Page 21 of Forever His Favorite
Sebastian’s gaze softened, his hand cupping the back of her head while his other palm brushed against her cheek, thumb stroking lightly over her skin as though it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. “If I’m not affectionate with my wife,” hemurmured, voice dipping low and warm, “then who else would I be affectionate with?”
Emily’s lips curved into a tender smile, her chest swelling with warmth. She rose on her toes, her arms sliding higher around his neck as she pulled herself closer, arching up into him. Their lips met in a kiss that melted into softness.
The rest of the day blurred like a dream. Emily found herself drifting away from the work she had meant to focus on, instead curling against Sebastian on the couch. His arm rested lazily around her waist, his thumb idly tracing circles over the fabric of her dress while he spoke. She listened intently as he explained the intricacies of his world—stocks, boardrooms, new acquisitions, and expansion strategies.
What fascinated her most was not the size of his empire but him. The way his deep, confident voice carried weight when he spoke, the way his eyes sharpened when he shifted into work mode, and yet, no matter how endless the responsibilities seemed, he always returned to her. He always came home, always made it to dinner, always found ways to show her she mattered. He was tireless, relentless, but never too busy to make space for her.
By afternoon, she was in his lap, straddling him, his strong hands anchoring her against him as he roughly licked and sucked all over her neck. And then, within moments, he was over her, taking her until she could barely breathe, over and over for hours.
He spent the entire afternoon with her, making her moan and shiver as he filled her with his shaft, claiming her completely on her first day at his office.
As evening draped itself across the windows, they finally walked out of the building, returning home hand in hand.
Exhaustion clung to Emily like a heavy coat, weighing down her limbs. She dropped her purse onto the bed without a second thought and disappeared into the bathroom. Steam soon clouded the air, wrapping around her as she sank into the bath. The water was blissfully hot, the scent of lavender curling around her senses. She let it wash over her, soaking away the day’s tension until her body felt boneless.
When she finally stepped out, a towel wrapped around her damp hair, her phone buzzed insistently in her hand. She glanced down. An unknown number flashed across the screen. A flicker of unease tightened her chest. For a moment she hesitated, then she swiped to answer.
“Ms. Crawford,” Dillon’s voice came through, strained and heavy. “Mr. Cantrell is heavily drunk. Could you please come to meet him? He’s refusing to leave the bar unless you come here. He keeps saying he needs to talk to you.”
Through the faint static of the line, Emily caught the background noise—the clinking of glasses, the low, throbbing bass of music, and a muffled voice.
Dillon’s jaw tense as his gaze slid to Lucas, slouched carelessly in his chair. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his hand, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped it. His eyes, sharp despite the alcohol clouding them, were pinned mercilessly to the phone in Dillon’s hand.
Emily’s lips curled into a cold, sharp smile, her voice dripping with venom. “Then let him rot in that bar until he dies! I don’t care. Isn’t Amelia supposed to be his most loving, gentle, innocent fiancée? You should call her. Why are you even calling me?”
On the other end of the line, Lucas’s hand jerked violently. His grip tightened on the neck of the bottle before he tipped it back, swallowing a brutal gulp that burned all the way down. His throat convulsed with the harsh motion, his jaw tightening like a vice. Each swallow was punishment, each drag of alcohol a desperate attempt to extinguish the ache gnawing at his chest. Fury simmered beneath his skin, dark and molten, until his eyes narrowed into slits.
Dillon exhaled sharply, the tension pulling at every line of his features.
‘This woman is completely out of control. Mr. Cantrell had already lowered himself, already revealed the truth. She should be begging as usual, falling back into her old pattern of desperate pleas. But now she is acting bold, arrogant, throwing tantrums as if she has the upper hand.’
Forcing his voice into calm, Dillon smoothed each syllable into measured politeness, though irritation grated through every word.
“Ms. Crawford, you already know that Ms. Jones and Mr. Cantrell were only pretending to be a couple for that project. He’s already cleared everything publicly, even canceled the project entirely—losing millions because of it. Doesn’t that prove that he loves you the most?”
Emily’s laugh burst out, like glass shattering. “Loves me? He made me look like a mistress for five years—even when I was his legitimate girlfriend! And now you want me to clap my hands and kneel in gratitude? You have the nerve to tell me everything’s fine just because he finally admitted the truth? What afavor! How could anyone possibly tolerate that muchgoodnessin one person?”
Her tone dropped to ice, every syllable slicing. “I’ve told Lucas a million times, I’m done with him. I’m married now. Tell him not to bother me again.”
Lucas’s glare darkened into something murderous, his veins bulging, fingers flexing violently around the glass bottle.
She continued, “I have already tolerated enough. If Lucas continues to bother me, my husband isn’t going—”
“Who is it, baby?”
The deep, velvety voice drifted through the receiver.
Lucas’s head snapped up violently. Blood thundered in his ears, adrenaline flooding his veins so fast it felt like his skin would rip apart. His grip on the bottle convulsed until it rattled in his hand, veins straining against his skin as white-hot fury seared through his body.
Chapter 9 A Gallery In Her Name
Emily froze, pulse stuttering when Sebastian appeared behind her. His arms slid around her waist. Startled, she turned in his embrace, tilting her face up to him, eyes wide with a flicker of guilt.
Sebastian’s gaze moved from her expression to the glowing screen in her hand. “Who are you talking to?”
Emily forced a nervous laugh. “It’s just… someone I knew from the past.”
But his eyes lingered on the phone. He had already heard enough on his way into the room to know exactly who was on the other end.
