Chapter 4
Harsh artificial light bore down on you from above, casting a glow on your sweaty, red-faced opponent. Veins bulged on the temples of his bald head as his features twisted in a snarl.
You swiped a trail of blood off your bruised chin, refusing to wince as your watch snagged your split lip. Strands of loose hair clung to your damp brow, and you bared your teeth in a menacing, bloody grin. Arms raised, you locked them defensively in front of you and shifted your stance, ready for another bout.
Barbaric, Sebastian's words from the night before drifted through your mind, and you nearly smiled. If your three new friends were here now, they'd be horrified. Anne might even rush to your rescue, she seemed like the type.
You'd left a sleeping Anne and hit the gym early before meeting Fig at the Armoury. Things had gone as expected: you were assigned a flak vest, a locker, a weapons number, and a pleasant partner who seemed almost glad to see a fresh face upon introduction.
The three of you spent a relaxing shift going over duty expectations, regulations, reporting procedures, and all the other facets of the job. You were thrilled to find your new team was highly trained. The gear was top-notch and well-maintained too (contrary to your initial assumptions after meeting Anne.)
Things went well, considering the cold treatment you had received from the guards in the halls the day prior. You expected tension, but friendly smiles and welcoming shoulder pats greeted you instead.
You snorted at your naivety as your sparring partner lunged, swinging his massive fist at full force toward your face.
You narrowly dodged, slamming an elbow into your colleague's side before twisting out of his grasp and pulling up behind his larger frame. You spat a mouthful of blood onto the shiny blue mat at your feet and waved the lumbering oaf on with a jerk of your fingers—he wasn't worth the effort it would take to speak.
Training, your new partner had called it. What a goddamn joke.
It was an ambush.
Everything changed when Officer Fig left you in the office. The tense atmosphere you'd expected that morning choked you tenfold as every man in the room straightened to make themselves bigger, their expressions varying degrees of threatening.
Your heart hammered, your body slamming into high alert like a rabbit thrown into a wolf den. They surrounded you like hungry children circling a piñata, each eager to hold the stick and take a whack—and marched you down to the training room.
You expected a sparring match; it was an unspoken rule that you needed to prove yourself.
You hadn't expected the ferocity your colleagues would come at you with. Your squad surrounded you like a pack of wolves, their eyes hungry for your defeat as they screamed for your third opponent to "Take her down a peg!"
They formed a tight circle around you, boxing you in and creating a suffocating atmosphere of hostility. Screams echoed in the room from the mass of uniformed writhing bodies.
"Can't believe Sam was replaced with a pair of tits!"
"Just bend over and take your due, whore!"
"Fuck her up, Olly!"
Clutching your trembling hands, you lifted your chin and pulled your shoulders back—you had told your new friends this was coming and not to worry about it.
"Break, I need a break!" you gasped, waving a hand. "Guys, time out!"
But your sparring partner barreled toward you. Muscle memory sent you falling back into a fighting stance before your brain could register there would be no reprieve.
As the hulking man before you swung at you with unrestrained force, you realized his intent wasn't merely to test your skills but to hurt you. Ignoring your pleas for a break, his face twisted in anger and determination.
Your association with Anne had painted a target on your back.
Adrenaline surging, you made a split-second decision: no more holding back.
Sidestepping, you seized his wrist and yanked his arm over your shoulder. Your other hand dug into his bicep, pulling him forward and using his momentum against him.
He arced over your back as you executed a textbook throw, his bullish face twisted in shock—a sight that sent a thrill of validation through you. You jerked his arm toward your chest before he hit the mat, controlling his descent and twisting his arm into a lock that would prevent him from standing without breaking the limb.
The room fell silent, punctuated by your and your opponent's labored breathing. You licked your lips, painting them red.
The taste of ice-cold water with a hint of lemon danced across your mind.
You sucked in a burning, copper-flavored breath. "Anyone mind telling me what this is about?" Your slurred voice echoed in the room like a trapped bird. Sweat stung your eyes, and you blinked rapidly, maintaining the lock on your groaning opponent.
You knew what it was about; you just wanted someone to admit it.
A beat passed, and you felt the swell of hard-earned victory in your chest until jeers began and a fourth opponent stomped up, eager to prove himself.
"Mason! Yeah, boy!"
"Get her!"
