Page 25 of Trained In Sin

Seb

I'm reviewing the quarterly reports when Matthew's voice comes through the intercom, unusually hesitant.

"Seb? There's someone here to see you."

I check my watch, nearly nine. The legitimate business hours ended long ago, leaving only the kind of meetings that require privacy and discretion.

"I'm not expecting anyone," I reply, not looking up from the financial projections that need my attention before tomorrow's board meeting.

"It's Ms. Jenkins."

My head snaps up. Saphy. Here. At Syren. At 9pm on a Wednesday night.

"Send her up." The words come out rougher than intended, betraying the sudden acceleration of my pulse.

I hear the hum of the private lift a few minutes later.

I stand, moving away from the desk, suddenly aware of every detail of my appearance.

The sleeves of my white shirt rolled up to the elbows, the top button undone, my hair slightly dishevelled from running my hands through it while working.

I look like what I am, a man who owns the night, who thrives in the shadows that most people fear.

The lift doors slide open, and Saphy steps into my office .

She's wearing a black dress, fitted, sophisticated, stunning. Her hair is down, falling in dark waves around her shoulders. She's wearing my lipstick, the deep red that marks her as mine whether she's admitted it or not.

But it's her eyes that stop me cold. Gone is the fear, the hesitation, the constant battle between want and should. Instead, there's something I've never seen before: resolve.

"Saphy." Her name comes out like a prayer.

"I broke up with him." The words fall between us like a gauntlet thrown down. "It's over. I ended it."

The satisfaction that floods through me is primal, possessive. She's here. She's free. She's mine.

"And?" I keep my voice carefully neutral, though every instinct is screaming at me to close the distance between us, to claim what I've been waiting for.

"And I'm tired of pretending I don't want this." She takes a step toward me, her chin raised in challenge. "I'm tired of fighting something that's bigger than both of us."

"What are you saying, Saphy?"

She closes the remaining distance between us in three determined strides, reaching up to grab my face in both hands. "I'm saying stop talking."

Her mouth crashes against mine with a desperation that matches my own. This isn't the hesitant kiss from the alley, weighted down with guilt and confusion. This is hunger, pure and unfiltered, three weeks of suppressed desire finally given permission to burn .

I don't hesitate. My hands find her waist, pulling her against me hard enough to lift her feet off the ground. She gasps into my mouth, and I swallow the sound, deepening the kiss until there's no space left between us.

She tastes like wine and rebellion, like a woman who's finally stopped lying to herself about what she wants. When I trace her lower lip with my tongue, she opens for me immediately, letting me take control in a way that sends fire straight to my cock.

"I've been thinking about this," she whispers against my mouth, her voice rough with want. "Every night since the alley. I can't stop thinking about your hands on me."

"Show me," I growl, walking her backward until her spine hits the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. "Show me what you've been thinking about."

Instead of answering with words, she reaches for my belt, her fingers working with single minded determination. The sound of leather sliding through metal fills the quiet office, and I have to grip her wrists to steady myself.

"Saphy…."

"No." Her eyes flash with something wild and desperate. "No talking. No thinking. I've done enough thinking to last a lifetime."

She drops to her knees before I can protest, looking up at me with eyes that are dark with desire and defiance. "I want to taste you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been dreaming about it."

The sight of her like this, on her knees in my office, still wearing that black dress, her red lips parted and ready, nearly undoes me completely. This is the woman I knew was hiding beneath all that careful propriety. Wild, hungry, unashamed of what she wants.

"Then take what you want," I tell her, my voice hoarse with need.

She doesn't need to be told twice. Her mouth is hot and eager, inexperienced but enthusiastic in a way that drives me to the edge of madness. She licks me, from my head all the way down my shaft. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I am consumed by the feeling, by her lips around my cock.

"Fuck, Saphy," I gasp when she does something particularly wicked with her tongue. "You're going to kill me."

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips swollen and slick. "Good. I want you as desperate as you've made me."

