Sebastian doesn’t say anything disparaging, however. Just parks his top-of-the-line Mercedes between my neighbor’s beaten up 1990 Ford Escort and an even more decrepit Chevy that I don’t recognize.
“You don’t need to walk me in,” I tell him hastily, reaching for the door handle. “I can make it from here.”
He just looks at me, face completely blank as he shuts off the car and climbs out.
Fine. That’s what I get for worrying about h
is car being here—and in one piece—after he walks me to my apartment. He might not be concerned, but that’s only because he doesn’t know this area. I wonder if I should say something, but judging from the set of his shoulders, it wouldn’t matter if I did. He’s determined to get me safely to my apartment.
I start to climb out of the car on my own, but he’s there before I even get both my feet on the ground. Then he’s holding the door for me with one hand, helping me out with the other. I don’t need his help, am perfectly capable of climbing out of a car and walking to my apartment by myself. But when his hand—warm and rough and perfect—settles against my lower back, I decide not to make a big deal of it.
Besides, my legs feel a little unsteady, like my muscles can’t quite remember how to move without his touch. The feeling should worry me, but I’m too out of it at this point to care. All I want is my bed and a blanket and for Sebastian to curl up next to me.
The fact that that isn’t going to happen—that I can’t let it happen and he probably wouldn’t want it to anyway—sends a wave of despair flowing through me. Which doesn’t make sense considering I’ve never needed a man to coddle me in my life. I try to stiffen my spine, to pull away, but his hand is wrapped around my waist now, pulling my body flush against his side. And even as I know I should fight against it, it feels too good. He feels too good.
“Which one is yours?” he asks, propelling me across the parking lot toward the building. Around us, the street is fairly quiet—if you don’t count the girls working the stroll on the corner and the guy dealing out of the parking lot across the street.
“I’m the third one on the second floor.”
Sebastian just nods, but when we get to the staircase, he pauses for a second. Peers at a couple of the apartment doors to the right of us like he expects them to bite him or something.
I try to think of a joke, something to make this place seem not quite as bad as it really is. But before I can come up with anything, he sweeps me into his arms and starts to carry me up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” It’s half-screech, half-whisper since the walls are thin here and I don’t want to wake my neighbors up. The last thing I need right now is an audience. “Put me down.”
“I will. When we get to your apartment.”
“But, why—”
“You look tired.”
“It’s the middle of the night! Of course I’m tired—”
“Then shut up and enjoy the ride.” He looks at me so pointedly that I do shut up. Not because he told me to, but because, suddenly, I can’t think of anything else to say.
When we get to my door, he slides me slowly down his body, until we’re standing chest to chest, hips to hips. For the first time, I realize that he’s hard, his cock pressing against my stomach. An answering excitement starts within me, building on the heat from earlier, when he was touching me in the car. Still, I pull away. I’m not trying to play hard to get, but I don’t know how I feel about any of this.
About Sebastian.
About the intensity of the sex we had in his office earlier.
About the way I’ve felt so odd, so off, since it happened.
Everything feels strange and I don’t know what to do. About any of it.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him as I step back and start fumbling for my keys.
He smiles at me, and it’s a little dark, a little amused. “I’m coming in, Aria.”
“I don’t know if that’s really a good idea—”
He takes my keys from me, opens the locks before pushing my door open. “Good idea or not, I’m coming in.”
Sebastian takes my elbow, then moves me gently through the front door before following me and closing it behind us.
“I’m not going to fuck you.” I blurt the words out while we’re still standing in the dark.
“I’m not asking you to.” He fumbles at the wall next to the door for a second, then snap. The lamp by the couch turns on.