Something about the way he says it makes my stomach sink, because a part of me—the stupid, irrational, sentimental part—is hoping Teddy meant it. That he didn’t just call meMummybecause he’s tired or confused. God, the idea of being an actual mum never even crossed my mind before today. Sebastian’s voice pulls me back.
“The doctor said it would take time. For him to adjust. To trust again.” He swallows hard, and I see it in him—that weight he carries like armour. “It wasn’t this easy two years ago. He had meltdowns almost every day. Would run to the door, crying for her. Screaming. Kicking. Nothing I did could stop it. And I…fuck, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know he had autism. I didn’t know how to help him. I didn’t understand what his safety net was supposed to be, let alone how to become one.”
I step closer but don’t say anything.
“I worked with a paediatrician for a year. Every appointment. Every workshop. I read books, Olivia. Took notes. Changed the way I spoke, the way I moved, even the food I cooked. I tried everything.” He pauses again, staring at the countertop like it holds the words he can’t quite say.
“She left him,” he says finally. “His mother. She left him on my doorstep two weeks after his third birthday. Said she couldn’t do it anymore.”
Oh, God.Suddenly, that last barrier he’s always kept between us crumbles, just for a moment. “She said he was too much. That he cried too loud, clung too hard. And I didn’t understand it then. I just remember holding him, thinking… I’llneverlet him feel like that again.”
My throat burns. “I see it,” I whisper. “Every day. You’re one of the best dads I’ve ever seen. He’s so lucky to have you.”
He shakes his head slightly.
“No, Bash. I mean it,” I say again, firmer. “Do you not see it? Does no one tell you? Because I will. I’ll fucking shout it from the roof if I have to.”
He blinks slowly, then his expression softens. Silence stretches between us, and I swallow nervously. I don’t know why I say them, but the words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I should… go. I’m sure you want time to process what just happened and—”
I don’t even get the sentence out because his hand is at my neck pulling me in, and his mouth is on mine. His hands slide down to my ass, slowly, before he lifts me effortlessly. His mouth stays locked on mine as he carries me upstairs, heat curling between us with every step. It’s not until I hear the soft click of a switch that I realise where we’ve landed.
The bathroom.
He sets me down gently, his palms tracing the outside of my thighs, steadying me, like I might melt. I take a breath. Thelighting is soft, golden. But in contrast, Sebastian’s eyes—when they meet mine—are anything but warm. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you your VIP treatment.”
“Oh, really?”
“Stay there,” he says with a nod before turning the water on in the bath, then testing the temperature before plugging the drain. He reaches for a bottle of body wash, flicking the cap and squirting a generous amount beneath the stream. The scent of sandalwood fills the space. It’s earthy, clean, and entirelyhim.
He glances back at me. “Clothes. Off.”
I arch a brow. “Bossy.”
“Always,” he murmurs, eyes trailing down my body. “Don’t make me say it twice, Liv.”
A thrill shoots down my spine as I peel my top over my head slowly, letting it drop to the floor. His eyes follows every movement, locked in place as my bra unclasps, sliding from my shoulders. My nipples pebble in the cool air, and the audible sound of his exhale fills the space.
Piece by piece, I bare myself to him.
“Well?” I fold my arms under my chest, knowing very well it’ll push my breasts higher. “I’m not getting in alone.”
He tuts under his breath, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll wait all night, then,” I add.
That gets him moving. His shirt comes off in one smooth motion, revealing every inch of hard muscle, ink, and raw, unfiltered strength. But it’s not until he shoves his briefs down and kicks them aside that the rest of the air leaves my lungs.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
It’s the first time I’ve properly seen him naked. The other night, his room was too dark, the shadows too thick. I was toofocused on the feel of him, the way he touched me, tasted me. But now? Now, there’s no hiding.
Long, thick, and heavy, resting against his thigh, already hard and somehow even more intimidating in the full glow of the room than it ever was tangled in shadow. Veins trace the length of him, the tip flushed and aching. I swear, my knees threaten to buckle just looking at him. This isn’t just want anymore. It’s a need, written all over the way my body aches to sink to the floor and worship him.
