Page 18 of Second Sin

Still feel it.

That soft press echoing beneath my skin like a pulse that doesn’t belong to me. Lingering in my chest, where it has no business being.

I shouldn’t be this affected—not by him.

Not by any of it.

Whatever this is—this pull, this flicker of want I keep trying to smother—it crosses a line.

Doesn’t matter that we’ve barely had sessions. Doesn’t matter that I’ve kept everything clinical, professional, restrained. The boundaries are still there. Ethical ones. Lines I swore to never blur, not even a little. Lines that protect him. That protect me.

But the way he looks at me…

God.

It burns straight through every rule I built my life around. Cuts clean through logic and ethics and caution, like none of it ever stood a chance.

And the worst part?

Some small, aching piece of me wants more.

Wants to know what it feels like to be looked at like that without having to look away. Wants to know if his hand would feel just as steady on my back. My waist.

My entire body.

Wants something I have no business wanting.

I’m just—tired.

So fucking tired.

Tired of carrying grief like a second skin. Tired of pretending I’ve moved on when half the time I can’t even breathe without feeling like I’ve left pieces of myself buried in the past. Tired of craving something I’m too afraid to name, because if I say it out loud, it might make it real.

My door isn’t fully closed—just barely ajar. Enough that I catch the blur of movement. There, and then gone, then back again.

Sebastian.

He's pacing just outside the threshold. I catch the restless drag of his hand through his hair.

And then—he stops.

One breath.

Two.

He pushes the door open. Not with a knock, not with hesitation—but with the kind of sharp, deliberate motion that says he’s done holding whatever he's fighting in.

Walks in already pissed. Shoulders tight. Jaw locked. Eyes scanning the room like it might’ve wronged him in some way.

And even before he says a word, I know I’m not ready for whatever this is going to be.

“You’re not scheduled,” I say, standing and moving around my desk.

“Don’t give a shit,” he snaps.

I blink.

His eyes land on my face, flick to my lip, then down to my hands. His jaw tightens. “I want to know what happened?"

---