Page 84 of Arianna

Born to be him and no one else.

He wears only a pair of black silk pajama pants and nothing else. His naked chest is on full display, and I cannot help but drink him in while he is oblivious to my presence. I would never allow myself to pause for a second and take him in when others are around, but at this moment, when there is only him and me, I do.

Sebastian is all man.

All rogue beauty.

Nothing but bristling, thick muscular arms and legs bound in overbearing strength.

His skin is smooth, not marred with ink or scars.

And that makes him even more perfect if that is even possible.

My eyes travel to his wide shoulders, down to his bulky chest, and all the way down to his packed abdomen. Even when sitting down, he looked menacing.

Wild.

Untamed.

Messy jet-black hair as if he spent all night running his fingers through it.

Hair like the little girl currently sleeping soundly upstairs.

Gorgeous.

Him.

My chest tightens at the sight of him, and it is futile to ignore the fact that the organ inside my chest that's been dead silent for years becomes erratic when Sebastian is nearby.

Suddenly wanting and needing those blue eyes of his on me, I break the silence, interrupting his lone game. “Your conscience keeping you up?” I whisper, making him raise his head and stare straight at me, sending daggers through my soul. His eyes drink me in shamelessly, as I did to him a second ago. I hold my breath as his eyes pierce through me like a weapon that poses a great danger to my heart, soul, and sanity. In response to the not-so-subtle way he is observing me, I raised one eyebrow in a show of defiance.

Sebastian then laughs in a way that causes my stomach to flip.

Something about his laugh has changed as well.

It’s no longer mocking or cruel but genuine.

Why is he smiling at me that way? I wonder, not coming up with one logical reason.

“Ne soyez pas ridicule.” Don’t be ridiculous. He utters in perfect French. That’s another side I discovered about Sebastian. The man knows more than three languages, and one of them is French. I overheard him speaking to Ellaiza, teaching her young. As if the man could be any more attractive, but when he speaks French, my insides turn to mush, and the egotistical bastard knows it and owns it.

“Ne soyez pas un connard.” Don’t be an asshole. My pronunciation is not as flawless as his, but not horrible either. And if it is, he never says it.

Never mocks or corrects me.

In his twisted way, the man has only been pushing me to be better since the moment we first met, but the anger I felt towards not only him but life in general stopped me from seeing past my grief and sense of loss.

It stopped me from seeing what was right in front of me all along.

A tired laugh escapes him, without humor but not mocking either. “Tell me something, Arianna. Do I look like a man that worries over something as trivial as a conscience?” His smile widens, and a shiver spreads through my body while I feel a rush of warmth between my legs. Startled but not shocked by the discovery that my body is not dead when it comes to this man, I try to school my expression, not wanting him to see how much he is affecting me.

Every part of me is set aflame when he looks my way. I have both come to hate and love the feeling it invokes in me. After many long years of nothing here with him, I am beginning to feel again.

That is dangerous…

And addictive.

I move closer and sit opposite him, not waiting for an invitation. Assessing his game, I already know this is a losing game, and I am not only talking about the chess board in front of us. Without meeting his eyes but feeling them all over my skin, I move a piece. There is something oddly satisfying about this game. “Pour moi, oui...” To me, yes. I refuse to believe that a man that loves his child as dearly and fiercely as Sebastian does is all bad.

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