The admission breaks the last of my control. I pull her to her feet, spinning her around so her palms are flat against the glass. The city spreads out below us, lights twinkling like stars, but all I can see is her reflection in the window, flushed, breathless, beautiful.

"Is this what you want?" I ask, my voice rough as I press against her from behind. "To be taken against this window where anyone could see?"

"Yes." The word comes out as a moan when I reach around to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress.

I gather the hem of her dress, pushing it up around her hips. She's wearing black lace that matches her dress, and the sight of it against her pale skin makes my mouth go dry.

"These are mine now," I tell her, hooking my fingers in the delicate fabric .

"Yours," she agrees, then gasps when I tear them away completely.

I slowly move my hand up the inside of her thigh and gently touch her pussy.

She gasps at the contact and I can feel the electricity buzzing through my hands.

I slide my fingers along her and she starts to rock along them.

My hand gets wetter, as I gently part her and push two fingers deep inside.

“So wet for me princess. I’ve dreamed of all the ways this would happen, but this outdoes all of them.

” I pull my fingers out and wrap my arm around her throat.

Leaning into her ear, I lick all of her from off my hand. “Tastes like the divine.”

I keep one hand on her hip, holding her steady, while my other traces up her spine to tangle in her hair. She arches into my touch like she's been starving for it, pushing back against me in silent demand.

"Tell me what you want," I command, my mouth against her ear.

"You," she breathes. "All of you. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fuck me until I forget my own name."

The crude words falling from her beautiful mouth are my undoing. I line myself up against her, feeling how ready she is, how much she wants this.

"Look at me in the reflection," I order, and her eyes find mine in the glass. "I want to see your face when I claim you."

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, watching her eyes widen as she adjusts to the size of me. She's tight, perfect, and the feel of her surrounding me is better than every fantasy I've had over the past three weeks.

"Sebastian," she moans, her breath fogging the glass. "Please. "

"Please what?"

"More. Harder. I want to feel you tomorrow."

I give her what she's asking for, setting a rhythm that's rough and demanding. She meets me thrust for thrust, pushing back against me with a desperation that matches my own. This isn't gentle lovemaking, this is claiming, possessing, three weeks of frustrated desire finally finding release.

"You feel so fucking good," I groan, my grip tightening on her hip hard enough to leave marks. "Like you were made for me."

"I was," she gasps, her reflection showing me the moment she loses herself to the sensation. "God, Sebastian, I was made for this."

I can feel her getting closer, her body tightening around me in ways that drive me to the edge. But I'm not ready for this to end. I've waited too long, wanted her too much to let it be over quickly.

I pull out suddenly, ignoring her cry of protest, and spin her around to face me. Before she can speak, I lift her onto my desk, scattering papers and sending my laptop sliding toward the edge.

"I want to see you properly," I tell her, pushing her dress up and over her head. "I want to watch you come apart."

She's beautiful in the lamplight, all pale skin and dark hair, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. The red lipstick is mostly gone now, transferred to my mouth and other places, but her lips are still full and swollen from kissing me.

"You're staring," she says, but there's no self consciousness in her voice. If anything, she sounds pleased to have my attention so completely .

"I'm memorizing," I correct, running my hands up her thighs. "Every curve, every mark, every expression you make when I touch you like this."

She cries out when I find that sensitive spot that makes her arch off the desk, her hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface. "Sebastian, please…"

"Please what? Use your words Saphy." I ask again, enjoying the way she squirms under my ministrations.

"Stop teasing. I need you inside me again."

"Since you asked so nicely."

This time when I enter her, it's slower, more deliberate. I want to watch her face, want to see every emotion that crosses her features as I fill her completely.

"Better?" I ask, though the word comes out strained.

"Perfect," she breathes, wrapping her legs around my waist. "You're perfect."

The new angle lets me go deeper, and she responds by digging her nails into my shoulders, holding on as I set a rhythm that builds steadily toward something explosive.

