The Billionaire’s Secret 🥀 | Part 12: Weekend Invitation (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

I stood in the middle of my living room, phone in hand, staring at the sent message like it might bite me. “Thank you for that night, Mr. Blackwell. It was unforgettable.” The words looked small on the screen, almost childish. I had paced for ten minutes before hitting send, muttering to myself the whole time. What if he thinks I’m clingy? What if he never replies? What if he does reply and it’s just polite? My thumb hovered over the delete option until the screen timed out. Too late now.

The phone buzzed less than five minutes later.

Sebastian’s name lit up the notification bar. My heart slammed against my ribs as I opened it.

“Hi Evan. I’ve been meaning to reach out, but business has kept me tied up. I loved having you here.”

I stared at the words, breath caught. He had used my first name. Not Mr. Hartley. Not even just Hartley. Evan. Simple, intimate. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, mind racing.

Before I could reply, another message came through.

“Come over Friday night. Stay the weekend. I want more of you.”

The invitation landed like a spark on dry tinder. Stay the weekend. The whole weekend. I read it again, pulse loud in my ears. The billionaire who had unraveled me in his hidden room was asking me back…not for a single night, but for days. I typed, deleted, typed again.

“I’d love that,” I finally sent.

His reply came almost instantly. “Good. I’ll send a car on Friday. Pack light. You won’t need much clothing, anyway ;)”

I spent the next two days in a haze of anticipation and second-guessing. Work blurred past in a fog of half-finished designs and distracted glances at my phone. Every time it stayed silent, the doubts crept in again. Was this real, or was I reading too much into a polite follow-up? But then I remembered the way he had kissed me after making me come undone, the taste of his cum still on his tongue, shared like a secret promise. That wasn’t polite. That was possession.

Friday afternoon I stood in front of my closet, packing a small duffel. Jeans, a couple of shirts, sexy underwear, toothbrush. Nothing fancy. My clothes felt plain next to the memory of his tailored suits, but I told myself it didn’t matter. He had wanted me, not my wardrobe. I zipped the bag and caught my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with nerves and want. I looked like someone about to step back into a dream.

The black car arrived exactly at seven. The driver nodded politely, opened the door, and said nothing else. I slid into the leather seat, bag on my lap, watching the city give way to quieter streets and then the long driveway lined with those familiar golden lights. My pulse thrummed louder with every mile.

Halfway there, my phone buzzed again. A news alert. I had set one for Sebastian’s name a while ago, back when I was still just curious. The headline made my stomach drop.

“Kane v. Blackwell Industries: Former Executive Assistant Alleges Wrongful Termination After Intimate Relationship.”

I opened the article, scanning quickly. Veronica Kane, a former assistant at Blackwell Industries, claimed Sebastian had pursued her during late-night work sessions, then fired her when she tried to set boundaries. Retaliation, the suit said. Sebastian’s team called it performance-based, unrelated to any personal overlap. The piece was short, just a filing update, but it hit like ice water.

I stared at the screen, anger flaring hot and sudden. Veronica Kane. I didn’t know her, but I knew Sebastian. He wasn’t the type to force anything. The man who had asked before he kissed me, who had held me through the aftershocks, who had shared himself in ways that felt too raw to be careless. She was lying. She had to be. I closed the article, shoved the phone back in my pocket, and resolved not to mention it. Not yet.

The car slowed at the entrance. Sebastian was already there, waiting on the wide stone steps. No staff, no formal greeting. Just him, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark shirt open at the collar and a loose tie, looking every inch the man who owned the night. He stepped forward as I climbed out, took my bag without a word, and set it aside on the step.

Then he kissed me.

It was possessive from the first second. His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wanted. His mouth claimed mine, deep and unhurried, tongue sliding against mine with the same deliberate hunger I remembered. I melted into it, hands gripping his shirt, tasting the faint trace of whiskey on his lips. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, breath warm on my skin.

“Missed this,” he murmured, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Missed you.”

My knees felt unsteady. “I missed you too.”

He smiled, small and dangerous, then led me inside. The foyer glowed softly, same golden light as before, but the house felt quieter tonight. No party, no guests. Just us. He guided me through the main hall to the dining room, where a single table was set for two. Candles flickered, casting warm shadows across polished wood. A personal chef appeared briefly, placed two plates in front of us, and vanished without a sound.

