"If it works," Sebastian said, leaning down, his lips inches from her ear, "I'll give you whatever you want."
Emily shivered. The stakes had just changed entirely. She slid out from under his arm and walked to the computer, her hands hovering over the keyboard. She typed the command.
Enter. On the screen, the simulation began. It moved, fast, fluid, without a single jitter, completing the task in record time. Success. The green text blinked on the screen.
Emily turned in the swivel chair to face him, looking triumphant.
"Three milliseconds faster. No crash." She raised an eyebrow. "I believe that's a win for Team Emily."
Sebastian stared at the screen. He let out a short breath, shaking his head, a small, defeated smile touching his lips.
"Arrogant little brat."
"I prefer 'visionary'," Emily said, spinning the chair slightly. "Now... about my prize."
Sebastian walked toward her. He didn't stop at a polite distance. He walked until his legs bumped against her knees, forcing them to spread slightly to accommodate him, and put his hands on the armrests of her chair, leaning over her.
"You want me to say it?"
"I want you to admit I was right," she whispered.
He tilted her chin up with his thumb.
"And you are insufferable."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's a warning."
He crushed his mouth to hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision of intellect and frustration, a kiss that wanted to consume her entire smart mouth. Emily gasped, her hands grabbing his shirt, pulling him down harder. The chair rolled back slightly under the force, but Sebastian followed, pressing her down, taking control back in the only way that mattered right now. Outside, thunder rumbled, but neither of them heard it.
The kiss broke, breathless. Sebastian lifted her effortlessly, setting her onto the edge of the desk, sweeping the expensive computer keyboard aside. His hands were everywhere, tangled in her hair, learning the shape of her through the thin fabric of her blouse. Emily's head fell back, a soft moan escaping her throat.
Bzzeeeet. Bzzeeeet. Emily's phone vibrated violently on the hard wood, inches from her hip. She cracked one eye open. The screen lit up the dark room. Father.
"It's... it's my father," she gasped.
Sebastian didn't stop. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, sucking gently on the pulse point there.
"Ignore him," he murmured against her skin.
"I can't. He knows I'm here."
She pushed his shoulder weakly. Sebastian groaned but pulled back an inch, his eyes dark with lust. Emily grabbed the phone, cleared her throat, and swiped to answer.
"Father?" she said, her voice shaky.
"Emily? Where are you? It's past nine. You have the charity gala tomorrow. You need your beauty sleep, darling," Henry's voice came through, tinny and distant.
Emily glared at Sebastian. He was smirking. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slid up her thigh, his thumb tracing the lace at the edge of her underwear.
"I'm... I'm at the lab," she managed. "Just... wrapping up some loose ends."
Sebastian's fingers slipped beneath the lace. Emily's eyes widened. She bit her knuckle to stifle a gasp.
"Are you alright?" Henry asked. "You sound out of breath."
"I ran... up the stairs," Emily said, squeezing her eyes shut. "The elevator is broken."
"Well, stop working and go home."
"Yes. Going now. Bye."
She hung up and threw the phone away, grabbing Sebastian's lapels and pulling him close.
"You are evil."
"And you are a terrible liar," Sebastian said. "'Elevator is broken'?"
"Shut up."
She slid off the desk, dropping to her knees between his legs, her fingers going to his belt buckle, the metal clinking in the quiet room.
"Now... where were we?"
She undid the belt. Then the button. Ring ring. Ring ring. Another phone, loud, piercing. Sebastian froze. It was his phone, sitting on the desk right beside his hip. The screen read Henry Baker.
Emily froze too, her hand on his zipper, looking up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Unbelievable," Sebastian exhaled sharply.
He picked up the phone. He looked down at Emily. She didn't move away. Instead, she slowly lowered his zipper.
Sebastian cleared his throat, adopting his sternest voice.
"Henry. Good evening."
"Mr. Smith! I just got off the phone with Emily. She sounds exhausted."
Emily's hands slipped inside the fabric of his waistband. Sebastian's grip on the desk tightened instantly.
"Does she?" he said, his voice strained.
"Listen, I know you run a tight ship, but she's working directly under you on this project. I only agreed to let her stay at the Faculty because she was so hell bent on proving herself, which I shall not obstruct. But make no mistake, she is a Baker first and foremost. Don't ride her too hard, Smith."
