Chapter 12
Sebastian Sterling
I can’t help my body’s visceral reaction at 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.
“It all looks delicious,” she shrugs.
“Do you have any allergies?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
I fill her plate with a few bites of half a dozen entrées before placing it in front of her and wrapping her fingers around her fork.
When she begins nibbling without my prompting, I press play on the remote before sliding her drink closer to her and moving the brushes into my lap.
As the opening credits play, I unwrap the towel from around her head and carefully gather her hair into my fist. One tiny bite at a time, she tries everything on her plate and stares absently at the animation on the screen as classical music fills the air.
I note which foods she eats more of as I work the hairbrush through the ends of her hair, using my forearm as a brace, and nudge her shoulder when a slow blink turns into a nod.
She jerks upright and moves the food around on her plate.
I set the brush beside me on the couch, fill a second plate with samples of the food that didn’t fit on her first and a bit more of what she liked from the first plate.
She sighs and picks at the new offerings.
As I brush higher and higher, she stops trying new things and instead eats her top three favorites.
With a cartoon mouse dancing across the screen and playful classical music filling the air, I dump the food she doesn’t want onto the first plate and add her preferred selections.
With her plate crowded yet fewer options to overwhelm her, she relaxes further and takes bigger bites.
I run the brush over her scalp, mindful of her scar, and smile as she hums in delight.
Before she nods asleep again, I set down the brush and use the fresh towel to dry her hair.
She tries to hide her wince by spearing her fork into the pasta. I growl, toss the towel aside, gather her hair into my fist, and angle her face up to mine.
“Don’t hide from me, sweet pea. Tell me if I’m too rough. I never want to hurt you. Understand?”
Despite the glaze of exhaustion, her gorgeous hazel eyes glimmer in the soft lighting as she studies my face. The intimacy of the moment burrows deep into my bones, and I fight the urge to lean down and taste her lips. The soft smile spreading across her face nearly wrecks my composure.
“I like this,” she murmurs.
Pride and awe flow through me. She’s too brave. I don’t deserve her, but I’ll do anything to have her.
“Me too,” I assure her.
Her smile widens.
“This feels like a dream,” she says.
I trace her cheeks and chin with my fingertips.
“Does this feel like a dream?” I ask.
She nods.
“Do you want to wake up?” I murmur.
She gives the slightest shake of her head.
“What would you want to happen in this dream?”
“You’d kiss me.”
I rumble deep in my chest and skim the pad of my thumb over her lips, teasing her lip ring, and swallow my regret.
“Don’t tempt me, pipsqueak. We took kisses off the list for tonight,” I mock scold.
“Please?” she whispers.
I lean back.
She sticks her bottom lip out in the cutest pout.
“Fucking hell, you’re too goddamn cute,” I growl as I bend down and take her mouth in a deep and sensual kiss.
With her neck craned and my back cramping, the angle should make things awkward, but with her, every stroke of my tongue is a new and epic adventure. She’s too sweet. Too stunning. Too honest.
I rip my face away and loosen my grip on her throat, uncertain when it snuck around the slender column, and clear my throat.
“I’m sorry, Penelope. I should control myself no matter how much you tempt me, but I can’t resist when you ask so sweetly. Eat a few more bites while I swap your laundry,” I instruct.
When she pouts again, I half chuckle, half groan and kiss the dermal piercing at the corner of her eye before extracting myself from around her and grimacing my way toward the laundry room. My cock, as hard as granite, tents the front of my pants, so I sidestep around the corner instead of turning.
Her disappointed huff sends a burst of liquid fire down my shaft. I squeeze my cock through my pants and grit my teeth as agony spears through my balls and up my spine.
I move her laundry to the dryer, enamored at how little the bundle is compared to a set of my clothes, and adjust the settings for the delicate, lacy underthings peeking out from the layers.
Despite every fiber of my being demanding I return to Penelope, I brace my forearms across the top of the vibrating machine and breathe until I’m no longer on the verge of combustion. The moment I rise, my feet carry me back to the couch.
Penelope still sits on the floor where I left her, but with the blanket bunched in her arms and her head back on the cushion where I sat. She’s fast asleep. A cute little half-snore escapes her. She shifts and tightens her arms around the blanket.
I slip behind her and prop the back of her head on my inner thigh. She twitches and murmurs a few incoherent words, but when I close my legs around her and stroke her head, she relaxes back into sleep.
I tell myself to pick her up and move her to the bedroom but seeing her in my clothes and my sheets will be too much temptation to resist.
She flinches and tightens her arms around the blanket. I run my fingers over her scalp. She mumbles and nuzzles against my thigh before relaxing deeper into sleep.
I lean my head on the back of the couch and fill my lungs with her soft, feminine scent. Although I yearn to gather her into my arms, the weight of her head against my thigh and the feel of her curves between my legs is more precious and intimate than I ever imagined.
Cherishing the moment, I hold my breath and enjoy the silkiness of her hair under my fingers until my chest burns and head swims, then exhale long and slow.
Sleep claims me in slow increments. Only small shifts of the soft, delicate creature between my legs interrupt my peace.
The first time she jumps, I smirk at the cute little reaction, thinking she’s just transitioning into deeper sleep, but when she lashes out and hits my calf with a bogey elbow, I frown in concern.
Her breathing grows ragged. She whimpers and kicks the underside of the coffee table.
Stroking her hair does nothing to wake her. I lean down to whisper assurances in her ear, but she knocks her head into my face and shoves at my thighs.
I rub my aching jaw and call her name. She flinches and kicks. The solid thud on the wooden table makes my toes ache with sympathy pain.
Deciding her ire is preferable to injury, I reach down and haul her up against my chest in a bear hug.
