The Billionaire’s Secret 🥀 | Part 23: Fits Like a Secret (Patreon)

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

The knock came sharp at eight, pulling me from the mirror where I had been fussing with my collar for the third time. I smoothed my shirt one last time, dark blue button down over slim jeans, and crossed the room. Heart picking up already. I opened the door expecting the chauffeur's nod from the hall, but there he stood. Sebastian. Shirt open at the collar, the top two buttons undone just enough to show the line of his throat, eyes dark and steady on mine.

"Ready?"

The word hung low, his voice that calm rumble that always settled somewhere deep in my chest. Before I could answer he leaned in, one hand cupping the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that started soft but turned hungry quick. His lips pressed mine firm, tongue slipping past to taste like mint and something warmer, deeper. I melted into it, hands finding his waist, fingers curling into the crisp cotton of his shirt. Happy surprise hit me hard. He had come up. Not waiting in the car like always, distant and polished. Here, at my door, close enough to feel the heat off him.

We broke apart breathing uneven, his thumb brushing my jaw. "You came up."

"Could not wait." His mouth curved small, eyes holding mine a second longer. Then he took my hand, leading me down the hall to the elevator. The doors slid shut behind us, the small space filling with his scent, clean spice and skin. We rode in silence, his thumb circling slowly over my knuckles, but the air hummed charged.

The chauffeur waited at the curb, black car gleaming under streetlights. A quick nod as we slid into the back, the partition rising smooth with a hum. City lights blurred past the tinted windows, towers strung gold and white against the dusk. Sebastian's hand found my thigh immediately, fingers tracing lazy circles over the denim, inching higher with each pass. Teasing. Deliberate. Heat built under my skin, my body shifting toward him without thinking.

"So, you chose the penthouse?"

His fingers paused, pressing just enough to make me catch my breath. "Last time you loved the view. So."

The words landed simple, but they pulled at something in me. The memory flickered. That first night here, city sprawling endless below, his hands on me like the world could wait. I turned my head, caught his gaze in the low light. "Yeah. I did."

He smiled, small and private, hand resuming its path, higher now, thumb brushing the seam inside my thigh. The car wove through traffic, horns faint outside, but inside it narrowed to his touch, the slow drag of fabric under his palm. My pulse kicked up, conversation drifting light to fill the space. I mentioned the office, Patel's pat on the shoulder that morning, his words about valuing creativity but always the budget hanging after.

Sebastian's hand stilled again, squeezing once. "You're more than budgets, Evan. Talented. You deserve spaces that let you breathe."

His voice stayed low, sure, like he saw the lines I sketched in my head, the gold threaded runners and hidden lights that had nothing to do with mid tier refits. Warmth spread from his touch, up my leg, settling low in my gut. The car slowed at the high rise, pulling under the awning. Elevator up, his arm around my waist now, casual but possessive, guiding me through the private doors.

The penthouse opened wide, floor to ceiling windows framing the city like a painting come alive. Lights twinkled endless below, rivers of gold threading through the dark. Dinner waited set on the low glass table by the windows, elevated takeout that smelled of seared steak and herbs, a bottle of red breathing beside two glasses. No staff. Just us, the space quiet and vast, city hum distant through the glass.

Sebastian poured the wine, deep red swirling in the crystal, and handed me a glass. "To cleared air."

I clinked mine against his, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Cleared air."

We ate slow, forks scraping plates, talk easy over bites. The steak melted tender, wine smooth on my tongue, loosening the day's edges. His knee brushed mine under the table, deliberate now, eyes flicking to the view then back to me. Heat simmered under the surface, building with each glance, each casual touch of his foot against my calf.

He set his glass down halfway through, reaching across to trace a finger down my arm. "Come here."

The words pulled low, rougher than before. I stood, wine forgotten, and he rose with me, closing the space in two steps. His mouth found mine again, kiss starting slowly, lips brushing soft, then parting, tongue sliding deep and sure. Hands roamed, mine up his chest, fingers working buttons open, his sliding under my shirt to trace the line of my spine. Heat built raw, breaths mingling, the city lights painting gold across his skin as he backed me toward the bedroom door.

Clothes came off in pieces, unhurried but insistent. His shirt hit the floor first, buttons half undone, revealing the broad planes of his chest, the faint line of hair trailing down. I tugged at his belt, the buckle clinking free, zipper rasping low. His hands mirrored mine, popping buttons on my shirt, sliding it off my shoulders to pool at my feet. By the time we crossed the threshold, underwear was all that remained, fabric tight and straining, the ache sharp between us.

The bedroom stretched wide, king bed low and unmade, windows wrapping the far wall in endless night sky. But my eyes caught on the bed first. A gift box waited there, large and square, wrapped in black paper with a single red ribbon. I pulled back from the kiss, breath ragged, glancing at him. "What's this?"

Sebastian's mouth curved, eyes dark with that knowing glint. "Open it."

I crossed to the bed, fingers brushing the ribbon, pulling it loose. The paper fell away smooth, revealing a garment box, heavy and sleek. I lifted the lid. Folded inside lay a suit. Charcoal wool, cut sharp and modern, the kind that draped like it knew your body before you put it on.

I looked up at him, chest tight. "Sebastian..."

He stepped closer, taking the blazer from the box with careful hands. "Your very own Stefano Ricci."

The name landed heavy, the fabric whispering as he shook it out. Expensive. Too expensive. I could not accept this. Not after the borrowed one, the stares, the whispers. It felt like another layer, another mark. But the color pulled me, deep charcoal that caught the city light like smoke, the texture rich and smooth under my fingers when I reached out to touch.

"I cannot take this."

My voice came out softer than I meant, but he just held the blazer open, waiting. I slipped my arms in anyway, the wool cool against my bare skin, falling perfect over my shoulders. It fit like it had been made for me. Because it had been. I glanced down, flipping the cuff back. Inside, silver thread gleamed. EH.

My breath caught. Not SB this time. Mine.

Sebastian's hands settled at my waist, turning me to the full length mirror across the room. Our reflection stared back, me in the blazer over nothing but skin, him behind me, eyes on mine through the glass. "Fits you."

"Sebastian, I cannot..."My very own Stefano Ricci. The fabric draped perfect, the monogram EH glinting silver like a claim I could feel on my skin. Beautiful. Mine. But too much. Expensive threads tying me tighter to his world, another borrowed piece made permanent. I could not accept this. Not when it felt like wearing his secrets stitched inside.────────────────The Billionaire’s Secret 🥀 | Part 24: Best Night Of My LifeUpcoming EpisodesPart 24 — 2nd AprilBest Night of My Life

Part 25 — 6th AprilFinale — Title Withheld