Sebastian pulled out my chair, a small gesture that felt impossibly intimate. We ate slowly, conversation light at first. He asked about my week, listened with real attention when I talked about a stubborn client brief. I asked about his, careful not to pry too deep. He answered vaguely, mentioning “some complications” and “long hours,” but his eyes stayed on me the whole time, dark and focused.

Halfway through the meal he reached across the table, took my hand, and brought it to his lips. “You look good here,” he said quietly. “In my house. In my space.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I feel good here.”

He fed me a bite of dessert from his fork, watching my mouth close around it. The simple act felt filthy, charged. When the plates were cleared, he stood and offered his hand. I took it without hesitation.

He led me upstairs, past the familiar corridors, not toward the hidden study this time, but to his own bedroom. The door opened to a vast suite with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights, a massive bed dressed in dark linens, and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. He closed the door behind us, the click soft but final.

Then he turned to me, eyes burning. “I’ve been thinking about this all week.”He crossed the room in three strides, hands finding my face first, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as he kissed me again. This time it was slower, deeper, like he was tasting every corner of my mouth all over again. I opened for him instantly, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. He backed me toward the bed without breaking the kiss, guiding me with gentle pressure until the edge hit the back of my knees. I sank down, pulling him with me.

He followed, never letting our mouths part, until I was flat on the dark sheets and he was braced above me, one knee between my thighs. His hands moved to my shirt, unbuttoning it with deliberate care, fingertips grazing my skin with every button released. When he reached the last one he pushed the fabric open, palms sliding over my chest, thumbs circling my nipples until they hardened under his touch. I arched into it, a soft sound slipping out.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he murmured against my throat, lips trailing down, kissing the hollow at the base of my neck. “I’ve been hard thinking about you every night since you left.”

The words sent heat flooding through me. I tugged at his shirt, needing to feel more of him. He let me pull it off, then leaned back just enough to look at me spread out beneath him. His gaze raked over my body, slow and appreciative. He reached for the silk tie he had worn earlier, the one he had loosened at dinner. The fabric whispered as he drew it through his fingers.

“Hands above your head, Evan” he said quietly, voice low and warm, not an order but an invitation wrapped in certainty.

I lifted my arms without hesitation. He looped the tie around my wrists, binding them together, then secured the ends to the headboard. The silk was cool against my skin, tight enough to hold but soft enough not to bite. He tested the knot once, making sure it would stay, then leaned down and kissed the inside of each wrist, lips lingering.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “Just like that.”

He moved lower, mouth tracing a path down my chest, tongue flicking over one nipple, then the other, sucking gently until I was gasping. His hands roamed everywhere, mapping my ribs, my hips, the sensitive skin just above my waistband. When he reached my pants he opened them slowly, peeling them down along with my underwear, freeing my cock. It sprang up, already hard and leaking, and he wrapped his hand around it, stroking once, twice, thumb circling the head to spread the pre-cum.

“Look at you,” he said, voice rough with want. “So fucking hard.”

I moaned, hips lifting into his grip. He released me, stood long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes, then climbed back over me, naked and beautiful, cock thick and flushed against his stomach. He settled between my thighs, spreading them wider with his knees, then leaned down to kiss me again, slow and filthy, tongues sliding together while his hand reached between us.

He coated his fingers with lube from the nightstand, then pressed one inside me, slow and careful. I hissed at the stretch, then relaxed as he added a second, curling them just right, brushing that spot that made my vision blur. He worked me open patiently, watching my face the whole time, kissing me through every gasp and whimper.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured against my lips, voice low and reverent. “Spread open for me… your hole so wet and greedy waiting for my cock.”

I pulled at the tie, wanting to touch him, but the restraint only made the pleasure sharper. He withdrew his fingers, lined himself up, and pushed inside in one long, steady slide. The stretch burned sweet, his thickness filling me completely, and I arched off the bed, moaning his name.

Sebastian groaned low in his throat, hips rocking once, twice, letting me adjust before he started moving in earnest. He fucked me with deep, controlled thrusts, each one dragging over that spot inside me until I was trembling beneath him. His hands gripped my hips, holding me exactly where he wanted, while his mouth found mine again, kissing me through every stroke.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “Feel how my cock stretches your tight little hole… every thrust claiming you deeper… right where I fucking belong.”

