Nursing a cigarette in his non-dominant hand, Sebastian’s other one skittered up the skin of your knee, pressing upwards as he pushed up the ankle-length skirt on your body, roving over the exposed skin bit by bit. His deft fingers caressed your thigh as your skirt rode up, his attention suddenly captured. He stubbed out the cigarette on the ashtray beside the bed, exhaling a final plume of smoke before his eyes flickered across your face, taking in your features before glancing down at his own hand’s actions. He wasn’t cocky, and his touch wasn’t overbearing—he was soothing as he graced his fingers across your flesh, dark eyes gentle, yet intrigued—you had been married a while ago now, but he never seemed to grow bored of you, to your pleasure. He flustered when your eyes met, almost ashamed of himself.