He caught my hand, tugging it into his chest. “Including you?”
“Always me.”
He made an adorable noise before bringing my hand to his lips. One by one he sucked each of my fingers into his mouth, ridding them of coffee stains and making my cock swell.
“Coffee tastes better off your skin, Daddy bird.”
“Tempt me, baby, and I’ll start bathing in it.”
He laughed.
The sound nearly brought me to my knees.
My baby bird was born in a cage, and the most important thing I’d ever done was bust that lock and set him free.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
Pale fingers wrapped around the sides of the mug I’d given him, and he stared up at me with thin eyes. “Are you going to ask me that every morning, counselor?”
“That’s more probable than not,” I said, resting my elbows against the counter’s edge. I didn’t bother getting another cup of coffee. My boy preferred to share. “It might be the psychologist in me, or maybe it’s just because I’m psychotically in love with you.”
“Psychotically? Daddy, I think you need to make an appointment with yourself.”
“I’m past curing, sweetheart. Now, tell me, how are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, he set the mug on the counter and used two fingers to push it toward me. “It’s been two days.”
“Just because it’s over doesn’t mean it left nothing behind.”
“Poison.” He whispered. “That’s what it felt like. A slow death, and the only thing that made it marginally better was you. You’re like an anecdote for darkness.”
Christ.
“Everything got better when I met you, and there may not be a voice in my head, but there’s a feeling in my chest that’s screaming at me to never let go.”
“As if we would ever let him go anywhere.”
I wasthis closeto just tearing my heart from my chest and handing it to him. He could put the damn thing on a stake and carry it around if it made him feel even one percent more secure.
“With you and I, baby, there’s no such thing as letting go. I promise.”
His chin dipped in a slow nod, and he pushed his hand through his hair. A breath big enough to rattle his bones left his chest, and he cast a narrow glance at the dining room table.
Thirteen.
There werethirteenimages of Arthur St. James spread across that smooth surface, each one more telling than the last.
We’d made copies…
… and more copies
… and more copies.
Some were locked in our bedroom safe, others in a safe deposit box three towns over. I’d even mailed a stack to my parents’ house and instructed them to stash it in a guarded, secure place.
Sebastian slipped off his stool and padded his way across the kitchen. Raising a hand to his mouth, he gnawed at the edges of his fingers as he peered down at the evidence he’d found.
“You know, I knew when I developed these that there would likely be evidence that pointed us toward my father, but I guess I… wasn’t as prepared as I thought.”