Page 22 of Trained In Sin

Saphy

The deep red roses are waiting on my desk when I arrive at work Tuesday morning. Not the white lilies from before, these are darker, richer. The colour of the lipstick I was wearing when Sebastian kissed me.

My breath catches as I approach my workstation. The arrangement is stunning, professionally done, each bloom perfect. But it's the shade that stops me cold, that sends heat rushing through my body despite every rational thought screaming at me to throw them in the bin like before.

"More flowers?" Miranda appears at my elbow, her voice thick with curiosity. "Someone's really trying to win you over."

I touch one of the velvet petals, and the memory hits me like a physical blow. Sebastian's mouth on mine, desperate and demanding. The way he tasted, the way he made me feel like I was burning from the inside out. The way I'd kissed him back like my life depended on it.

"They're beautiful," I murmur, surprising myself.

Instead of the fear and violation I felt before, there's something else entirely. Anticipation. A dark thrill that makes my stomach flutter and my skin heat. He's thinking about me. He remembers every detail of that night, down to the exact shade of my lipstick.

"Are you going to keep them this time?" Miranda asks, clearly remembering my violent disposal of the last arrangement .

"Yes," I say without thinking, then catch myself. "I mean, it seems wasteful to throw them away."

But that's not why I'm keeping them. I'm keeping them because every time I look at them, I'll remember the taste of him. And despite every sane thought in my head, I want to remember.

*

The rest of the morning passes in a haze of distraction. Every time I glance at the roses, my mind drifts back to that alley. To the way Sebastian looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. To the way his hands felt on my skin, possessive and sure.

I try to focus on the riverside development files, but the words blur together. All I can think about is the way he'd whispered my name against my throat, like a prayer and a curse all at once.

My phone buzzes with a text from Beth: Coffee? You've been weird since Friday and I'm worried.

I check the time, nearly noon. I could use the distraction, and Beth always sees through my lies anyway.

Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting across from her in our usual café, watching her study my face with the intensity of a detective.

"You look different," she says without preamble.

"Different how? "

"I don't know. Unsettled. Like you're thinking about something you shouldn't be thinking about." She takes a sip of her latte, eyes never leaving mine. "Want to stop treating me like I’m stupid and tell me what’s really going on?”

I open my mouth to deflect, to make some excuse about work stress, but what comes out instead is: "I can't stop thinking about him."

Beth raises an eyebrow, “No shit Sherlock. I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m really not.”

“I can't get that night out of my head, Beth. The way he kissed me, the way he made me feel..."

"Saphy." Her voice is gentle but firm. "You have a boyfriend. A good boyfriend who loves you."

"I know that." The guilt hits me like a physical blow. "God, I know that. But when I kissed Damon yesterday, trying to feel something, anything close to what I felt with Sebastian..." I trail off, unable to finish.

"It wasn't the same," Beth supplies.

"It wasn't even close." I bury my face in my hands. "What's wrong with me? I should be grateful for what I have with Damon. He loves me."

"But?"

"But when Sebastian touches me, I feel like I'm on fire. When he looks at me, I feel like the most desirable woman alive. When Damon touches me..." I pause, hating myself for what I'm about to admit. "I feel nothing. "

Beth reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "There's nothing wrong with you for wanting passion."

"There is when you're in a committed relationship with someone else."

"Then, at the risk of sounding like a record on repeat, you need to ask yourself if Damon is what you really want.”

The question hangs between us, and I don't have a good answer. Three days ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. But that was before I knew what it felt like to burn.

"He sent me roses today," I say quietly. "The exact colour of the lipstick I was wearing when we kissed."

Beth's eyebrows shoot up. "And?"

"And instead of being terrified like before, I was..." I search for the right word. "Excited. Thrilled that he remembered, that he was thinking about me."

"Saphy…."

"I know how it sounds. I know what he is, what he's capable of.

But I can't stop wanting him." The admission feels like a physical relief, like lancing a wound.

"I've been trying to convince myself it was just a moment of weakness, but it wasn't. I wanted him before he kissed me, and I want him even more now. "

Beth studies me for a long moment. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." I take a shaky sip of my coffee. "I love Damon. I do. But it's a different kind of love.”

"And Sebastian? "

"Sebastian isn't love. Sebastian is..." I struggle to find the words. "Obsession. Possession. Something dangerous and consuming that I should run from."

"But you don't want to run."

"No," I admit, the truth bitter and sweet on my tongue. "I don't want to run. I want to dive headfirst into whatever this is between us, consequences be damned."

Beth leans back in her chair, processing. "You know this can't end well, right? Men like Sebastian Blackwood don't do normal relationships. They don't do compromise or equality or any of the things you deserve."

"I know."

"And you still want him?"

"I still want him." The admission feels like stepping off a cliff. "God help me, Beth, but I still want him."

*

I return to work with Beth's words echoing in my head. She's right, of course. Sebastian Blackwood is dangerous, possessive, the kind of man who takes what he wants without asking permission. Getting involved with him would be the height of stupidity.

But when I see the roses on my desk, their deep red petals catching the afternoon light, all I can think about is the way his mouth felt on mine .

Around three o'clock, another delivery arrives. This time it's a small, elegant box from a Bond Street boutique. My hands shake slightly as I sign for it, hyperaware of Miranda's curious stare from across the aisle.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a tube of Chanel lipstick. Rouge Noir. The exact shade I was wearing Friday night.

There's no note, but there doesn't need to be. The message is clear: I remember everything. Every detail. Every moment.

I should be horrified. I should call security, report the harassment, do something rational and responsible. Instead, I find myself opening the tube, staring at the deep red colour that's now forever linked to the taste of his mouth.

Before I can stop myself, I'm in the bathroom, applying it with trembling fingers. In the mirror, my lips look fuller, more sensual. More like a woman who gets kissed in dark alleys by dangerous men.

The woman staring back at me isn't the predictable Saphy who dates nice IT consultants and saves for houses and does the right thing. This woman looks hungry. Restless. Like she's been awakened to possibilities she never knew existed.

I should wipe it off. I should go back to my desk and pretend this never happened. Instead, I find myself touching my lips, remembering the way Sebastian had traced them with his thumb before kissing me senseless.

My phone buzzes with a text from Damon: Dinner tonight? I'll cook .

The domesticity of it, the sweet, ordinary offer from my sweet, ordinary boyfriend, should comfort me. Instead, it feels like a cage closing around me.

I text back: Rain check? Exhausted from work.

Another lie. I'm not exhausted from work. I'm exhausted from wanting something I shouldn't want, from craving something dangerous and wrong and completely outside the careful boundaries I've built around my life.

But as I stare at my reflection, at the woman with Sebastian's lipstick on her mouth, I wonder if those boundaries were ever meant to contain me. Or if they were just walls I built to keep myself safe from feeling too much.

Either way, Sebastian Blackwood is forcibly tearing them down, one carefully chosen gift at a time.

And the most terrifying part isn't that he's doing it.

It's that I want him to succeed.