I feel my face burn and can’t hold his gaze. “I don’t.”
He chuckles, takes my jaw in his hand, and makes me look at him.
“You like it rough. Big fucking deal.”
He lets me go and walks over to the dresser to pick up the other cuff link. He’s wearing a tux. Right now, with his shirt hanging open, I can see the cut of every muscle on his abs and chest. I can’t stop looking.
My dress is hanging in a garment bag he had delivered sometime this afternoon while I was out, but he won’t let me see it yet. He also won’t tell me where we’re going.
“You never told me how you found me this afternoon,” I say, taking a sip. I don’t know if I like champagne or not. It’s my first time drinking it, and it does go down smooth.
“I had a man on you.”
“What?”
“It’s not a big deal. I couldn’t bring you with me to my meeting, and the alternative was leaving you on the island with my family. Would you have preferred that?”
“No. But you had someone watching me? Did you plant the money too?”
He doesn’t reply to that but puts the cuff link on the other sleeve then buttons his shirt bottom to top before tucking it into his pants.
“Sebastian?”
“Drop it, Helena. It’s done.”
“But—”
“Drop it.”
I do because he’s right, it’s done. And I can’t be surprised he did it.
Sebastian briefly disappears into the bathroom, returns with a bottle of lotion, and sits on the edge of one of the chairs. “Come here.” His knees are wide, and he’s pointing between them.
I drink the rest of my champagne and go to him, sit on the floor between his legs with my back to him.
Like earlier, he lifts my hair off my back. I should hate this. I should be repulsed by him, by his touch, but I crave it. Crave his hands on me. And it’s not just sexual. I like him taking care of me. He can be so gentle, more tender than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I remember what he said about cocooning me when I sleep, but at that moment, he touches a line on my back, I wince, remember what he did just an hour ago. It should harden me.
“Do you always have to hurt to get off? I mean, with other girls too.” Wow. Do I want to know?
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s rubbing lotion onto my back, massaging it in, and it feels good.
“I like rough sex. Like you do.”
“This is different than rough sex.”
He considers, and I wait, his hands moving back and forth so tenderly, I want to moan.
“I want you like this,” he says, his voice level.
I glance back. He’s watching me, no mocking look, no smile. Something else. Something deeper. Darker.
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “I just do.”
“Is it because I’m the Willow Girl?”
That was the wrong thing to say. His face shuts down, and he gets up. “Fuck the Willow Girl.”
He goes to the garment bag and unzips it. I get to my feet. Inside is a floor-length evening gown in a deep purple satin draped beautifully on the velvet hanger. I can almost feel how that material will glide over me, move with me, like I’m wearing nothing.
“This is the color of your eyes when you’re about to come. Almost black, but not quite. Like the edge of midnight.” He touches the gemstone belt. “The stars inside.”
I look at him. “You say the strangest things sometimes, Sebastian.”
Like he sees everything. Like he thinks in poetry. Like he feels…something he can’t feel. I clear my throat and turn to the shoe box. I couldn’t care less about what’s inside or how beautiful the dress is. I just can’t have him keep looking at me like he is.
He picks up the box, opens it. Inside is a pair of high-heeled gemstone sandals to match the belt of the dress. I reach out to gingerly touch them.
“They don’t bite.”
I give him a sideways glance, wonder at the cost of everything, wonder why he did it. I pick up the shoes and try them on. They’re so uncomfortable but so beautiful, I don’t even care. I’ve never worn anything like this.
When I look up, I see how he’s looking at me.
“I should get dressed.”
He nods, takes the dress off the hanger, unzips the tiny zipper low on the back.
“People will see my back.”
“Let them. Let them want what we have.”
What we have. What do we have?
He slips the dress over my head, and I turn my back to him to zip it. I look at myself in the mirror, wonder how it’s such a perfect fit.
The two upside-down triangles of cloth leave as much of my breasts exposed as they cover. The high empire waist makes me look taller than I am, and I realize the dress is split from the ankle all the way up to the waist. The back has slightly more material, so the split isn’t as obvious. I pull the two sides apart and can see right up to my navel. I turn to him.