She bucks and slams the back of her head into my chin.
“Wake up, sweet pea,” I urge.
She doesn’t hear me even though she’s eerily silent as she battles her nightmares.
When she almost catches her heel on the edge of the coffee table, I rise and stalk to the far side of the room to the largest open space in my apartment.
She twists, kicks, and flails without crying out. My heart breaks anew.
I say her name again, but she arches her back and slams her heels into my shins. I curse and lower her to the floor. She fights harder. Even when I step away from her, she lashes out at demons I can’t see.
Desperate to protect her without harming her further, I settle flat onto my back—half on the rug and half off—and carefully roll her on top of me until her soft, feminine curves flatten against my hard frame. The hard points of her pierced nipples press against my abdomen.
For long, horrible moments, she doesn’t stop fighting. I take solace in her attack, gladly accepting her blows since it means she isn’t hurting herself on the furniture, and murmur nonsensical words of comfort.
With her fists full of my shirt, she finally settles the side of her face against my chest and wraps her legs around my waist.
I trail my fingertips down her spine and comb my fingers through her hair as she calms. Her little hiccuping breaths kill me while the softness of her body incites the hardness in mine.
I banish my arousal into the back recesses of my mind until she whimpers and writhes on top of me.
Unwilling to cross the line when she trusted me so completely, I hush her and slow my petting.
She doesn’t listen. Neither does my cock. With a muted moan, she twists her fists in my shirt and grinds her breasts against my chest. Lust turns my cock to steel. She tilts her hips and shudders as she rubs her pussy against my stomach.
“Wake up, Penelope. Don’t tempt me unless you mean it,” I growl.
She hums and slips her hands under my shirt. I groan and cup her nape.
“Penelope,” I warn.
She stiffens and stills. Her heart pounds against my chest as awareness flows through her.
“What happened?” she whispers.
“You’re groping me in your sleep,” I manage despite the desire thickening my throat.
She flexes her fingertips against my ribs and shifts experimentally on top of me. I groan. Her breath warms my chest through my shirt.
“I don’t want to stop,” she admits.
Fucking hell, she’s going to be the death of me. I grind the back of my head into the carpet and loosen my hands despite wanting to pull her tighter to me.
“Then don’t. I’m yours, sweet pea,” I rumble.
She lifts her head. I meet her eyes and fight for control. Her hungry hazel orbs and long lashes enchant me.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.
“Goddamn it, pipsqueak, you’re really going to kill me. Let me—”
She freezes when I span my fingers over her back. I lift my hands and wait until she relaxes, then fist the thick carpet fibers on either side of my hips.
“I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. Grope away, sweet pea. I’m not going anywhere,” I vow.
Her shaky breath washes over my neck and chin. My cock jerks as she explores my torso with increasingly bold hands. When she circles my left nipple with her thumb, I press my heels into the floor and bunch my thighs to hold back the tsunami of need swirling at the base of my spine.
I bite back a shout as she pinches both my nipples between her diabolical digits. Her squirming nearly tips me over the edge.
Needing to divert her attention elsewhere before I disgrace myself, I growl and test her submission with the dirtiest words I’ve ever spoken.
“Touch yourself, sweet pea. Put your hand inside your shorts and play with that pretty little pussy for me.”
I bite my tongue and groan as she follows my command. She unties the drawstring on my oversized shorts and slips her hand inside. Her gasp as her fingers find her warm, sensitive flesh travels down my spine.
“Sebastian,” she breathes my name then wrecks me with the hottest admission imaginable. “I’ve never been this wet before.”
I growl, tighten my fists on the rug, and hold back my release by the skin of my teeth.
“How wet, sweet pea? Hot and slick under your fingers? Coating your hand? Dripping down your leg?”
“Yesssss. Oh god, I need more,” she moans.
“Stroke your clit for me,” I command.
She sucks on her lip ring before letting it pop free of her mouth.
“I am. It’s not enough,” she whines.
I growl and dig my heels into the hardwood floor to center myself.
“Slip your finger inside your pussy,” I growl.
As her knuckles graze my abdomen, she tilts her hips back and forth and squeezes her knees around my hips. Fabric tears underneath me, but I don’t dare loosen my grip on the rug.
“I need more,” she whimpers.
Magma pulses in my balls. Sweat drips down my nape. She’s too fucking perfect.
“Add another finger. In and out.” She shudders and writhes on top of me. I bite back a groan as her nipple piercings dig into my chest. Her breasts pillowed against my hard planes threaten my control. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”
She closes her eyes and whimpers.
“Fucking hell, sweet pea, you’re so fucking sexy I’m going to come in my pants. You’re almost there, aren’t you?”
She nods.
“Push your fingers all the way in. Curl them,” I demand.
Her eyes flutter, and she circles her hips on top of me as she groans, but she purses her lips in frustration.
“It’s not enough,” she says in the most heartbroken voice I’ve ever heard.
I push my honesty through the emotions clogging my throat.
“Use me however you need, sweet pea. I’m yours. All yours. No limits,” I vow.
The mix of emotions in her expressive eyes as she lifts her thick lashes and meets my stare pauses time.
Fear, frustration, hope, longing, and countless other feelings shine from her hazel orbs, but above all, she pierces my soul with her love.
She may not be ready to say it out loud, but Penelope Miles loves me.
She loves me as much as I love her.
I vow to give her everything I promised and more.
I, Sebastian Sterling, the founder and CEO of the nation’s top multi-billion-dollar sports safety equipment company, will gleefully give her every cent I’ve earned, the family I’ve cherished my entire life, and the body countless men and women have fought—and failed—to touch.
My sweet pea owns me. All of me.
Forever.