before following Linnea out of the room.

For a moment, just a single second, I felt the cold weight of pragmatism on my shoulders. It smelled like my father, it reminded me on the minutes after my mother died beside me and when I discovered George had taken his life.

If you do this, I thought,you are absolutely fucked.

I raised my hand to rub across my weary mouth and caught the scent of Linnea and Sebastian lingering on my fingers, the spice market and ocean brine of them so delicious blended together.

I was walking forward before I could process my own movement.

Sod it, I thought,it’s been too bloody long since I was properly fucked.

19

SEBASTIAN

The soles of my Italian leather loafers echoed through the surprisingly quiet hall as I stalked away from the VIP section toward Sinclair’s office. It was a fitting soundtrack for the lonely walk, a hollow ring like the beat of my heart.

Cold sweat beaded on my brow that I wiped away with the back of my hand and I had to force myself to take a deep breath before I entered the office because I felt almost sick with anticipation.

That I might be able to touch and taste both the people who had come to haunt my dreams and waking hours was almost too much to bear.

My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob and even when I shook out the nerves, I felt weak as I turned the handle and pushed inside.

I had expected to find Linnea waiting, but the masculine office was empty.

Unease thrummed through me as I walked deeper into the room, stopping at the large antique French desk dominatingthe back wall of the space. There was something about the old European furnishings and dark, warm colors only illuminated by a red glass desk lamp and a dimmed overhead chandelier that set the stage for salacious fantasies. There was a silk privacy screen in one corner that begged for some kind of strip tease, a leather ottoman Linnea would look beautiful bound to by the wrists and ankles, a deep velvet sofa I could imagine sinking into with the weight of both lovers pressing into my body.

I planted my overwarm palms on the cool desktop, leaning into them even as I spread my legs slightly, closing my eyes to imagine Adam ordering me into the position so he could touch me again.

Maybe he would have Linnea on her knees in the small space between my hips and the table so I could fuck into her mouth while he reminded me what it was like to be spread open on her fingers.

Cazzo.

It had been so long since I had been with a man in any kind of way I almost felt like a virgin again at the thought of doing something—anything—with Adam.

As if summoned by my dark thoughts, the door opened and, after a brief pause, closed behind me.

I did not turn around.

A little shiver ripped down my back like a ghost had taken hold of my spine.

The ghost of the many, many nights I had spent in Adam’s thrall a decade ago.

I was so fucking weary of the distance between us, of the time that had past and the awkwardness that remained. I longed to have things simplified just for a moment.