Emily smirked. She leaned forward, and Sebastian's head tipped back, his eyes rolling up, his voice roughening against every ounce of will he had left to keep it steady.
"I can assure you, Henry... she is..." He gasped sharply, then covered it with a cough. "...she is handling the position very well."
Sebastian looked down. Emily was working with a rhythmic, maddening dedication. She looked up at him, innocent and wicked at the same time.
"Glad to hear it," Henry's voice crackled on. "Send her home, Seb. Don't use her up."
"I think..." Sebastian gritted his teeth, "we are just reaching the climax of the... experiment. I'll release her shortly."
"Right. Goodnight."
Click. Sebastian dropped the phone. His hands flew to Emily's hair, abandoning all control.
"You... little... witch."
Emily pulled back for a second, lips wet. "Did I pass the review, Professor?"
Sebastian didn't answer. He pulled her up and crashed his lips onto hers, dragging her back onto the desk, every careful calculation of restraint he had ever constructed finally and gloriously undone.
❦
Rain streaked the windscreen afterward, smearing the amber glow of passing streetlights, the rhythmic swish swish of the wipers the only sound in the car. Sebastian drove, his tie completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck. His left hand stayed on the wheel. His right hand rested on the gear stick, covering Emily's hand, his thumb tracing the knuckles of her fingers absentmindedly.
Emily stared out the window. The high of the lab, the risk, the phone calls, the stolen minutes, was fading, leaving behind a cold, sobering reality.
"November twenty fourth," Sebastian said.
Emily blinked, turning her head slightly. "What?"
"The date of the congregation. I checked the Senate House schedule." A beat. "That's one month, Emily."
"One month," she said softly.
"Thirty days. Once that diploma is in your hand... the sneaking around ends. No more hiding in archives."
He squeezed her hand, trying to be reassuring. Emily didn't squeeze back. She looked at their joined hands.
"Does that... excite you?"
"It relieves me. I hate lying, Em. I hate pretending you're just a student, or an employee."
"I know." She paused, her voice dropping. "But sometimes... I wonder if we'll miss it."
Sebastian glanced at her, frowning slightly. "Miss what? The risk of getting fired?"
"The adrenaline. The chemical reaction." She turned to face him fully. "Tonight. In the lab. I was terrified. But I was also... alive. More alive than I've been in years."
Sebastian tightened his grip on the wheel. He knew exactly what she meant. He'd felt it too, the dark, possessive thrill of claiming her while the whole world tried to keep them apart.
"It's addictive," he said quietly. "I know."
"But that's the problem, isn't it? What if that's all this is, Seb? What if we're just high on the forbidden?" Her voice trembled slightly. "When I'm just a normal woman... and you're just a normal man... and nobody is trying to stop us... will the fire go out?"
Sebastian didn't answer immediately. The car slowed. The massive, imposing iron gates of Baker Manor loomed ahead, security lights flooding the entrance, turning the rain into silver needles. The car stopped. The engine idled.
Sebastian unbuckled his seatbelt. He turned in his seat to face her, shadows cutting across his face, making him look tired but handsome.
"You think this..." he gestured between them, "...is just a reaction to the forbidden fruit? A side effect of secrecy?"
"I don't know. Is it? We started with a fling. We continued in the dark. Do we even know how to be... us, without the chaos?"
She was asking for words. She wanted him to prove that she was more than just a thrill.
Sebastian looked at her. He saw the doubt in her eyes. He knew that words were cheap right now. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair.
"Emily," he whispered.
He pulled her in. He didn't kiss her like he had before, hungry and desperate. He kissed her slowly. Deeply. A kiss of absolute possession, but also of reverence, pouring every ounce of his unvoiced feeling into it.
Emily melted into him, her hands clutching his shirt, the doubts quieting for a moment beneath the weight of his touch.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the cold air. He ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.
"Goodnight, Emily," he said, his voice rough.
Emily searched his eyes. The answer was there, hidden in the grey depths, but he wouldn't say it yet. Not until she was free.
"Goodnight, Sebastian."
