He gets in close, sinking to his knees before the couch, insinuating himself between my thighs, making me aware of him, his heat, his big body, those potent pheromones pumping into the air as he responds to my upset and tries to calm me.
He purrs.
But I’m tightly strung and for once it doesn’t work.
I shove at his chest as he crowds me into the couch. Foolish. Now my palms are against the thick slabs of muscle of his chest.
He plucks one hand away in a broad fist. And, in a move too fast for my shattered mind to process, he lifts me, takes my place on the couch, and drops me over him, straddling his lap.
One hand palms my throat. He takes off his cap and tosses it somewhere across the room, revealing thick, wavy hair cut short at the sides.
His hair is perfect… but of course it is, even after being squashed under his cap.
But now, without the cap, I can see his eyes. At first glance, I’d thought they were brown. Up close, though, I can see they’re a deep, gunmetal gray with dark gold flecks, like rust… or fire.
They make me think of a wolf, even though I’m pretty sure wolves don’t have such eyes. There’s just somethinganimalisticlingering in their depths… Not exactly unusual in an alpha.
“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is a soft, medium baritone, neither too high nor too low and gravelly.
Forgettable.
Yet unforgettable.
Wait? Did he just say sorry? I’m so confused. Is this a new alpha trick? They never apologize for anything, not even for being assholes.Especiallynot for being assholes. It’s like a badge of honor they wear with pride.
His thick thumb brushes the tears from my cheek before he leans and presses a kiss against my skin.
My tears are forgotten. With that simple touch, he gains all my focus, my emotional storm dissipating against this imperative to connect.
Yet I still have a lingering notion that something is different. Wrong. Out of whack.
He kisses my other cheek… The tip of my nose… His fingers remain collaring my throat. There is a gleam in his eyes that kicks off a surge of arousal in my core. His eyes lower to my lips. “What do you need?”
I sigh.
More soft kisses brush my skin in welcome hints of what is to come.
This is back to normal. An alpha being an asshole, asking me what I need when he damn well knows. Yet something is still off with this exchange. And now he’s touching me, I can sense it again. Healers are sensitive to emotional nuances, damage, and such. More often, we can sense a person’s needs simply bybeing close to them, especially if their emotions or injuries are extreme. With him, I need to touch, and when I do, I’m touching something I haven’t touched before.
It holds me back. With any other alpha, I’d be begging them to assuage the ache. Why, instead, do I feel sodefiant?
His lips skate up my throat.
I shake my head in denial.
His head lifts, and his eyes hold mine prisoner before his lips tug up. “Nothing at all?”
He really is exceptionally handsome. They’re always attractive, whether it is more primal, rugged beauty, or this polished perfection. Despite his alpha size, I could imagine him in a suit. One of those business moguls, former military men who go on to hold positions of wealth and influence in society. He’s too young for that, and yet the image still fits.
“Are you sure about that, baby? When was the last time someone bothered to ask you for investment?”
I lick my dry lips. He’s too perceptive, and I’m the omega. I should be the perceptive one. But his question hits a sensitive place inside me. They don’t have to ask anymore. I’m too eager. Making my desires clear with actions even before the door closes, emboldened to demand and take my dues.
“We’re going to play a game today,” he says slowly.
Game? “I don’t like games.”
“Don’t care.”
