That’s okay. I read a report from a doctor who performed one of the examinations, so I know they found a hairline fracture. And I also know why she only shared one word, instead of giving me a detailed account of what happened.
“It must have hurt.”
She grits her teeth when I massage the bruised area harder, but it’s this, or the lactic acid will build up, and her recovery will be slower.
“Pain is relative. Besides, don't forget I’m an Omega. It’s the emotional fallout that scars.”
“Same for all of us. We just dissolve into violence instead of tears,” I murmur, before stretching out her ligaments by pushing her shoulder away and pulling her hip closer.
Her breathing hitches. Layne shuts her eyes and I can feel her responding under my hands. Her pulse beats in time with my silent countdown in my head. We get to ten, and I release the muscle stretch.
“How’s that?”
“I need a bath before I answer that.”
“Sit up.”
She rolls back up to sitting with a natural grace and immediately sits back in front of me on her knees, with her hands relaxed on her lap, her eyes down. Her conflict is obvious, her relaxed nature at odds with the sudden spike of anxiety making her pulse race.
It will always be my role to soothe and protect. But I probably need to explain that to her.
“You know, Layne,” I say, then clear my throat. Her scent is so thick and potent, it’s an alluring promise of sweet suffocation. “Submission is not being subservient and giving over your power to someone else. If it was, this would be a one-sided thing, but I was kneeling for you first. You hold the power, and you hold the reins. But let's not waste any more time fighting against this path we’re on.”
Her hands glide up my thighs. “Why did you chase me?”
Her question comes from left field, but I’m spinning in all directions, too, so I jump right on the same merry-go-round this very complex woman is riding.
“Didn’t you like it?” I ask, already knowing she did.
She laughs again, her breath blowing her sumptuous scent up and over my face. “Probably too much.”
“I knew you would,” I tease her lightly.
“And now? You don’t want to claim your prize?”
“I won when you walked into my house. You just didn’t realize.”
She rolls her eyes at me before trying to distract or throw me off my game, which is winning her over. “You’re not getting lost in lust and a primal frenzy? Maybe once you’ve had me, you’ll realize you got it all wrong.”
I shake my head. And then I have to squeeze my eyes shut and plant my hands under my thighs, so I don’t jump up and smash shit in a rage, based on nothing but the injustice I feel for her.
Then it is my turn to count to ten. The sudden surge of anger forces me to keep going up to fifty, trying to shove the tidal wave of aggression back into the tight hold I know I am capable of confining it to. The whole time, her fingers rub gently over my leg.
“You’re angry,” she says.
“I’m working my way through it, planning all the ways we’re going to take back what other assholes have stolen from you.”
She sighs. “There’s a long list.”
“That works. We’ve got forever.”
Layne pushes. “Do we?”
“You tell me.”
Instead of hiding away, she raises her chin in challenge. “We were fake one minute, and now?”
“Not so fake,” I answer immediately.
