Cecilia’s pov
Sebastian’s wet lips trailed a hungry path from the small of my back up to my ear, leaving fire in their wake, his tongue a hot, wicked stripe against my sensitive skin.
His grip was iron, unyielding, as I struggled beneath him.
He was devouring like a starving wolf who’d found prey after weeks of hunting.
No matter how I protested, his hands continued their relentless exploration, my dress practically hanging in tatters as he tried peeling it away.
I twisted beneath him, panic rising fast. "Sebastian, stop...this isn’t you."
But he didn’t even blink. His pupils were blown wide, as if he couldn’t hear at all.
His knee forced its way between my thighs, the rough fabric of his tailored pants a brutal friction against the thin silk of my panties.
I could feel the hard, insistent ridge of his cock pressing against my ass, a blatant promise of violation even through his slacks.
Every shift of his hips ground that heat against , a crude simulation that sent a jolt of traitorous lightning straight to my core.
My body was betraying , a damp heat gathering where his thigh t my pussy, a silent, shaful answer to his aggression.
"Sebastian!" I shouted. "Snap out of it!" He didn’t.
Not until I scraped my nails down his arm in warning.
His skin gave beneath my fingers, a red trail blooming in my wake.
I thought pain might shock him back. I was wrong.
Wrong move. Catastrophically wrong. It only made things worse.
A rough, guttural sound ripped from his throat.
One large hand slid from my waist, fingers hooking into the fragile lace at my hip.
He didn’t tear them away, but the threat was there, his knuckles digging into my flesh, the barrier so thin it was like he was already touching .
He yanked back harder against his erection, making gasp.
He flipped over like I weighed nothing.
My cocktail dress--already more suggestion than coverage--was barely clinging to . His eyes raked over like I was dinner.
Hot. Ready. Served. His gaze locked on the rapid rise and fall of my chest, on the pebbled tightness of my nipples pressing against the ruined silk.
He lowered himself, his hips slotting between my spread legs, the full, daunting weight of his arousal now a direct, pulsing pressure against my clit through our clothes.
It was an intimate cage, a preview that stole the breath from my lungs.
"I swear to God, I will fight you," I warned.
Then I did.
My voice shook, but my body didn’t. I shoved hard at his chest, kicked out with my knee.
He caught my wrists mid-swing, slamd them above my head with one hand, and pinned down like I weighed nothing.
Then he kissed . Hard. Like punishnt. Like he wanted to brand the shape of his mouth into mine.
I writhed beneath him, twisting, trying to bite, trying to breathe.
His grip was unrelenting. I kicked at him, pushed, but he didn’t let go.
He kissed hard, without hesitation, without recognition.
We were locked in a brutal rhythm, all tension and motion, no thought.
Then he stopped.His entire body went still. His breathing hitched.
His eyes flicked toward mine. Focus returned, slowly at first, then sharply.
Realization hit him. He looked down at my face.He released .
Without a word, he grabbed his jacket from the floor and threw it over .
Then he stepped back quickly, as if afraid to be too close.
He collapsed at the far end of the couch, chest heaving.
Every muscle in his body pulsed with restrained violence.
Veins bulged at his temples, his neck, his hands.
He was barely holding it together.
I pulled the jacket tighter around and stood, putting space between us.
The air around him felt... dangerous. Like he could snap and tear apart.
I staggered across the room.
"Are you..." I hesitated, eyes dropping involuntarily to the bulge in his pants.
"...okay? Can you...can you control yourself?"
My throat went dry. My brain short-circuited. Stop looking, Cecilia.
Our eyes t. He was watching with an unreadable look.
I blinked and looked away.
Seriously, stop staring at the man’s crotch. You’re not helping.
He crossed his legs, clearly aware.
"I’m... doing my best," he said, voice tight and formal.
Like he hadn’t just tried to devour alive.
I didn’t go back to the couch.
Instead, I dragged a chair toward the center of the room.
As I was about to sit, I noticed the painting above.
A woman stared down at , her smile just a little too knowing.
Nope. Not dealing with that.
I moved the chair again.
Silence dragged on. Thick. Claustrophobic.
Sweat pooled under Sebastian’s jacket like I was wearing a winter coat in a sauna.
"Sebastian," I said, voice hoarse, "do you sll anything weird in here?"
He frowned. "What sll?"
"You don’t sll it?" That surprised .
Then alarm set in.
We both started acting strange the second we entered this room. But I could sll sothing he couldn’t.
"Maybe it affects n and won differently," I said slowly, the words tasting strange in my mouth.
I paused. "Or maybe... it’s not ant to trigger wolves at all."
I looked up at Sebastian, the pieces starting to click.
"It bypasses your senses entirely--goes straight for your instincts. That would explain why you’re acting off but don’t even realize it... "
Then it hit like a freight train.
My stomach dropped.
"Oh my God. Tang and Sawyer."
If this thing was affecting Sebastian, what about them?
Two straight guys. Locked in a room.
Under the sa effect that had just turned him into a sex-starved animal.
Tang could probably fight it. Maybe. But Sawyer? Poor Sawyer.
And if it wasn’t just them--
Evelyn and Vance were alone too.
Would they snap? Tear into each other in panic?
Would they scream?
My mind spiraled, crashing into every worst-case scenario I could imagine.
At least Sebastian hadn’t been stuck with Vance.Small rcy.
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