Every thrust draws sounds from her that go straight to my cock, little gasps and moans that tell me exactly how good I'm making her feel.

"I'm close," she warns, her voice breaking.

"Not yet." I slow my movements, drawing a frustrated whimper from her. "Not until I say you can."

"That's not fair. "

"Life isn't fair, princess. But I promise to make it worth the wait."

I change the angle slightly, finding the spot that makes her back bow off the desk. She's lost the ability to form coherent words now, reduced to gasps and pleas that only spur me on.

"Now," I finally command, my own control hanging by a thread. "Come for me now."

Her climax hits like a lightning strike, her entire body tensing as she cries out my name. The sight of her losing herself so completely, so beautifully, pushes me over the edge. I follow her into oblivion, her name a prayer on my lips as I bury myself as deep as possible.

For several long moments, we stay frozen like that, her sprawled across my desk, me leaning over her, both of us trying to remember how to breathe.

"Fuck," she finally whispers, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest. "That was..."

"Everything you expected?" I ask, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone.

"Better. So much better." She runs her fingers through my hair, the gesture surprisingly tender after the intensity of what just happened. "I can't believe I waited so long to do that."

"You weren't ready before."

"No," she agrees. "But I am now."

I help her sit up, both of us wincing slightly as I pull out. She looks thoroughly debauched, hair mussed, skin flushed, marks from my hands visible on her hips. She's never been more beautiful .

"Stay tonight," I tell her, surprising myself with the request. I don't usually ask women to stay. But Saphy isn't just any woman.

"I can't." But she says it regretfully, not dismissively. "I have work tomorrow, and I need to process what just happened."

"Process away. But do it here, with me."

She slides off the desk, reaching for her dress. "Sebastian, this is all very new for me. I just ended a three year relationship a few hours ago. I need some time to…."

"To what? Convince yourself this was a mistake?"

"No." She pulls the dress over her head, smoothing it down. "To convince myself it wasn't."

I reach for her, pulling her close again. "It wasn't a mistake, Saphy. This is the most honest thing either of us has done in years."

"I know." She reaches up to cup my face, her thumb tracing my cheekbone. "But I need time to adjust. To figure out what this means."

"It means you're mine now." The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me. "It means I'm not letting you go."

Something flickers across her face, not fear, but awareness of what she's just committed herself to. "I know that too."

I walk her to the lift, reluctant to let her leave even though I understand why she needs to. At the doors, she turns back to me.

"Thank you," she says simply.

"For what? "

"For waiting. For making me realize what I was missing." She pauses. "For showing me who I really am."

The lift doors close between us, but I can see her reflection in the polished steel. Flushed, satisfied, transformed. The woman who entered my office three hours ago was still fighting herself. The woman who just left has finally surrendered to who she really is.

And she's magnificent.

I return to my office to find Matthew waiting, a knowing expression on his face.

"I take it the meeting went well?" he asks, noting my dishevelled appearance and the scattered papers on my desk.

"Very well." I begin gathering the fallen documents, already planning when I'll see her next. "Clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon."

"Again?"

"Again. And Matthew?" I look up at him. "No interruptions for the rest of the night. No calls, no emergencies, nothing that can't wait until morning."

He nods, understanding that something fundamental has shifted. "Congratulations, Seb."

"On what?"

"Getting what you wanted."

After he leaves, I pour myself a whisky and stand at the windows where I took her just hours ago. The city sprawls below, full of people living their small, safe lives, never taking the risks that lead to real passion.

But not Saphy. She chose the fire. She chose me. And now that I have her, I'm never letting her go.

The taste of her is still on my lips, the scent of her still clinging to my skin. Tomorrow she'll wake up in her own bed, probably second guessing what happened here. But it's too late for second thoughts now.

She's crossed the line. She's admitted what she wants. And what she wants is me.

Game, set, match.

She's mine now, completely and irrevocably. And I've never been more satisfied with a victory in my life.