As you stood there, chest heaving and sweat forming crescent moons beneath your breasts, you reached a realization.
No matter how hard you fought or how well you performed, you'd never earn your peers' respect while you remained friends with Anne. But you refused to sacrifice that newfound friendship for their approval.
Screw them.
Anne welcomed you into her inner circle with a single glance. Ominis had offered you dinner and care within moments of meeting him. Sebastian was... well, Sebastian was an ass, but if he proved anything like Anne or Ominis, he'd grow on you.
They were worth it.
"You guys suck," you mumbled, releasing the arm you'd restrained as the fourth opponent lunged.
Dodging his attack, you caught his ankle with a crude kick. The man crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, cursing as he scrambled to his knees.
You didn't linger to watch him clamber up. You shoved your way through, throwing elbows and pushing against the suffocating circle of your so-called teammates until you escaped the frey.
You didn't slow as you stepped off the mat and bent to snatch your discarded uniform top from the polished floor. Your boots squeaked as you picked up the pace and slammed a shoulder into the metal double doors.
They parted with a refreshing blast of crisp, cool air. Your damp, bruised skin erupted in goosebumps.
As you caught your breath in the deserted corridor, your heart hammered in your chest, a heady blend of anger and defiance surging through your veins. You knew that standing by Anne would make your time at the facility more challenging, but this was outright harassment.
You refused to let the petty behavior of your coworkers dictate your actions.
You were stronger than that, and you were in this for the long haul, so they'd need to get used to it or get out of your way.
Smoothing your hair back, you spotted Anne in the distance, cradling a coffee cup and clad in a lab coat. You were about to call her when the doors slammed behind you. Whirling around, you discovered your fourth opponent had followed you from the training room.
Your lips parted on a terse greeting, but before the sound could escape, he shoved you against the wall, his clammy forearm braced against your neck, his face a mask of rage. The sickly-sweet scent of body odor mingled with Axe body spray had you gasping for breath, more than the pressure of his arm across your throat.
From afar, you heard Anne cry, "Hey! Stop it! Let her go!"
"Mason, I presume?" You locked eyes with your attacker, remembering the name someone had yelled as he lunged at you on the mat. A smug grin spread across your face. "Good luck explaining this to Fig. You can't pretend this is training if you attack me in the hall—with cameras and a witness."
He scoffed, his breath hot and rank against your face. "I don't care about training. I just want to put a bitch in her place." Leaning closer, he pressed you into the wall. "You think you can shake your ass at the nerds and get special treatment over us veterans? They have their job, and you mind the fucking halls, you stupid cunt. Who the fuck do you think you are—"
Your laughter seemed to disorient him.
Seizing the chance, you drove your knee full force into his groin. A coffee cup came sailing from somewhere, smacking across the man's back and splashing hot liquid on both of you. As he doubled over in pain, you grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into your knee, feeling his nose give way under the force of your blow with a sickening crunch.
Despite knowing your knee would be sore later, you couldn't help but feel a measure of satisfaction as the man stumbled away from you, crashing into the far wall and sliding to the floor, one hand to his gushing nose and the other cupping his crotch.
"What I do and who I talk to in my off time is none of your—or anyone else's—fucking business." You stood stiffly above him, your words low but fierce. Flipping your hair as you turned away, you searched for a parting shot, but the perfect one-liner eluded you. "Good day," you said with a mock English accent, tipping your imaginary top hat and inwardly cringing before hurrying to a slack-jawed Anne, who regarded you with horror.
"What just happened?" she demanded.
"I couldn't think of anything clever or snappy on the spot. I've spent the last two days surrounded by British people so I—"
"What are you even talking about? Look at you—you're—" You recalled your bloodied lip and bruised chin, along with the marks on your arms from the violent combative training.
“You should see the other guys?” You offered her a thin smile and shrugged. "I warned you about this yesterday, Anne."
"Yeah, but I didn't think you meant…well…" She waved her hand over your battered form, "This is a lot. Had I known, I would have stopped you from leaving this morning, and the four of us could have worked out a plan. I'm sorry."
The beating was…much more than it should have been, but you didn't want Anne to know that. You shrugged again, feeling stiff now that the adrenaline had worn off.
