Stitches

I tell myself it was his idea, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. If this was his idea and he can’t handle it, that won’t change the damage that’s been done. It will be worse, too, because I’ll hurt Griff trying to make it all up to Sebastian—and this was his damn idea in the first place.

I’m starting to get mad at Sebastian, but I’m more terrified than mad so that emotion wins. That’s the one that consumes me. That’s the one I’m sure he sees swimming in my guilty eyes when I look up at him.

He swallows the liquor, then walks around to his side of the bed and puts his drink down. I get up on my knees and crawl closer, needing to be near him. I need him to look at me the same way he did this morning. I need him to touch me, to kiss me. I need to know nothing is broken between us, nothing is damaged.

He has to know all this, he has to see it, but I’m not the one he checks in with first. That makes me think he’s definitely mad at me. I should be the one he takes care of first, but he glances right past me to Griff.

“Have fun?”

Griff doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, either.

Sebastian smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt. “You’re a couple of fucking puritans, you know that?” Instead of finishing his drink, he grabs it and passes it to me.

I shoot him a questioning glance as I take it.

“Drink up,” he says. “Seems like you need that more than I do.”

8

Sebastian

My wife is completely terrified.

I wasn’t entirely sure how I would feel walking into this, despite my earlier reassurances that everything would be fine. It was what had to happen and I’m a man who does what needs doing, but it’s one thing to decide logically that this is the course of action, and quite another to walk into my bedroom where my wife lies naked in our bed, the smell of sex in the air, her hair mussed from someone else’s hands running through her dark locks, both of them with faintly guilty looks on their faces.

They’re bad at this already.

I’m sure they’ll adjust, though. This is uncharted territory and they’re not sure how it works. That’s understandable. I’m not either; I’m just much better at taking the lead even if I have no fucking idea where we’re heading.

So, that’s what I do. Moira looks up at me with all her feelings in her big blue eyes. I think she’d burst into tears if I so much as frowned at her. That makes me feel bad. I don’t want Moira to be so fragile about this, but I get it. The idea of fucking up our relationship scares me, too, I’m just not going to bleed my fucking feelings all over the place like she does.

Someone’s gotta be the strong one. I should’ve known it would have to be me. Griff usually handles his shit a lot better, but he doesn’t look much more comfortable than Moira right now.

Well, in my opinion there’s one sure way to blow past this kind of discomfort, to stop this sort of tiptoeing and show everyone once and for all how I want things.

Moira finishes the whiskey, grimacing like she just swallowed poison. I can’t help smirking. She hates hard liquor, but that’ll help her nerves. I take the glass from her and put it down on the end table,

peeling off my shirt and starting on my belt.

Moira’s gaze drops to my belt, then darts back to my face, a bit uncertainly.

Griff clears his throat. “Should I go?”

I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “No.”

He eases back on the pillow, but he looks no more certain than Moira.

“Did you come inside her or did you use a condom?” I ask.

Moira wilts—visibly wilts, like she wants to sink into the floor and disappear. No, no, no, that’s not what I want.

Seeing the way Moira reacts, Griff’s gaze shifts from her to me, picking up some hostility on the journey. “I didn’t—” He shakes his head, his jaw locking. He makes a visible effort to unlock it, then continues, “It didn’t go that far.”

Now I frown, cocking my head in confusion. “What didn’t go that far? What are you talking about? You didn’t get off? You stopped? What the hell were you two doing up here?”

Moira buries her face in her hands.

Griff looks worried about it. He can barely keep from glaring at me, since I’m the one making her so damn uncomfortable. “Do we have to tell you that? Do all of our activities have to pass inspection?”