She opened the door. The cold wind rushed in. She stepped out, clutching her coat tight, walking to the small pedestrian gate, keying in the code. Sebastian watched her through the rain streaked window. He didn't put the car in gear. He waited. He waited until the gate clicked open, until she stepped inside the fortress of her family, until the heavy metal clanged shut, separating them once again.
Only then did he shift the car into drive. He drove away into the dark, leaving her safe, but leaving the question hanging in the night air.
❦
The Grand Hotel ballroom dripped with opulence, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling like frozen tears, a string quartet playing Vivaldi, barely audible over the chatter of Cambridge's elite.
Emily stood next to her father, breathtaking in an emerald silk gown that left her back bare, holding her champagne flute like a weapon. Sebastian stood at the far end of the room, near the shadows of the bar, wearing a tuxedo that fit him dangerously well. He wasn't mingling. He was watching Emily.
Henry tapped Emily's arm. "Smile, darling. Here comes Timothy."
Timothy, twenty six, approached, the definition of old money, blonde, slick, wearing a velvet dinner jacket.
"Mr. Baker. And... Emily." His eyes raked over her body, lingering on her neckline. "You look absolutely stunning."
"Hello, Timothy," Emily said, a tight smile fixed on her face.
"I'll leave you two to catch up," Henry said. "Timothy's father just acquired that block on Regent Street, Emily. You should hear about it."
Henry drifted away. Timothy stepped closer, invading her personal space.
"So, still playing scientist at the university? Daddy says you're turning down the VP role. Brave choice."
He reached out, resting his hand on her bare arm, his thumb stroking her skin. Subtle, but possessive.
"But you know, I always liked a girl with a brain."
Across the room, Sebastian's grip on his glass tightened. He saw Timothy's hand on her skin. He saw Timothy lean in to whisper something that made Emily flinch and force out a polite laugh.
Sebastian set his glass down. Hard.
Emily caught his eye across the room. She pulled her arm away from Timothy.
"Excuse me, Timothy. I need to... powder my nose."
She turned and walked away fast, not toward the restrooms, but toward the glass doors at the side of the hall.
❦
The noise of the party faded instantly inside the hotel conservatory, replaced by the humid silence of the glasshouse, dark, filled with towering ferns and the smell of damp earth, moonlight filtering through the misty glass roof. Emily exhaled, leaning against a cold stone pillar, closing her eyes.
Footsteps on the gravel path. Slow. Deliberate. She opened her eyes. Sebastian emerged from the shadows of a large palm tree. He looked furious, but controlled.
"Timothy has... ambitious hands."
"He's harmless," Emily said, straightening up. "Just annoying."
Sebastian stepped closer, stopping a foot away from her.
"He was undressing you with his eyes. And you were standing there smiling at him."
"I was being polite! It's a gala, Sebastian. That's what people do."
"Polite?" His voice dropped, laced with sarcasm. "Is that what we call it when a man touches you like he's checking the ripeness of a fruit? I had to stand there and watch some twenty year old try to pick up my..."
He stopped. The word hung in the humid air. He couldn't say it. Not here. Not yet.
Emily looked up at him. She stepped into his space, her voice soft but challenging.
"Your what, Professor?" A beat. "Your student? Your employee?"
Sebastian looked at her. The anger in his eyes melted into something hotter, darker. He groaned, a low, frustrated sound in his throat. He didn't answer. He grabbed her waist, spinning her around, pressing her back against the cool glass wall of the conservatory.
"You know exactly what you are," he said roughly.
He crashed his lips onto hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a claim. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, his hands gripping her hips as if to erase the ghost of Timothy's touch. Emily gasped into the kiss, her hands finding their way into his hair, messing up his perfect styling.
They broke apart, breathless. Sebastian rested his forehead against hers.
"Thirty minutes."
"What?"
"Endure it for thirty more minutes. Then I'm taking you home." He brushed his thumb over her wet lips. "My home."
Emily nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs.
❦
Sunlight streamed into the minimalist, modern kitchen of Sebastian's apartment the following Sunday morning. It was quiet. Too quiet. Emily sat at the island, wearing Sebastian's shirt, which drowned her entirely, her hair a messy bird's nest. Sebastian sat opposite her, reading a newspaper.
There was no adrenaline here. No threat of anybody walking in. Just a normal Sunday.