"Thank you for your help, Anne," you said. "There's absolutely nothing for you to apologize for; if anyone should be sorry, it's them." You huffed, tugging on your uniform shirt to conceal the burgeoning bruises from Anne's concerned gaze. "Anne, it means a lot to me that—well…nobody has ever stepped in like that for me. But please, your moral support is enough. Don't get in the middle of a fight again, at least not until I can show you some moves—Ouch!"
Anne remained silent, her lips pursed as she examined your limbs, prodding your arms and face, seeking deeper injuries. "You're not fine," she insisted. "You need to be checked out. Good Lord, all these bruises…and now coffee burns on top of it. Sebastian has more experience in medicine. If you won't go to the clinic—"
You shook your head. The clinic would necessitate a report and would be more likely to delve into your injuries. That wasn't what you intended on your second day.
"Or talk to anybody—" You shook your head again, and Anne gave you a reproachful look. "I know what I saw. It's your body and your call if you don't want to speak up. I'll respect that, but only if you meet me in the middle and let my brother or Ominis take a look."
"Ominis is—"
"I know what you're going to say, but it's because Ominis is blind that he picks up on things most people wouldn't. He could easily sense an abnormality if there is one—"
"Okay, okay… We'll go with Sebastian." The thought of Ominis touching you made you burn, and the idea of Anne observing while he touched you…well, you blushed at the thought.
Despite your assurances that you were okay, Anne guided you down another hallway, ushering you into a different room and swiping her security card over the lock before pulling you in. As the door closed behind you, you surveyed the space. Only one dim light illuminated the room, with minimalist and modern furniture and no clutter. You trailed Anne inside, inhaling the clean, woodsy scent. A man's room. You had thought Sebastian would be more like Anne, surrounding himself with organized clutter in a cozy hoarder-like setting.
Anne strode in without hesitation, flinging open a closet door as if it was her room, yanking clothes off hangers, and tossing them onto the bed.
"I didn't notice anything severe enough to deem your injuries an emergency, but still… Take a shower and put these clothes on. I'll be back with my brother and a first aid kit." She patted the pile of clothes on the bed, then turned to you. "There are towels and soap in the bathroom; use what you need. Do you need help getting your clothes off?"
"Pfft, no, Mom. I'm fine."
"Ha! You are mistaken, my friend," she pointed at you, cackling. "Ominis is the mother hen of our little group. Just wait, soon enough he'll be pestering you to eat more veggies and sending messages to ensure you go to bed at a decent hour."
In truth, that kind of caring attention sounded incredible. Nobody had ever given you such consideration. You bit your lip, attempting to keep the words from slipping out of your mouth.
"Stay here, and do as I say." She rested her fist on her hip, glaring, "I mean it, I don't want to have to come to find you."
"Okay, okay!" You raised both hands, fingers spread in a gesture to calm her. “I’ve seen you angry, I’d rather not be the target of your coffee cup today, thank you-”
“Hey." She opened the door, gazing back at you with watery, concerned eyes and a solemn expression as she stood at the threshold. "You're safe now."
“I know.” You smile, “Thank you, Anne, for…” You searched for the word but nothing seemed like enough, “being there.”
******************
The warm water cascaded over your bruised and aching body as you endeavored to wash away the tension of the day. The soap carried a subtle scent that evoked memories of eating oranges in the woods. You couldn't help but observe the neatly organized and decidedly masculine toiletries in the bathroom. All the bottles were clear, unlabelled, and had rows of strange small bumps, so you had to guess what were shampoo and conditioner based on texture, but it wasn't too difficult. Once finished, you placed the bottles back exactly where you'd found them and dried off before tossing the towel into the laundry bin and piling your dirty clothes to carry to the bedroom.
The large blouse felt expensive, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was okay to borrow it. Cringing, you glanced at your uniform. Just looking at it made you feel dirty, so you slid your arms into the shirt, savoring the sensation before buttoning it up. You couldn't imagine the pants would fit you, but you would cross that bridge when you came to it—
"Aahh!" You squealed, startled, as the door clicked and swished open, and you dropped the buttons to cover your chest. You were braless and naked from the waist down.
Ominis stood silhouetted in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise. "Anne? Wha…" He tilted his head as you stepped forward, his expression shifted to confusion. "Not Anne, then." To your astonishment, he entered the room, closing the door behind him. For a moment, you forgot you were invading his space, completely thrown by the fact that he would lock himself in a room with an unknown person.
