Page 76 of Rot In Knotty Pieces

I can breathe, ah, fuck, no, I can’t.

My alpha stands up and walks me back into the water, reaching for my hair. He’s gentle but thorough, his fingers slide over my scalp, pulling moans from me. For some reason, this is far more intimate than him washing any other part of me. I’m struggling, leaning into him, my breath catching as I fall into the sensations he’s evoking. He shampoos and conditions my hair, and by the time he’s rinsing it out, I think I might die for this alpha. Murder for him. Crawl for him.

He gets me out and just as meticulously dries my hair.

Blaze ruins me. I have nothing left, no barriers, and worse, I’m not angry. I’m lost, tears prickle at the corners of my eyes.

I’m so broken, how can an alpha like this love me?

“I’m going to keep you safe because I have never wanted anything more than this future we are building.”

I tremble. Me, Raptor. The most fierce of the alters, and this alpha has me shaking like I’m the last leaf hanging on the tree in winter. I’m ready to bend my knees and kneel, shattered, at his feet.

Ready to give up everything. Give him everything.

“Blaze,” I plead.

Stop breaking me. Shatter me. Fix me. Save me. Help me. Make the pain stop. Touch me. Don’t go away. Stay with me. Please. I think I love you.

He dries me and stands behind me, pressing his rock-hard cock against the curve of my ass.

“You’re not alone anymore. You might feel broken, but so am I. Broken things can be beautiful, too. So, next time you wake up with your heart racing and panic driving you out of our bed and into fleeing-”

“I wasn’t running,” I say hoarsely, but it’s a weak protest, we both know I was.

“-you remember that there is an alpha who is all sorts of insane and all yours, ready to kneel in a shower and wash your feet or spill the blood of whoever wrongs you. Your pain is my pain. Your fear is my rage. You don’t walk alone anymore, so don’t turn away from us.”

I spin in his arms, wrapping my arms around him. Holding him so tight that it hurts me.

“I’ve killed for him,” I whisper, my shame scorching the air and our scents.

“He made you.”

“I’ve done horrible, horrible things.”

“You did what you had to do to survive. You were a child. No one could fault you, and I would never. Do you think my hands are clean? Do you think I have lived a life without taking lives?”

His face is stark, completely honest as he looks down at me.

“I will make mistakes.”

He smiles. “So will I.”

He brushes my hair back from my face and then lifts me up. “Let’s get you dressed and see what the plan is for today.”

Blaze reaches for the door, but I grab his hand, stopping him.

“I want…”

“What? What do you want?”

“You,” I say, all the hesitance, all the doubts melt away, and there’s this surety. “I want you.”

He stares at me, his long black hair dripping water. I reach up with one hand, brushing it back, and then I drop the towel. It feels symbolic and like I’m giving him something special. I reach out and hesitantly reach for the zip of his jeans, tugging it down. The button was undone already, and so when I peel it apart, his jeans just kind of loosen and sit on his hips. I feel like one brush of my fingers will have them pooling on the floor.

Instead of focusing there, I slide my fingertips up over his stomach and abs, watching the way his muscles tighten and his skin pebbles.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and he doesn’t move.