Restless, Sebastian mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I adjusted the covers he had kicked clear off the bed and after tucking them around him, I watched him sleep for a while. My very own sleeping beauty. I never got the opportunity to really look at him. When he was awake, all that intense energy was blinding, like trying to study the sun. His face was tight, his brow furrowed in discomfort. I felt a pressing need to sift my fingers through his hair but I didn’t want to wake him. The pain was probably due to overexertion and he needed the rest to recover.
I crept off the bed slowly, so that he wouldn’t feel the shift of weight off the mattress. Small twinges of pain lanced through me with every step I took getting to the bathroom, a satisfying reminder of where his body had been.
I was staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, inspecting the red patch on my collarbone and the hickey on my throat, when I heard a low moan. I stepped back into the bedroom to find him breathing erratically. He wasn’t just uncomfortable, he was distressed as well. It killed me to see him in such a state. He was always so busy taking care of everything and everyone else that he forgot to take care of himself. The protective streak burning inside of me grew wide and angry.
As I began massaging his leg, he quieted almost immediately. The space between his eyebrows relaxed. His breathing turned deep and calm. Beautiful, stubborn man. Any time I tried suggesting he use his cane, he changed the subject. His pride might not allow it, but his body would insist on it––or pay the price. It was taking more and more of the powerful opiates to get him through the day. He was addicted to them and we both knew it. With his resources, I refused to believe that a good orthopedist couldn’t alleviate some of the discomfort, and made a mental note to do some research on it.
He mumbled again. I could barely make out the whispered words. “Don’t leave me…I need you…” I paused, questioning whether I had heard him correctly. “Don’t go…”
A great weight was suddenly sitting on my chest, crushing the air from my lungs and destroying a newborn hope that had been steadily growing since we left the club. He was dreaming about his wife…after everything we had shared.
“Love you…don’t leave me.”
My jaw trembled. Tears stung my eyes. I was dying inside, my heart disintegrating a piece at a time, sucked into a black hole of despair. Then, the realization hit me, earth shaking in its magnitude, that it was too late to turn back, too late to save myself because I had totally, irrevocably fallen in love with him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I woke at dawn with his sandy head between my thighs. Not the worst way to start the day. Pinned to the mattress, all I could do was surrender as he licked and kissed and worked me up into a state of arousal that had me begging in not one but three languages. Finally taking mercy on me, he planted me astride and buried himself deep inside of me. Something was driving him. He was relentless, hell bent on drowning me in pleasure until every part of me was filled up, touched, and tasted––enslaved by him. It only occurred to me afterwards that it had felt so good because he wasn’t wearing a condom. He looked appropriately embarrassed after my scolding.
“I don’t have any control when it comes to you,” he muttered.
“Well how about your mind? Do you have any control over that?”
His lips twitched, his expression wavering between amusement and challenge. Still, he didn’t argue.
“When’s your doctor’s appointment? I’d rather you see mine.”
“Next week, and no thank you. I’m perfectly capable of choosing my own doctor.”
And that’s how the morning began…
“They’re yours. Why wouldn’t you take them?”
He looked like an angry god now, an angry Eros, with his hands on his hips and a sexy scowl on his face. I wanted to kiss that scowl away. Instead, I stared at our reflection in the vanity mirror and continued brushing my hair.
The coach had turned back into a pumpkin. The horses were mice again. I had my old, tired clothes back on while he stood behind me wearing those titillating, snug boxer briefs and nothing else. He was so damn gorgeous––privately I was sighing and ogling like a teenage girl.
“They’re not mine. They were on loan for one evening. Thank you for doing that for me, but I don’t feel right accepting them. Besides, what would I do with them? I don’t need designer clothes. I’m a housekeeper, remember?”
Frowning, he shook his head. “Don’t say that. That’s a temporary situation.” The pained look on his face shifted to determination. “You’ll need them when we go out. You need a lot more, but I figured you could pick out what you want yourself.”