A beat passed, and your name tumbled from his lips as a question.
"I assume there is a good reason for your presence in my room?" His words were soft, even if they carried an undercurrent of authority.
"I, um, something happened, and I needed to clean up, and Anne brought me here, well, more dragged than anything. She said it was okay," you explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't realize it was your room."
As you spoke, you hastily buttoned up the large shirt, your hands trembling slightly as a blush seared your face. You never thought you would be grateful for someone's blindness, the thought made you feel guilty.
Ominis seemed to process the information, and for a moment, you thought he might get angry. But instead, he nodded quietly and moved to leave the room.
"Wait," you called out, stopping him in his tracks. "I… I should probably let you know that I might be…wearing your clothes."
Ominis considered your words before turning and resting his cane on a hook beside the door. With confident steps, he approached you as if he could see you standing beside his bed. He stopped a foot away, towering over you, his head tilted at an angle as if to listen to you.
He was so close.
The thunderous beat of your heart filled your ears, and you couldn't help but wonder if he could hear it too. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
"Do we take things without asking for permission?"
What?
Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped in astonishment. Defensiveness flared within you, prompting you to grasp the shirt's buttons as if to rip them off. But then, you paused and considered him. Hadn't he told you to be more observant?
Studying his face, you noticed the smooth skin of his brow lacked its usual furrow. If anything, Ominis appeared...nervous?
You bit your lip, dropping your hands from the shirt.
"Ominis?" you murmured, blushing and clutching the soft fabric at your hips.
"Yes?"
"Can I?" His breath hitched, and you watched intently as his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.
"Can you what?"
"Can I wear your clothes, please?" He tilted his head, a finger coming to rest on his lips as if lost in thought. Slowly, he reached out toward you, his hand hovering in the air before his fingers brushed over your shoulder.
His touch was feather-light, barely perceptible as his hands traveled upward, rustling the fabric until he pinched the collar between his fingers. A pensive expression crossed his face as his thumb brushed the fabric, careful not to touch your skin. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Your hair is wet."
You shrugged, instantly regretting the action. "I didn't think it appropriate to poke around for a blow dryer."
"Remove this and wait here." Your fingers trembled as you unbutton the shirt while he rummaged through drawers and cabinets.
"Where should I put-"
"Set it on the bed." Dutifully, you folded the shirt and placed it on the bed as Ominis reappeared, offering you a forest-green button-up pajama top. It was even softer than the shirt Anne had chosen for you.
He nodded, sitting on the bed beside you before rising and turning away. You couldn't help but giggle, watching the back of his neck reddening. You wanted to tell him not to bother but thought better of it.
"It's on." The shirt was infinitely more comfortable, and you quickly moved to grab the pants. Realizing you were still sans bottoms, you hesitated when he approached and sat on the bed.
"Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending a shiver down your spine and igniting something within you that you couldn't quite name. “Now, sit on the floor in front of me.” Your breath hitched, and you almost obeyed him without question. But you stopped yourself, leaning over to place a hand on the bed beside his thigh and gripping the pants' fabric.
“May I put on pants first?” you whispered, feeling oddly vulnerable. His eyes widened in surprise, his breath leaving him in a huff. “Please?”
His hands clenched into fists on his lap before he licked his lips, cheeks flushing as dark as your own. A beat passed before he grinned and gave you a regal nod. “You may.”
You quickly slipped into the pants, which were far too long and wide. You tightened the waist string as far as they would go and then set to rolling up the legs, grumbling about Ominis's impossible height. You caught him snickering as you moved to sit on the floor.
"Plug this into the socket behind the nightstand, and once you've finished, take a seat with your back to me." Ominis handed you the cord to a blow dryer, which you stared at in disbelief for a moment before complying. It wasn't every day you encountered a man who owned such a device, but it made sense—Ominis's hair was always impeccably styled.
As you settled between his legs on the floor in front of him, his warm fingers unexpectedly glided through your damp curls. He instructed you to lean forward before flicking on the blow dryer.
He meticulously worked through your tresses, focusing on drying the roots and then moving downward until your hair was a soft floofy mass. When the dryer turned off you thought he was finished but he took up a brush and began taming your wayward locks. The brush smoothed through your hair slowly, mindful of tangles as he went.
The experience was soothing and intensely intimate. Your eyelids grew heavy, and you relaxed your head against his inner thigh.
