In the Shadow of Secrets | Sebastian Sallow

Content Warning: Alcohol usage and a sensual/sexual situation...though only about as spicy as a mild jalapeno.

The door's hinges creaked in protest as it swung away from me. Sebastian stood across the threshold, hair hanging messily over his eyes in a way that suggested it hadn't been styled in days. His eyes, a dull and muddy brown, were sunken and surrounded by dark circles. One in particular appeared to be a healing black eye, and I briefly wondered why he hadn't bothered with a healing potion. His tie was undone, draped loosely around his unbuttoned collar. He stared at me somewhat blankly for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "Eleanor?"

His speech was slightly slurred, and my heart sank. It wasn't quite supper time and he was already drunk.

"Are you alright?"

I must've looked a sight there on the landing, undoubtedly dishevelled from my tears. The salt of them still stung my cheeks, though I'd wiped them away. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, and I swallowed the further tears threatening to fall. Now that the door was open, the cold feeling in my stomach had faded. Something in his eyes encouraged me to step forward wordlessly and cup his face. He flinched, eyes widening as he drew a quick breath of surprise only moments before I pressed my lips to his.

Perhaps it was not the most scandalous thing I had ever done—that honour rested with what had happened mere feet away on the foyer table months before—but it was certainly the most forward. Sebastian's hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against his body and into the house. I was dimly aware of the click of the front door latching moments before he pinned me against it, one hand braced against the wood beside me. My lips parted in invitation, hands sliding to his shoulders as one of his slid to rest against my hip.

It felt like home, even with the taste of alcohol on his tongue as it brushed gently against mine. I whimpered as his free hand ghosted across my cheek and into my hair. He pulled back to look at me then, a sort of uncertainty and sadness in his eyes.

"Eleanor," he breathed.

I held his gaze, wrapping my fingers around his tie and pulling it off of him before unfastening another two buttons of his shirt before slipping my hands below the fabric.

His hands flew up to my wrists, tugging them gently before pressing his lips to my knuckles. He let our loosely-joined hands drop between us, eyes not leaving mine. "What are you doing here?"

I blinked back a new wave of tears, letting one of my hands free of his and moving it to rest against his belly. I felt his muscles flex beneath my fingers—a fascinating sensation—and looked down. I moved my fingers over the fabric and across his abdomen. He flexed again, groaning slightly, as his eyes slid closed. I could hear his breath coming shallow and fast, and he was clearly affected by my touch, if the plainly visible tightness of his trousers was any indication.

Before I could act on the wicked thoughts crossing my mind, he stepped out of reach. "Eleanor, why are you here?" he asked sternly, fingers re-buttoning his shirt.

My pained heart squeezed again, a new wave of tears threatening to fall. I covered my face with my hands. "I'm sorry," I managed, the emotions making my voice come out as more of a squeak than anything.

And I was truly sorry—for all of it. Tears I didn't even know I had left spilled from my eyes as I learned against the door, the liquid finding its way between my fingers and even around them. Everything I had done had led us here.

Warm hands gently pried mine from my face. I met his pained and glassy brown eyes, and a new wave of emotions bombarded me.

"I'm...so...sorry..."