They stay on only because of the drawstring.
Even though the clothes hang loose around me, I feel too exposed.My nipple bars press against the shirt, clearly visible despite the black material, and the cool air wafts over my shoulder.
A soft knock pulls my attention to the door.
I shuffle across the room.
When I unlock and open the door, Sebastian stands larger than life on the other side.My mouth waters.
No longer in his suit, his size still commands the space.He wreaks havoc on my central nervous system with his low-slung grey sweatpants and T-shirt combination.
“Dinner is ready.Let me do your hair while you eat,” he says.
I swallow before my drool drips down my face and shake my head.
“I’m fine.I’ll—”
“You look ready to drop, love.Let me take care of you,” he insists.
When the towel shifts on my head, lifting my arm takes triple the normal effort.Brushing my hair seems like a monumental task.
The yearning in my soul as I envision this giant of a man caring for me in such a quiet, intimate way leaves me breathless.
We’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.There’s nothing wrong with him brushing my hair.
I nod even though nervous jitters travel up my spine.
When he gathers me into his arms and kisses the towel on top of my head with a quietthank you, sweet pea, I melt.
Despite the part of me screaming this is way too dangerous, I lean against him and accept my fate.
I don’t care how much it hurts when he turns away later.This is what I want.
I want his devotion, care, and love.I want to fully belong to him and his family.
I want Sebastian Sterling.
All of him.
Chapter 12
Sebastian Sterling
I can’t help my body’s visceral reactionat the sight of her wearing my clothes.Soft and vulnerable, she’s the most tempting little morsel I’ve ever seen.
My cock throbs inside my sweatpants, but I promise to take only ice-cold showers for weeks if he doesn’t behave, and while I might be doing so anyway with Penelope around, he heeds my warning and refrains from tenting my pants.
I give her a gentle squeeze before urging her toward the living room.As she shuffles through the bedroom, I stride into the bathroom and grab the two different styles of hairbrush I have and another towel before following her.
When I step into the living room, she stands staring at the food-laden coffee table.I toss the hairbrushes onto the couch, grab the biggest throw pillows, and toss them onto the floor before cupping her elbow.She blinks and shifts her gaze to mine.The exhaustion and overwhelm blanking her normally expressive eyes fills me with guilt.
I failed to protect her.Again.
She shudders and leans into my touch.I lead her to the couch, sit on the middle cushion, then guide her to sit on the throw pillow between my feet.The moment she leans back, I pull the thick, soft blanket from the back of the couch and settle it around her legs.She wiggles deeper against the couch.I close my knees around her shoulders, lean forward, and grab a paper plate.
“What do you want to eat first, sweet pea?”I ask.
As made apparent by her rejection of my snacks—except for the soda and Nana’s homemade muffin—I don’t trust myself enough to choose when she so desperately needs to eat before she falls asleep.I way over ordered, but it was worth it to ensure she had as many options as possible.