"So soft," he whispered, his fingertip grazing your neck before withdrawing. He slipped out from behind you, standing up. You followed suit, your toes curling into the plush carpet. Ominis plucked something from the bed and presented it to you. "Use these, and only these, when you bathe." He handed you the soap bottles from the shower. As you accepted them, he patiently awaited your response.
"I—okay. Thank you," you managed, balancing the bottles in one arm. For a moment you thought to ask him why he didn’t label the bottles when it clicked, “Oh! So the little bumps are-”
“Braille.” Tilting his head, Ominis looked like he was laughing at you, “You noticed it but still thought this was Sebastian’s room?”
“Hey!” You smacked his arm with a laugh. “We can’t all be super smart nerds.”
“No offense intended, just an observation.” He patted your head affectionately, “Though I resent being called a ‘nerd’, I will own up to it.”
You had little to no experience with men, was it normal for them to give out soaps like this? Excitement swelled in your chest at his gesture so you supposed it didn’t matter if it made you both happy…Well, you hoped it made Ominis happy.
His eyes stared beyond you but you had never felt so seen or well cared for. Warmth bloomed in your chest at his satisfied expression and the corners of his lips subtly lifted.
Instinctively, your fingers reached for his face, but he caught your wrist before you could make contact. Wincing as his fingers encircled a bruise, you resisted the urge to recoil. Your heart fluttered as his thumb pressed against your pulse, and his expression darkened.
"How audacious," you quivered at the power in his gentle tone even as you tried to re. "I haven't granted you permission to touch."
Your eyes widened, realizing only now that you had extended your hand toward him. But oh, how you yearned to touch him. It was all you could think about.
"Please, may I?" You inched closer, nearly brushing against him, his breath warm on your brow.
"Such a good girl to ask so politely." He drew your arm nearer, his fingers softly gripping you until your palm met his cheek. He turned his head, planting a tender kiss on your hand before releasing you. You traced your thumb over his cheekbone, mapping his beauty marks. He closed his eyes as you ran your fingers through his hair and outlined the curve of his ear.
Soon, his hands found your waist, drawing you near as he bent down. You wrapped your free arm around his shoulders, pressing your cheek against his. The bottles of soap are crushed between you. His breath warmed your skin as he held your jaw, turning your face toward his and hovering his lips tantalizingly close to yours. For a fleeting moment, it seemed he might kiss you—
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP! A forceful knock rattled the door in its frame.
"Ominis, are you there?" Sebastian called out, and you decided you might despise Anne's twin.
Ominis rested his forehead against yours before pulling away with a weary sigh.
That horrible freckled little cockblock!
A plaintive sound escaped you, and Ominis grinned in response. "A moment, Sebastian!" he called out toward the door, his hand diving into his pocket as he turned to you. Leaning in, his lips brushed your ear, whispering, "Would you like a reward for being such a good girl?"
Your eyes widened. "Yes," you breathed, the word sounding foreign and airy.
"Are you not forgetting something?" He lowered his head, pressing his lips to the skin below your jaw.
"Y- Yes… Sir?" He recoiled, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. You watched, fascinated as his face flushed from the neck up. Blushing, you realized he probably expected a 'please' instead.
Recovering quickly, a shy smile graced his face as he softly patted your cheek.
"Good girl." He bent down, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow and pulling back just as quickly. "Now, open your mouth." Your lips parted with a sigh.
His finger, cool against your lips, pressed lightly. You opened your mouth wider, and the familiar sound of candy being unwrapped reached your ears. Ominis placed a ruby-red sphere onto your tongue, his finger lingering as you closed your lips around it and licked it as he withdrew.
"Such a greedy girl." He pinched your chin and stepped back, heading to the door to retrieve his cane from the wall. "Take your time and do what you need. Put your dirty clothes in the bathroom laundry. We'll wait for you in the hallway." And he was gone.
A sense of loss threatened to overwhelm you, but you steadied yourself with a deep breath.
You collected your belongings, hesitating over your underwear, you spent an extra minute considering- agonizing- over leaving it in his room where he could find the fabric before shaking the idea off. You had just been doing strenuous exercise and Ominis likely had the nose of a bloodhound so that may be a bit much… Maybe not?... Your cheeks heated.
