Chapter 23: The Room with No Rules

He had already torn the dress off her on the kitchen tiles. The fabric still lay crumpled by the fridge, forgotten like reason itself.

Now, as Sebastian carried her into the bedroom — both of them already half-naked, breathless and on fire — there was no need to undress.

Only to touch.

Only to take.

He laid her on the bed like she was sacred and then immediately dove down, kissing across her ribs, her stomach, her hips, dragging a guttural sound from her throat. Her panties were gone — lost somewhere between his hallway and this madness.

His hands slid under her thighs, spreading them, and then his mouth was on her, slow and sinful. He knew exactly what he was doing. Flicks of tongue. Circles. Pressure. Rhythm. He didn’t stop when she moaned, didn’t stop when she gasped his name, didn’t even stop when her thighs trembled and clamped around him.

She came hard, legs shaking, nails clawing his shoulders.

But he didn’t stop.

“Katherine,” he growled against her skin. “Still with me?”

She didn’t answer — just grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up to kiss her, deep and messy. Their bodies slid together, skin slick with sweat, need pulsing between them like a war drum.

Sebastian reached blindly for the drawer.

Condom. Rip. Roll. Ready.

And then he was inside her in one thrust — and they both froze.

Because nothing in the world had ever felt so right. So raw. So completely fucking perfect.

“Move,” she whispered, hips already rising.

He did.

Every thrust was bruising, deep, and desperate. The sound of skin against skin, of her moans, of the bedframe rattling — it filled the room. Her legs locked around him, pulling him in. He buried his face in her neck, gritting his teeth, trying to hold on.

She bit his shoulder. Hard.

“Fuck, Katherine…”

“Harder.”

He slammed into her, and she cried out. Once. Twice.

Then again — when he reached between them and pressed his thumb against her clit, slow and perfect. Her body arched. A second orgasm tore through her, making her shudder and swear, her voice breaking.

That’s what pushed him over.

With a final groan, he spilled into her, body locking up as he gave in — completely.

They collapsed together, tangled and heaving.

Breathless silence.

Then a laugh bubbled out of her, soft and wicked.

“Damn,” she said, “I thought you were gonna break the bed.”

He chuckled against her skin. “I still might.”

She turned to face him. “So… how do you usually end nights like this?”

“I don’t,” he said, brushing hair from her face. “This… is very much not usual.”

“Good,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

---

The silence that followed their climax was thick with heat. Katherine lay sprawled across Sebastian’s chest, still catching her breath, their legs tangled in the sheets like they'd fought a war and lost gloriously.

Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling in uneven waves. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She just lay there, heart racing, muscles weak and melting into the expensive mattress like she belonged here — like this was her place, her man, her victory.

Sebastian’s fingers were stroking lazy patterns along her spine, a complete contrast to the bruising passion they had just shared.

“Still alive?” he murmured, voice low and wrecked.

She let out a laugh that was more of a breath. “Barely.”

He kissed her temple, and something stirred inside her. Something she hadn’t planned for. Something like… affection?

Hell.

She didn’t do affection. She did impulse. Spontaneity. Chaos.

But this?

This felt like all of those things at once — and more.

As the room cooled and her pulse finally slowed, her gaze drifted across his bedroom. It was… predictably masculine. Clean lines. Expensive furniture. Soft grey and navy tones. Dark wood. A leather armchair in the corner. Framed architectural sketches on the walls. Tasteful. Serious. Controlled.

Until her eyes landed on one wall — and everything inside her shifted.

It was a large canvas. Dominant. Almost oversized.

And on it — a woman.

She wasn’t facing the viewer. Her back was to them. She was nude from the waist up, with a white silk sheet just barely clinging to her hips, her spine the focal point — elegant, soft, unmistakably sensual. There was something haunting in the composition. Something intimate.

Katherine sat up slightly, propping herself on her elbow. Her eyes narrowed.

“Who is that?” she asked, nodding toward the painting.