They sipped coffee in silence. It was awkward. Emily shifted in her seat. She checked her phone. Nothing. She looked at Sebastian. He was engrossed in an article about quantum computing.
Is this it? Is this the boring part? she thought, her face carefully neutral.
Suddenly, whirrrrr thunk. The robot vacuum cleaner shot out from under the sofa. It spun wildly in circles, beeping frantically, then slammed full speed into the leg of a chair.
Screeech! Smoke puffed out of it. It died.
Sebastian lowered his newspaper. He sighed, looking at the dead robot.
"Piece of junk. That's the third time this month. The sensor is shot."
He stood up, picking up the robot like a dead rat.
"I'll order a new one."
"Don't you dare," Emily said, jumping up, taking the robot from him. "You can't fix a vacuum cleaner?"
Sebastian looked at her, then at the robot. A challenge.
❦
Later, the pristine living room floor was covered in parts, wheels, wires, screws scattered across the rug. Sebastian wore magnifying glasses, holding a soldering iron with surgical precision. Emily sat cross legged, holding a roll of duct tape and a stripped copper wire.
"The schematic says this circuit needs a five volt bypass," Sebastian said. "We need to order a new motherboard."
"We don't need a motherboard. We just need to trick the sensor into thinking it's not blind." Emily twisted two wires together. "Hand me the tape."
"Emily, that's a fire hazard."
"It's innovation," she said, grinning. "Trust me."
She jammed the taped wires into the chassis. Sebastian winced. She closed the lid, smacked it once.
"Go on. Turn it on."
Sebastian looked skeptical. He pressed the button. Beep boop. The robot lit up. It spun. It hummed, a bit louder than before, but steady, zooming off in a straight line, successfully avoiding the chair leg.
Emily threw her hands up. "It lives!"
Sebastian watched the robot go. Then he looked at Emily. She had a smudge of black grease on the tip of her nose, her smile genuine, bright, and completely relaxed. He started to laugh, a real, unguarded laugh.
"What?" she asked.
"You have grease on your face."
He reached out, using his thumb to wipe the smudge off her nose. His hand lingered there, cupping her face. The awkwardness from breakfast was entirely gone.
"We fixed it," he said softly.
Emily looked at him. She realized he wasn't just talking about the vacuum.
"Yeah. We did." She leaned into his hand. "Maybe we're good at the boring stuff too."
Sebastian smiled, pulling her in for a hug among the scattered screws and wires.
"Best Sunday morning of my life."
❦
The Senate House stood like a cathedral of silence, the checkerboard floor of black and white marble gleaming under the dull November light filtering through the high windows. On the raised dais, the University dignitaries sat like a panel of judges. Sebastian sat among them, wearing the scarlet gown and a velvet bonnet, looking imposing, ancient, utterly unreachable, his face a mask of stone.
In the audience, Henry sat in the front row, looking proud but impatient. Next to him sat Louis, checking his Rolex, clearly bored by the medieval pageantry.
On the floor, Emily stepped forward, wearing the black gown and the white fur lined hood. The Vice Chancellor, in his seventies, held out a hand.
"Auctoritate mihi commissa admitto te ad gradum Magistri in Philosophia," he intoned in Latin.
Emily knelt. She placed her hands together, palm to palm. The Vice Chancellor clasped her hands within his. It was a ritual of submission and acceptance.
Emily rose. She bowed. She turned to walk back to her seat. She lifted her eyes to the dais. She found him.
Sebastian was watching her. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. But as their eyes locked across the vast hall, he lifted his right hand slightly from his lap and tapped his index finger twice on the wooden armrest.
Tap. Tap.
It was barely a movement. To anyone else, it was a fidget. To Emily, it was a thunderous applause. A small, secret smile touched her lips.
❦
The heavy wooden doors opened onto the Senate House lawn, the graduates spilling out into the biting November wind, grey clouds hanging low over Cambridge. Emily was immediately swallowed by her family. Henry directed a photographer.
"Chin up, baby. Show the hood."
Louis stepped in, adjusting his cufflinks, looking at Emily with bemused affection.
"You look ridiculous, Em. Like a medieval monk."
"It's tradition, Louis," Emily said, smoothing her gown.
Louis put an arm around her for the photo.