No, it would be weird. You dropped the panties on the top of the pile.
Should you tell Anne?
The idea excited you, but what would you say?
‘Hey, Anne. Ominis and I have this intense thing going on where yesterday he stepped on my foot and today he called me a 'good girl', gave me candy, and let me lick his finger…Oh, and I think I might be some shade of masochist because I loved it.’
Hmm. You would have to work on your delivery, but it was a start. You pondered how to bring up the subject with her as you gathered your dirty things, pulled on your socks, and shoved your feet into your combat boots. You trudged to the bathroom, emptied your pants pockets, and hesitated.
Mixing your dirty laundry with his felt almost more intimate than standing naked beside him. You bit your lip as you tossed your clothes onto the laundry basket.
As you stepped out of the room, Sebastian greeted you with a sly grin as he playfully nudged Ominis in the ribs. "So, what were you two lovebirds up to in there, huh?" he teased.
You managed a weak smile, but Sebastian's eyes widened at your battered face and bruised arms. The teasing tone vanished from his voice, replaced by concern. "What the hell happened to you?"
Ominis tensed beside him and turned to you, his face twisted into a deep scowl.
"It's nothing," you tried to dismiss the matter with a wave, but Sebastian's persistent gaze wore you down. You recounted the brutal sparring session with your fellow guards.
Sebastian's fists clenched, worry etched across his face. "Let's go find Anne and get you patched up."
"She actually went looking for you."
"So she's seen you already?" Sebastian inquired. "I imagine she was pretty upset."
"Yeah, she caught the tail end of it," you chuckled. "She screamed and threw her coffee at someone. Honestly, I was more afraid of her than any man there."
"Sounds like my sister," Sebastian laughed.
"You two are going to stand there joking about this?" You startled at the sharpness in Ominis's voice. "How bad is it, Sebastian?"
"We really should get to the lab—"
"It's not that bad." You reached to touch Ominis but withdrew.
"Sebastian, answer the question." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it brooked no argument.
Sebastian's eyes swept over you in a detached probing manner, making you feel like a specimen before his gaze met yours with an apologetic glint. "It's... Not good," he admitted, then launched into a litany of medical jargon.
What the hell was ecchymosis? You caught the words 'severe,' 'lip laceration,' 'mentum,' and several other phrases that sounded like gibberish as Sebastian spouted terms that might have been Latin or Spanish. You weren't medically inclined, so you couldn't be sure.
Ominis's expression darkened with each word, his face flushing. He looked terrifying. "-but I can't determine the severity without a proper examination, so we should either head to the lab or the clinic, Ominis."
"No clinic!" You blurted out, your voice echoing in the hallway before you blushed. "Anne promised if I let one of you look me over, she wouldn't push me to go to the clinic."
Ominis scowled, jaw clenched, while Sebastian shrugged. "Lab it is, then. Let's be off." He strode down the hall, and you prepared to follow.
"Go on to the lab, Sebastian. We'll be right behind you." Ominis halted abruptly and turned to you, his brow furrowed with frustration. Sebastian hesitated, glancing back at the two of you with raised eyebrows and hunched shoulders before mouthing 'sorry' and disappearing around the corner. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" Ominis demanded, slamming his cane onto the marble floor, his voice stern.
"I- I didn't think you would care. I-"
"Of course, I care-" He caught himself, straightening and inhaling sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. We haven't known each other long; I shouldn't have—"
"Ominis," you interrupted, fear gripping your chest at the thought of him pulling away. You'd only known each other for two days, but you relished his attention and the thrilling, peculiar dynamic that had begun to form between you. "I promise to let you know if I get hurt again. I... sometimes forget you can't see, but if I had thought about it, I would have... I didn't mean to keep it from you, and I'm sorry... Sir." You added with a blush, remembering his reaction from earlier.
He exhaled, his features softening and his face reddening. He didn't quite smile but looked pleased and visibly more at ease as he raised his chin and declared, "You are forgiven this time. But next time, there will be consequences for misbehavior." He extended a hand toward your face. You took his wrist and guided his palm to your cheek, turning your head to kiss it, as he had done before.
"Yes, sir."
"Good girl." His thumb brushed gently over your lower lip, pausing at the split, and he frowned. "Let's catch up with Sebastian. Come along, the lab’s not far…”
He slowed his pace to match yours as you caught up to him.