Sebastian followed her gaze.

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then, very calmly, “My ex.”

Katherine blinked.

“…Excuse me?”

He followed her gaze. Then sighed. “You knew that was Madison.”

“I knew you were married to Madison,” she said, standing up and pulling his shirt over her head. “I didn’t know you had a goddamn shrine to her ass hanging in your bedroom.”

Sebastian sat up, resting back on his elbows, tension already gathering in his jaw. “It’s not a shrine. It’s a painting.”

“Oh please,” she snapped. “It’s a soft-core oil portrait of your ex-wife.”

“She was my wife for ten years, Katherine.”

“Exactly. Was.” She gestured sharply toward the painting. “That doesn’t belong here. Especially not in the room where you now sleep with me.”

Sebastian, who had just leaned over to grab a glass of water, looked amused. “Technically, it’s art.”

“Oh, please,” she snapped. “Don’t give me the ‘it’s art’ line. That’s not some abstract expressionist swirl — that’s her ass, Sebastian.”

He chuckled. “It is a very nice ass.”

Katherine’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me right now?”

There it was — that sharp tug in her chest. A flicker of heat. Jealousy.

And not the playful kind.

She tried to wave it off, to laugh, but instead she crossed her arms — entirely naked under his shirt — and glared at him like he’d just insulted her cat.

“I can’t believe you brought me in here and let me fuck you under the ghost of Maddison’s spine.”

Sebastian leaned back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. “Are you seriously jealous of a painting?”

She flinched. “No. Of course not.”

His brow lifted.

“Okay, maybe a little,” she muttered, glancing at the artwork again with a scowl.

“I didn’t think anything could rattle you,” he said softly.

Katherine felt her ears burn. “I’m not rattled.”

“You are,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And it’s hot.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Remove it.”

“What?”

“The painting. Take it down. Now.”

Sebastian blinked, then actually laughed. “You want me to remove a ten-thousand-dollar canvas because it makes you feel… what? Possessive?”

“I want you to remove it because I hate her smug, turned-back posture,” she snapped. “She’s judging me. With her shoulder blades.”

He was full-on laughing now.

She didn’t care.

“I’m serious, Sebastian,” she added, dragging the shirt tighter around herself like it were armor. “Either that thing goes, or I do.”

He looked at her — really looked. And for a second, she thought he was going to challenge her, push back, tell her to get over it.

But instead…

Walked to the wall.

Gloriously naked.

And with a strength and ease that shouldn’t have been so hot, he lifted the painting off its mount.

Then he carried it into the hallway and leaned it — facedown — against the wall.

“There,” he said, walking back. “Better?”

“Much.”

She dropped onto the bed, arms still crossed, though a smug smile tugged at her lips.

He gave her a look. “You’re territorial.”

“And you’re just figuring that out now?”

He climbed back beside her, running a hand along her thigh. “What else do you want me to get rid of?”

“I’ll let you know when I see it,” she said coolly. “But if any other exes are hiding in the furniture, I swear to God —”

He laughed. “Noted.”

Katherine met his gaze, suddenly more serious. “It’s not just the painting, Sebastian.”

“I know.”

“I’m not interested in sleeping with someone who still lives in the echo of someone else.”

“You’re not an echo,” he said softly. “You’re a storm.”

She blinked.

Then leaned forward, lips brushing his. “Damn right I am.”

His smile was slow, dangerous. “And now that Madison’s off the wall... I get to focus on the masterpiece right in front of me.”

“Oh, so now I’m art?”

“The kind I can’t hang,” he whispered, voice low. “Only hold.”

And with that, the tension snapped again — not into anger this time, but into desire, sudden and electric.

Katherine pushed him down, straddling him with wicked intent. “Good. Because I’ve got zero plans of being framed.”

“God help me,” he groaned, letting her take control.

And somewhere, forgotten in the hallway, the painting sat — turned to the wall, as it should’ve been long ago.

---