I nodded frantically, words lost in moans. He shifted his angle, driving harder, faster, the bed creaking under us. Sweat coated our skin, his chest sliding against mine with every thrust. He reached between us, wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking in time with his hips.

“Come for me,” he said softly, lips brushing my ear. “Let me feel you.”

The command, gentle but undeniable, pushed me over. My orgasm hit hard, cock pulsing in his fist, cum spilling hot across my stomach and chest. Sebastian fucked me through it, thrusts growing erratic, until he buried himself deep with a broken groan, filling me again. He shuddered above me, hips jerking through the aftershocks, then collapsed forward, careful not to crush me.

He stayed buried inside me a few moments longer, hips flush against mine, letting me feel the slow softening of him while our breathing synced. His mouth found my bound wrists, kissing the silk where it bit gently into my skin before he finally loosened the tie with slow, deliberate pulls. The fabric whispered free; he caught my hands as they fell, pressing soft kisses to the faint pink lines left behind, then drew my arms around his neck. Only then did he ease out, both of us exhaling sharply at the wet slide and sudden emptiness. He rolled us so I was half-draped across his chest, legs tangled, his heartbeat strong under my ear as he tucked my face against the warm curve of his throat.

We lay tangled in the dark, his heartbeat steady under my ear. His fingers traced lazy circles on my back, soothing the lingering tremors.

Sebastian’s voice came soft in the dark, rough around the edges after everything we had done. “Been a hell of a week,” he said, fingers still tracing idle patterns along my spine. “I needed this. Needed you.”

I smiled against his chest, small and private, warmth blooming behind my ribs at the admission. I shifted closer, pressing my cheek to the steady thump of his heart. “Everything good?” I asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I kind of missed being close to you… since that night.”

He exhaled slowly, the sound almost a laugh, and tightened his arm around me. “Yeah,” he murmured. “A former employee stirring trouble. Wrongful termination claims. Nothing I can’t handle. I have the best person on it.”

I pressed even closer, feeling the faint tension still coiled in his shoulders, the way his body carried the weight of whatever storm was brewing outside these walls. “Sounds stressful,” I said gently. “Want to talk about it?”

He kissed the top of my head, lips lingering there for a long moment. “Not tonight,” he answered, voice low and warm. “Tonight I just want this. You. Here. Like this.”

I nodded, relief settling deep in my chest. I didn’t mention the news alert, didn’t let the questions about Veronica Kane or the lawsuit spill out. Not yet. Instead I let myself sink fully into him; the solid warmth of his body, the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the faint musk of sex and his skin that still clung to us both.

Sebastian shifted us slightly, rolling so I was tucked more securely against his side, one of his legs thrown over mine, arm draped heavy and possessive across my waist. His hand found mine under the sheets, fingers threading together, thumb brushing slow circles over my knuckles. I felt the last of the day’s tension bleed out of him, his body finally going lax beside me.

I closed my eyes, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear, feeling the steady heat of him wrapped around me. Whatever secrets he carried, whatever complications waited beyond these walls, right now none of it mattered.

This…his arms holding me, his breath evening out against my hair, the simple fact of sleeping next to the man who had just claimed every part of me again…felt real.

I drifted off like that, safe and sated in Sebastian Blackwell’s embrace, the world outside fading until there was only us.

────────────────The Billionaire’s Secret 🥀 | Part 13: Private Mornings at Blackwell Estate

PT Exclusive Bonus Scene Teaser Kane v. Blackwell Industries | 🍑 PT Exclusive | The Billionaire’s Secret 🥀 Curious about what Kane v. Blackwell is really about?

Meet Tyler Voss, Sebastian’s personal attorney. Razor sharp. Impeccably dressed. And yes… he absolutely has a thing for men in suits.

Unfortunately for his focus, the opposing counsel representing Veronica Kane is distractingly, unfairly hot. The kind of hot that makes a courtroom feel less like a battlefield and more like foreplay.

Expect sharp banter, legal tension, lingering looks, and a case that might not be the only thing heating up.

Read a fun, charged courtroom scene exclusively for PT members.