My eyes opened, greeting his shocked expression with a shy blink. His lips parted, and he shook his head, laughing into a smile. The palms he had on my thighs tightened, and I felt his muscles pulsating like they were only seconds away from busting out of his skin.
I felt a little like that too… and I thought maybe it was what joy felt like.
“H… hi.” My words were slow, and they had the inflection of a drunk robot but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m, uh, Seb… Sebastian.”
His eyes danced, and he lurched from his chair so fast, it crashed to the floor behind him. His hands covered my cheeks, and he tipped my head up just enough to fold his lips over mine.
I hummed.
“Your voice is the sweetest goddamn song I’ve ever heard. Say something else.”
“I think… I’m a little in love with you.”
“Hell.” He growled and nibbled at my lip. “Baby, there is nothing little about the love I feel for you. My heart is damn near detonation.”
“What will I do if it blows?”
“Pick up the pieces, gorgeous. They’re yours, anyway.”
The words he spoke crashed into me like a heavy wave, sending me tumbling to the surface and gasping for breath. I’d just remembered how to breathe again, and here he was stealing it all, pulling it from my lungs just to put it in his.
“You… you love me?”
My ears were ringing now, my heart beating too loud. I’d heard him the first time, but I needed to hear it again.
…and again.
…and again.
“So fucking much. It hit me like a bullet to the chest.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Not one bit.”
His lips fell over mine again, and his tongue came out to play, tracing the edges of my lips before sweeping into my mouth. My back arched, my chest finding his chest as a rough sound floated up my throat.
One hand anchored on his neck, I dipped the other beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging my fingers along his waistband. His muscles clenched beneath my touch, and I liked how warm his skin felt when I pressed my palm flat to his stomach and slid it toward his chest.
Daddy tore his mouth from mine, pressing our cheeks together. His breath tickled my spine, floating down the edge of my neck as he spoke. “We should talk.”
“Boo.”
“Sebastian, your father just trashed your room and assaulted you.”
“Sounds like a regular Tuesday to me.”
Palm on the back of my head, his lips fell across my temple in a whisper of a kiss. It was paradoxical, really—the way he could make me feel so many things at once.
Passion and safety.
Desire and longing.
Hurt and love.
“My… my father won’t come looking for me because he told me to stay away until my lip was healed.”
“Your father is garbage. A literal pile of trash decorated with a pompous suit and ugly fucking shoes. For every place he hit you, I’ll hit him twice as hard.”