Page 76 of Please Open Me
No, it was the comfort in his tone that unraveled me.
I drifted to him and collapsed into his lap, looping an arm around his neck. His body was warm and solid, his clothes smelling like sunshine and fresh air.
“How you feeling?” he murmured, breath warming my ear.
I picked at my thumb for a moment before his fingers interrupted me, gently guiding my hands to the hem of his flannel instead.
Bile burned my throat. I swallowed hard.
“Mentally or physically?” My voice rasped raw.
“Both. You’ve been quiet. I know how you get.” His hand moved in slow circles between my shoulder blades.
Leaning against him, I let my eyes close. “Mentally? Better now that I’m with you.”
He snorted softly, jostling me, then kissed the top of my head.
“I’m glad. How ‘bout physically? Baby giving you trouble?” His free hand rested over my stomach.
I stiffened.His baby. Even if he didn’t make it, he’d treat it like it was. We both assumed Seb was the father—after all, Lucian and Cam both used condoms with me. Sebastian usually did, but he also believed in the pull-out-and-pray method. And to be fair, until now, I did too.
“I’m hungry,” I admitted. “And I feel like I’m going to vomit. It’s like my body’s punishing me for not eating soon enough.”
Cam’s thumb stroked slow arcs across my tank top.
“I was hopin’ you wouldn’t be as sick this time.”
“Me too.”
He kissed my temple, beard scratching my skin just enough to make me smile.
“Your body’s tellin’ you it needs more. Don’t fight it, Mason. Let me take care of you.”
My throat tightened. God, he always knew what to say.
“Hey,” he added softly, pressing firmer against my stomach. “Any idea how far along? I know the doctor won’t see you yet, but give me a ballpark.”
I hesitated. My OB said not before nine weeks. Since I’d just tested positive, they assumed four or five—but I wasn’t sure. My cycles had been a mess since Rosie. It’d been two months since the last one.
“Between five and eight weeks? Maybe more?” My voice squeaked. “What do you think?”
He studied me, cautious. “If I say somethin’, you gonna be mad?”
“No,” I lied.
“You’re gettin’ a bit of a belly. I’d say more.”
I slapped his hand away and stood, ignoring the churn in my stomach.
“I am not.”
“Go look in the mirror.” He nodded toward the antique glass in the corner.
I wanted to ignore him. But if he was right, I’d need to change before anyone noticed.
The mirror bore our palm prints—mine small, Seb’s larger. Cam liked making us look at ourselves while he praised us, stripping away the self-hate. Normally, it drove me wild. Now, it filled me with dread.
From the front, I looked fine—just tired, hair messy.
