This close, I can scent those delicious violets again with the sweetness of her natural Omega smell. The burnt notes are still there, but up close, I’m drowning in Blair.
“It’s not that bad,” I insist as she delicately removes the towel from my hand. “You don’t have to treat me like a kitten.”
Her fingers trace along the inside of my palm, and I suppress a shiver. “I think I see a couple of splinters,” she says, ignoring my protest. “Do you feel them?”
I nod. “There’s couple right where your fingers were,” I say.
Blair grips the back of my hand with hers, then positions the tweezers. “If this hurts, tell me to stop,” she murmurs, the metal tongs looming over my palm.
If the only way I get her to touch me is by her picking glass out of my skin, I’ll do it every fucking day.
“Do what you need to do,” I tell her softly. “I’m fine.”
Her tongue darts out to lick her lower lip as she begins to gently work the tweezers, and I’m mesmerized.
There’s a harsh pinch, then relief as Blair successfully plucks out a shard and deposits it on the paper towel.
“You’re a liar,” she tells me, raising an eyebrow. “That definitely hurt.”
I smirk. “Maybe a little.”
She huffs out what could be a laugh if her eyes weren’t still so watery. The sorrow looms over her, and I realize that I’ve never seen her in all black before today.
It’s like she’s dressed for a funeral.
One more pinch, and then another shard comes out, this one bigger than the last.
“Oof,” Blair mutters. “How the hell did this happen? Did the glass explode in your hand or something?”
I was angry we weren’t talking anymore and I squeezed a glass so hard it broke.
“I guess,” I mutter. “It spontaneously combusted.”
She snorts, then squeezes my hand, angling it so she can see the meat of my palm better. “You’re lucky you don’t need stitches—just a bandage or two. Lucky for you, I have some glitter ones in my purse.”
“Lucky me,” I deadpan, but I know it will be worth it just to see her smile.
Her touch is delicate, her fingers small and soft, and my inner Alpha gnaws at the bars of his mental cage.
Touch her. Take her.
“Hey, are you guys good back here?” a voice asks, and I turn to see Rylee poke her head in. “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Blair releases my hand and sits back in the chair. “There are bloody paper towels everywhere. What the hell would you be interrupting?”
Rylee disappears just as quickly as she enters, and Blair sighs, slumping against her chair. “Do you feel any more glass anywhere?” she asks.
I prod at my hand. “No. You got them all. Thanks.”
“Yeah.” Weariness returns to her face, and I realize she’s about to retreat back into herself, and we’ll go back to not talking.
I have to try one more time with her.
After feeling her hand touching mine, after inhaling her scent, I have to fuckingtryfor her.
“You seem different today,” I say quietly, and her eyes darken.
“Different how?”
