Chapter Twelve

Sebastian

"You're rough as fuck, Jack. I've always loved that about you. You're the perfect counterbalance to me."

"I never thought of it that way before," Jack says honestly, sitting down on the bed beside me. "Up until tonight I've always viewed you as competition. As the total opposite of everything I am."

"But that's just it," I interject, reaching for his hand. "Opposites attract, Jack. We always want what we don't have. But together we can have the best of both worlds."

"Are you certain you want this?"

"Us?"

"Yeah," says Jack, his heavy brows furrowed.

"Yes, I want this. I've wanted this since I first laid eyes on you. Who wouldn't want to fuck the big, burly, tattooed biker running the city's premiere BDSM club?"

Jack's gaze drops to his boots. "Is that all you want? Sex?"

I retract my hand gently, sitting up straighter in my bed. "Well, what exactly is on offer, Jack? You said lover . You said boyfriend . You meant exclusive. But what does that mean?"

My Viking beauty's gaze flicks back to me. "I want it to mean everything."

"Feelings? Dates? Movie nights? The whole deal?"

"Exactly. I want to spend time with you, get to know you. Take you out on my bike and show you what freedom really feels like. I want to make you a part of my world, for real."

"And I'm not supposed to have any other lovers, serious lovers , but you?" I ask.

"Right."

"What about my playmates? For business."

Jack grimaces. "I know your club is different," he says. "You have billionaires to wine and dine. I can't expect you to change your way of life for me. Your business has to come first."

A small smile creeps to my lips. Idiot. "And how about you? What about your lovers? Would you give them up for me?"

Jack's baby blues burn like glacial ice into my very soul. "I would."

I'm floored. "I'm sorry. Seriously?"

"For you, Sebastian, I could be exclusive if that's what you wanted."

Wow. Ripples of shock send little chills through my bones that fizzle out at my toes. "You really want me that badly?"

"Did I stutter?" Jackson asks, his gaze hard.

"No, you didn't," I say, my mind racing a million miles an hour. "So, you'd give up your playmate lovers for me, but wouldn't expect me to do the same?"

"Our businesses are different," he answers simply. "I'd rather have you—be with you—than not have you at all."

My heart thunders in my chest and a deafening clarity sings through my entire being. He'd give up his way of life for me. For just the mere chance that we could grow to be something more… I'll be fucked if I'm not that damn keen, too! "I'll axe the playmates," I say without hesitation. "They're gone. I'm done. If you're giving up yours, I'm giving up mine. We'll have each other, and that's that."

Jack swallows hard, a beautiful, rare vulnerability visible in his eyes. "How … but what about that side of your business? You're the fucking draw card, Sebastian. People don't just go to The Red Bastille because it's a great club, they go because it's your club. The paparazzi fucking love you, and the sheeple flock to be near you."

"Believe it or not, I didn't always fuck my clientele," I say. "It became a novelty and tool to assume greater gains and reach higher heights once I developed a name for myself. When I first started out, I was just me. The eyeliner-wearing, colorfully inked, suit-wearing Emo kid. And I can be that again if I want. It's my damn business. It will continue to thrive with or without the availability of my cock and ass. And if clients still want famous pie, I have more than a few friends in my Little Black Book who don't mind working a night for a big hunk of change."

Jackson stares at his black inked hands, wringing them in his lap, before meeting my gaze once more. "Let's do it, then," he says. "Together."

"Kiss me," I say, challenge in my tone and smile. "Let's seal the deal, sober, and beyond the walls we've built for ourselves."

Jack doesn't need to be asked twice. He scooches forward on the bed until he's close enough to embrace me. Raking his fingers through my hair, his other hand firmly seizes my chin, before he draws me into a passionate and stomach-fluttering kiss.

I sigh into his mouth.

He increases the tension on my scalp ever so slightly, reminding me who and what he is: Jackson fucking Maguire, Dungeon Master. And while his heart might be soft for me, he's all steel.

Breathless and flustered, my cock throbs beneath the pristine white hospital sheets with renewed need. A fucking seizure won't keep me from my hot Dom boyfriend. Not a chance in hell. The sound of a woman clearing her throat interrupts us, and I feel heat flush my cheeks, as Jackson breaks our kiss.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," says a nurse in soft blue scrubs. "I'm just here to check your blood pressure, Sebastian, and take your dinner order."

"Oh, God, no," says Jackson. "Don't worry about the order. I'll go and grab my boy something decent if that's okay?"

The nurse smiles, clearly charmed. "Of course. He's not on any dietary restrictions at this time."

"Excellent," says Jackson rising from the bed and straightening his cuts. "All right then, I'll leave you in capable hands and fetch you something for dinner. Any requests?"

I grin, my mouth already watering. "I'd love some sushi," I say, hopefully.

"Consider it done," says Jackson. With a gleam in his eye and a wicked smile, he walks out of my room, tall as a king with a country to conquer.