Page 29 of Plot Twist in Pelican Point
I hang up and rub a hand over my jaw. The stubble scratches my palm. My reflection stares back at me in the dark window glass, unreadable.
Kate’s in this deeper than she knows. And it guts me—because I want to believe she’s innocent in all this, just caught in the crossfire. But some part of me, the part honed on years of betrayals and bad instincts, wonders if this connection we’ve forged is just another blind spot. I don’t want to doubt her—but I don’t trust anyone easily, not anymore. And if I’m wrongabout her, if she’s not just collateral damage but part of the game itself... it could cost us both everything.
And I’m starting to wonder if she’s the bait… or the target. If she’s the bait, then someone knows exactly how to use her. But if she’s the target—then I’ve already failed her once by letting her in. I won’t make that mistake again.
CHAPTER 10
KATE
The dream clings like mist—thick, wet, and laced with something rotten beneath the stone. The scent is ancient and earthy, like grave dirt. I wake gasping, as if I’ve clawed my way out of the ground.
Everything feels still, waiting. Watching. I wake up drenched in sweat, tangled in my sheets, heart pounding with that awful, breathless certainty that something's wrong. Outside, the fog hasn’t lifted yet. It curls across the lawn and clings to the hedges like it has secrets to keep. Secrets it whispered to me while I slept.
But before that—before the dream and the unease—I remember the night. The fevered press of skin, the echo of gasps tangled in moonlight, the ache of his hands mapping my body like a man memorizing a secret. The heat. The surrender. The way I unraveled under him and didn’t want to stop. He undid me with a single look. And now, even wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets, I feel bare in a way that has nothing to do with nudity. Exposed. Claimed. Changed.
Sebastian's hands grip my waist, his calloused fingers pressing into my flesh as he lifts me onto him. He guides his cock slowly inside me, filling me completely. His touch isboth possessive and worshipful, a contradiction that makes my breath hitch.
His mouth trails hot, wet kisses along my collarbone, each one branding me with heat. He moves lower, stubble dragging fire across my skin. I writhe beneath him, breath fractured, every nerve exposed. When his mouth finds my breast, I cry out—a broken sound I don’t recognize, like someone surrendering and surviving at the same time. His tongue circles a nipple slowly, teasing me with lazy, luxurious strokes before he flicks it sharply, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through my core. I cry out, arching into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with a desperation that borders on feral.
He growls low in his throat, the vibration sinking into the very marrow of my bones as he suckles, then grazes his teeth across the sensitive peak, ratcheting my need to a fever pitch. Every touch is fire, every breath he drags from me a spark catching flame.
"Tell me you want this," he growls, his voice ragged with restraint.
"I want you."
He groans, low and primal, and thrusts deep in one smooth, claiming stroke. I gasp, my body bowing beneath him, muscles seizing with helpless pleasure, thighs trembling as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper.
My nails dig into the broad expanse of his shoulders, marking him as mine as he begins to move—slow at first, deliciously slow, each stroke a decadent tease that sets my nerves alight. Then he shifts, hips snapping forward with increasing power and intent, each thrust angled to hit that perfect spot that makes me cry out again, the sound half-plea, half-praise.
The friction of his body against mine is unbearable and addictive, an erotic rhythm that builds into a frenzied crescendo of heat, need, and aching surrender.
"Look at me, Kate. I want to see you come undone."
I meet his eyes, and the connection slams into me—raw, consuming, and breath-stealing. It's more than eye contact; it's a jolt that spreads through my limbs, pins me to the moment. The air feels charged around us as our bodies slam together in an erotic dance. Our breaths mingle in heavy pants as our skin becomes slick with perspiration.
He pounds into me with unrelenting purpose, each thrust sharper, deeper; the headboard knocks a rhythm against the wall. One arm braces beside my head for support as he increases his intensity; the other grips my thigh hard enough to leave bruises, pulling me open and angling my hips to take every fierce inch. My body clamps around him, greedy and pulsing, slick heat building into something reckless and consuming.
"Sebastian..."
"Come for me."
Sebastian’s scent still clings to the sheets—a mix of cedar and warm skin—and I bury my face in the pillow for one last breath of him before I drag myself upright. He’d kissed me this morning, slow and lingering, like he didn’t want to let go.
His hand had cupped the back of my head, thumb stroking my cheekbone. “I’ve got to head up to the estate,” he’d murmured, voice rough with sleep. “But I’ll be close.”
I'd blinked sleepily at him. “Everything okay?”
He hesitated, then sat on the edge of the bed, hand still tangled in my hair. “Marc and Emma both found something weird. A name. Alexander Ruiz. He’s tied to some backdoor investment linked to the estate’s previous owner—and to your ex.”
I sat up straighter. “Roger?”
Sebastian nodded. “Ruiz’s sister. She was his ex before you. We think she got in his head, used him to set you up to be here—close, visible, vulnerable.”
I stared at him. “But why?”
His expression turned grim. “Because Ruiz wants to take me down. You were supposed to be the pawn. Now you’re more than that. And I won’t let him touch you.”
Then he'd kissed me again—hard and possessive, like he was staking a claim. And just like that, he was gone, leaving a promise behind with the heat of his lips.
