<h4>Chapter 179: Chapter 179 Hope Was A Dangerous Thing</h4>


    Cecilia’s pov


    The whiskey on his tongue made me feel dizzy and bold, my mouth opening for him without a single thought in my head.


    I was just a body against his, pliant and willing, letting him do whatever the fuck he wanted.


    My arms hung loose around his neck before tightening their hold.


    "Upstairs. Now," he grunted into my mouth, the words more amand than a suggestion.


    He hoisted me up like I weighed nothing, his big hands digging into the flesh of my thighs to keep me in ce.


    I locked my ankles behind his back, my face burning where it was pressed into the crook of his neck.


    My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one until I could get my mouth on his skin.


    I bit his corbone, then sucked a mark lower down on his chest. I could feel the low rumble in his throat.


    We never made it to the fucking bedroom.


    He mmed me back against the cool ss wall of the hallway, his body a solid, immovable weight pinning me there.


    The ss started to steam up from our heat.


    His mouth was brutal on mine, his hands rough as they roamed all over my body, under the thin shirt, then tearing it off me.His touch was like a brand.


    "So fucking perfect for me," he snarled, his voice ragged.


    He hitched my leg higher around his hip.


    My head thumped back against the ss as his mouth started working on my neck, sucking so hard I knew it would leave a dark purple bruise.


    "Sebastian... fuck!" I gasped, my nails wing red lines down his shoulders.


    The cool ss was a shock against my bare back, but the front of me was on fire everywhere he touched.


    He was everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his cock pressing insistently against my core through our clothes.


    With a low growl, he shifted just enough to free one hand, and I heard the tear of foil packet.


    My breath hitched as he sheathed himself, the brief, practical interruption only heightening the desperate tension between us.


    "Mine," he growled against my damp skin, his eyes looking straight through me, something wild and possessive staring back.


    He pushed inside and I came apart for him,pletely.


    It built and built until I couldn’t fucking take it anymore, my whole body shaking as I fell, and he followed right after with a final, deep thrust, his own release shuddering through him.


    We just leaned there against that fogged-up wall, panting and spent.


    The air was thick with the scent of us, of sex and sweat.


    His forehead rested against mine, our ragged breaths mingling.


    Then, his hands began to move again, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my hip.


    The embers he’d left smoldering inside me ignited once more.


    "Again," he murmured, not a question but a statement, his mouth finding mine in a deep,nguid kiss that promised another slow, delicious burn.


    My body, still humming from thest climax, arched into his of its own volition, ready to be taken all over again.


    --


    I woke to birdsong.


    Lifting my head with tousled hair, I saw lush green trees outside, sunlight streaming in, and fluffy white clouds driftingzily overhead. I was practically sprawled across Sebastian’s chest, using his arm as my pillow.


    The sheets had slipped down to his waist, revealing his sculpted torso. Carefully, I reached out with two fingers to pull the sheet up higher.


    "Cold?" came his voice from above me.


    I quickly tried to roll away."Time to get up. Work awaits."


    Sebastian shifted from lying t to his side, his arm wrapping around my waist again.


    "Cecilia, it’s Sunday," he reminded me, voice still gravelly with sleep.


    I looked into his eyes and felt a flutter of nervousness. "Even on Sundays you have things to do."


    My entire body ached pleasantly--a map of every muscle he’d put to good use.


    Sebastian’s fingersbed through my hair. "I want to sleep a little longer."


    "You sleep then. I’m getting up."


    "Sleep with me."


    As if we’d actually sleep!


    I pushed against his chest. "No more sleeping. I’ll go make breakfast."


    When he still wouldn’t release me, I yfully scratched a few more red lines down his back until he finally let me escape the bed.


    I plucked the first thing from his closet--a crisp white dress shirt--and slipped into it, the fabric swallowing me in his scent.


    My clothes had been casualties ofst night’s passion.


    After dressing, I gathered our scattered clothing from the floor.


    When I spotted the used condom on the ground, my face flushed crimson.


    After washing up, I headed downstairs.


    I opened the refrigerator, not expecting much, but to my surprise, it contained eggs, milk (partially consumed), and other basics.


    The expiration dates showed everything was fresh...


    Did hee here often? That didn’t make sense.


    He spent his days at the office and nights at the apartment. When would he stay here? And if not him, then who?


    Who was drinking this milk? My hand tightened around the carton.


    Looking more carefully at the refrigerator’s contents--the fruit selection, the sheet masks in the drawer--I slowly closed the door.


    I didn’t take any ingredients out. Instead, I sat on a nearby barstool, lost in thought.


    I don’t know how long I sat there.


    "There you are. Why so quiet?" Sebastian appeared in the doorway.


    He worefortable but well-fitted loungewear, looking refreshed and energetic.


    I stood up quickly. "Oh, I was just walking around the garden. I meant to make breakfast, but then I got tired."


    Sebastian eyed my oversized shirt. "You went outside dressed like that?"


    "...There’s no one else here."


    Sebastian yfully patted my backside. "Go take another stroll while I make breakfast." He turned toward the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients.


    As he turned back, he caught me watching him, but I quickly averted my gaze and stepped out.


    I didn’t go to the garden.


    I was still basically naked, swimming in his shirt, and alone with him in this ridiculously perfect vi. It felt... weird. Like I’d wandered onto the set of someone else’s movie.


    So instead, I wandered into the ss house. Because nothing says "casual" like pretending you’re interested in nts while trying not to overthink the fact that you slept with a man who clearly has a history.


    The ce was stunning, of course.


    In the backyard, ace-trimmed chaise lounge lounged like it knew it was prettier than me. A single diamond earring sparkled near the piano--just sitting there, like some kind of calling card. And a tube of lipstick peeked out from under a stack of magazines on the coffee table, bold red, the kind I never wear.


    I wasn’t looking for anything. But I found it anyway.


    These weren’t clues. Not exactly.


    They were leftovers.


    Should I ask?


    "So, how many women’s lost-and-found items do you usually have lying around?"


    Yeah. That wouldn’t be weird at all.


    I didn’t say anything.


    Because asking would suggest I actually believed this wasn’t temporary.


    That maybe I hoped for more.


    I didn’t ask. Because asking meant hoping this was more than temporary. And hope, I’d learned, was the most dangerous thing to carry..