chapter 106
Elena's POV:
I stood in the hallway, Sebastian's menacing words still echoing through the gap beneath his study door.
My footsteps were deliberately soft against the marble floor as I made my way back to the living room, putting distance between myself and the dangerous edge in his voice.
I pretended to be absorbed in a pregnancy guide when Sebastian finally emerged from his study, his expression carefully neutral.
Despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, I caught the telltale signs of his jealousy—the slight tightness around his jaw, the way his fingers flexed unconsciously at his sides, the barely perceptible flare of his nostrils.
Once, these signs of his possessive fury would have sent me cowering, my heart racing with pure terror. But now, watching him struggle to contain his jealousy over something as trivial as French pastries, I found myself fighting an unexpected urge to smile.
I bit back my amusement, keeping my voice deliberately casual as I looked up from my book.
"Dinner's ready," I announced, managing to maintain an innocent expression.
In the dining room, I served his favorite dishes—pan-seared salmon with asparagus—and watched as he ate with mechanical precision.
Each movement was deliberate: fork to mouth, chew, swallow, repeat. But the distant look in his eyes told me he tasted nothing.
"Is it not good?" I ventured, reaching across to add more sauce to his fish, hoping the familiar gesture might ease the tension.
He paused mid-chew, and when his eyes found mine, they held that particular glint that always preceded his more cutting remarks.
"It's fine," he said, his voice deceptively mild. "Though I'm sure it doesn't compare to those exquisite petit fours from your old favorite patisserie. Such thoughtful gifts Lucas sends, doesn't he?"
I felt heat creep up my neck, but instead of responding directly, I reached for a strawberry from the fruit bowl between us. "Here," I said softly, extending the berry toward his lips in what I hoped was a peace offering. "Try this."
The hard line of his mouth softened imperceptibly.
Instead of taking the strawberry from my hand, he leaned forward and bit into it while I still held it, his lips brushing my fingertips with deliberate slowness. His gaze never left mine as he chewed, and there was something almost predatory in the way he licked the juice from his bottom lip.
My cheeks burned hotter. "Is it sweet?" I managed to ask, my voice coming out breathier than intended.
"Mmm," he hummed, finally swallowing.
A ghost of his real smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Much sweeter than anything Lucas could send. "
I couldn't help the exasperated laugh that escaped me, shaking my head at his persistence even as my heart fluttered at the intensity in his eyes.
"Fine," I said, setting down my fork with exaggerated resignation. "How about this—I promise to never eat another petit four from Lucas. From now on, I'll only eat cakes that you give me. Is that acceptable to Your Highness?"
The change in his expression was immediate and almost comical.
The brooding jealousy melted away like snow in spring, replaced by a satisfaction so profound it was almost smug. He reached across the table to capture my hand, bringing it to his lips with a gentleness that belied his earlier mood.
"That's all I wanted to hear," he murmured against my knuckles, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
Before I could react, he was on his feet, pulling me up and into his arms in one fluid motion. I yelped as he lifted me effortlessly, my hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders.
"Sebastian, what are you—"
"Since he already sent them," he said conversationally, as if he weren't carrying his pregnant wife through the penthouse like some caveman claiming his prize, "we might as well make use of the situation. I think it's time we explored some new games, don't you? Something to help you remember your promise."
My face burned so hot I was certain I resembled a boiled lobster. "Don't be ridiculous," I protested as he shouldered open our bedroom door. "You have work tomorrow—"
"Actually," he said, depositing me gently on the bed and looming over me with that dangerous smile, "I'm leaving for the Americas tomorrow. Business trip with Nicholas. Two, maybe three days."
His fingers traced along my jawline with maddening slowness. "Are you really going to send me away without a proper goodbye?"
The words hit me like cold water.
We hadn't been apart for more than a few hours since... since he'd brought me here. The thought of days without his overwhelming presence, without his warmth beside me at night, created an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest.
My resistance crumbled as he leaned down, his lips barely grazing my ear. "Unless you really want to refuse me?"
Instead of answering, I surprised us both by pushing myself up and pressing my mouth clumsily against his.
My inexperienced enthusiasm must have shown because I felt him smile against my lips even as I tried to deepen the kiss, my technique more eager than skilled.
Sebastian pulled back slightly, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed amusement and something darker, hungrier. "What are you doing, little wife?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint as I continued my artless assault on his mouth.
"Saying goodbye properly," I mumbled against his jaw, feeling bold and embarrassed in equal measure as I tried to nibble at his bottom lip the way he sometimes did to me.
He endured my clumsy ministrations for another moment, his hands fisting in the sheets on either side of me as if fighting for control.
Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down my spine, he gently but firmly flipped our positions.
"Next time," he promised, his eyes dark with promise as he pinned my wrists above my head with one large hand, "I'll let you practice all you want. But tonight..." He leaned down, his expertise making my amateur attempts seem even more laughable in comparison. "Tonight, let me take care of you."
The night that followed tasted of strawberries and cream, sweet and indulgent.
Sebastian was unusually playful, tracing patterns on my skin with berry juice and following them with his lips, turning what could have been another possessive claiming into something lighter, almost whimsical.
He whispered ridiculous things between kisses—how I was sweeter than any French pastry, how he'd buy me a bakery if it meant keeping Lucas's gifts away—until I was breathless with both laughter and desire.
At some point between his teasing ministrations and gentle caresses, exhaustion overtook me.
I drifted off to the sensation of his lips pressing soft kisses along my shoulder, his amused chuckle vibrating against my skin when he realized I'd fallen asleep on him.