Sebastien's hand closed around Kenneth's arm with a grip that felt like a vice.
Kenneth's pulse hammered at his throat, loud enough that he wondered if Sebastien could hear it. Every muscle in Kenneth's body tensed, his mind racing with a fight-or-flight response, while Sebastien's knuckles whitened with the pressure of his hold.
Kenneth's gaze flicked down to where he was being held. His brows drew together, and whatever Sebastien saw on his face made him release his grip immediately.
"Sorry, love," Sebastien said. "I shouldn't have grabbed you like that." Sometimes he forgot how to ease his strength, especially when he felt so passionately about something.
His lips pressed inward, his expression softening into something apologetic.
Kenneth sighed.
He didn't know how it was possible, but somehow this man managed to look like a kicked puppy—like he was the injured party here. How Sebastien had flipped the dynamic so effortlessly was beyond him.
