“I don’t want you to get mad.” He caught his dry lower lip between his teeth. “But I think you might.”
“I already said I’m happy to help. I don’t know what else I can say.”
He accepted the yogurt but still didn’t lift his gaze to mine.
“Sebastian, I will get mad if you starve yourself because of your pride.”
“I like having you feed me.” Finally, his feathery lashes lifted, and he shot me a wide, almost pewter glare. “I don’t want you to get mad, but I like it very much.”
“I don’t understand.” I put down the yogurt and spoon.
“It’s foreplay for me, okay.” He gave an exasperated eye roll. “I feel weird getting turned on by something you’re doing out of ignorance and kindness. It’s creepy. That’s why you’d be mad.”
I looked at the fruit. Looked at Sebastian. “Is there a name for that too?”
“A name for what?”
I pulled my phone out and used it to google “feeding as a fetish.”
When I saw the results, I truly wished I hadn’t. Honestly, in retrospect, looking up anything with fetish in the title was probably a one-way ticket to a fistful of internet porn, but hey. I did it for Sebastian. If I was going to be with him, I needed to learn new things.
“So. Um.” I read the first three hits. “I’m guessing we’re not talking about this?” I handed my phone over. As Sebastian read what I showed him, his face drained of color.
“Nope.” He gave the phone back. “That is not what this is. But just so you know, I don’t kink shame, and I would never, ever—”
“So you’re not looking for a feeder to make you gain weight?” I asked. “Because you absolutely could use some meat on your bones.”
“Oh my God.” Sebastian let his head fall to the table. Hard.
“Help me to understand, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. Wow. If I don’t, like, burst into flames while you’re feeding me or slip down the drain while you’re giving me a shower, then there’s still a chance I could die in my sleep, right?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now.”
“God,” he moaned. “Is this payback for all the times I gloated about doing better than the other kids in school?”
“Sebastian, look at me.” His long lashes lifted again. “Imagine I’ve lived under a rock somewhere. I just learned I might be demisexual and not…you know…some loser who doesn’t get why the guys talk about pussy all the time. Or dick, I guess. Don’t be embarrassed to slow way down and explain things to me very carefully.”
He nodded. Cleared his throat. “Okay. So. Maybe I want someone who will take care of me.”
I would enjoy that. “Define someone. A Friend? A Lover?”
“That one.”
“Okay. Define lover.” The tea kettle whistled, and I got up to get mugs. “Chamomile okay?”
“Yes, please.”
“So polite.” I brought two mugs to the table and handed him a pain pill. “Wait, Sebastian. Blow so it cools off, or you’ll burn your tongue.”
His eyes widened.
Oh hell no. The penny finally, finally dropped for me.
In a eureka moment worthy of Archimedes, or somebody else way smarter than me, I understood what Sebastian was saying.
Sebastian liked older men. Check
Sebastian thought of feeding as foreplay. Check
Sebastian got a boner when I bathed him. Check
Sebastian wanted a Daddy. Check, check, check.
I had never been into any kink ever, but Sebastian deserved to have someone to nurture and protect and love him unconditionally if that’s what he wanted. He deserved the best guy in the world.
Whereas my actual, biological children thought I was a monster.
I was officially the crappiest dad ever.
My heart sank. I couldn’t do this, be that guy, even for Sebastian.
“I have to go,” I said.
Chapter Eighteen
Bast
I wanted to laugh at the shocked expression on Stone’s face. And cry. And then I panicked.
“Wait. Don’t go.”
You find exactly what you’re looking for, but you can’t have it.
This is how dreams die.
“I said you’d be mad. Don’t run away.”
“I’m not mad,” Stone said with exaggerated patience.
“But you think I’m weird, right?” And it was weird. “Like a guy who rubs his dick on people in crowds. They’re not there for that. It’s not consensual. That’s why I had to tell you now. I didn’t want you to figure it out—”
“The hard way?” Stone said dryly. “It’s a little too late for that.”
“At least you know now.”
“Sebastian, it’s fine. I want to be here for you as long as you need me. I care about you. I—liked what we did earlier. But I can’t simply fall into some Daddy mold because you want that.”
“You make it sound like you’d have to be something you’re not.” I wanted to kick the table leg. “You’ve proved time and again that what I want is who you are. I wouldn’t call you Daddy, but I know I can lean on you. I believe you’ll take care of me if I’m hurt or in danger. I trust you to tell me when I’m about to do something stupid. I respect you, and I think you respect me.”
“You want a father figure for a boyfriend.”
“It’s true I want a slightly lopsided relationship. I have to feel completely safe with any person I would trust with my heart.”
“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” Stone’s expression filled with heartache. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“No. Why? Is it me? Have I grossed you out? Are you still in love with your wife? I would totally get that, by the way. I’d understand if it’s because you’re straight. But I thought maybe, after tonight—”
“Enough. I need sleep.” He emptied his tea into the sink and rinsed the cup. “I’m sorry, Sebastian.”
“Stone, it’s okay, honestly. If you can’t feel that way about me, it’s fine. From now on, I’ll ask Molly to help me with food and bathing. You and I can still be friends, can’t we?”
“Of course,” he replied woodenly.
Then he turned the scarred side of his face toward me and allowed his twisted grin—the sinister, sly half smile I’d noticed the first time I saw him—to define his expression.
My stomach dropped away.
“Morrigan.” He tapped his leg, and she followed him without looking back. A second later, the office door closed with a terminal snick, and I was alone. I sipped my tea and tried to see how things had gone so spectacularly off course.
You’ve got the wrong guy.
The words were an echo, reverberating over and over inside me. I couldn’t see their meaning clearly because obviously I had exactly the right guy.
I’d given him several outs, if he wanted them, and he hadn’t chosen any.
Stone could have said, I’m straight, or I still love my wife, or even I don’t want to be any man’s Daddy. He could have indicated I wasn’t right for him because I’m too young or too much trouble—anything would have blown my hopes to smithereens.