Page 19 of Puck & Her Blades

Doesn’t he care about the Rej bracelet on my wrist? No Reject is treasured.

“Seriously, I’m okay. I’m tough.”

When Cygnus puts his hands on his hips, I quail. His glare is small but mighty.

He wields it like a weapon.

“I know that you’re tough,” he says. “It doesn’t mean that you can’t be hurt. Look, I’m bonded to big, hockey playing Alphas who hate to be fussed over. When they’re bruised black and blue after a game, even if they have concussion or one of their arms is almost ripped from its socket, they say just the same: I’m fine. I still tend to them and make sure that they get seen by the right professionals. So, come on, let me help.”

Bewildered, I find myself being swept into this determined and kind Omega’s arms, as he helps me to the floor, onto the bed of crushed roses.

Then he straddles me, and I can’t help the rush of wet between my thighs, at the feel of his ass on my legs.

He wriggles to get himself comfortable, before he helps me to squirm out of the top section of my costume.

He drops it to the side.

Cygnus’ expression softens, when he sees me.

He pushes my sweaty hair out of my face and then wipes away a smudge of lipstick that’s smeared over the corner of my mouth in the heat.

I must look a hot mess.

“There you are, treasure.” He smiles.

I find myself smiling back. “See? Okay.”

To my surprise, Cygnus nuzzles me, and hell, both his skin and clothes against my neck, are just as soft as they look.

I shiver.

When I take a deep breath of his violet candy scent, my knees almost buckle. It’s as sweet as the rest of him.

I crave to lick him, except he’s not mine, and I can’t.

I’ve only ever had another Omega nuzzle me like this in my fantasies. I don’t know where to put my hands. I settle for patting him awkwardly on the back.

He draws away from me, as if confused.

“Does your head hurt?” Cygnus studies me, concerned.

It does. I’m not telling him that.

In fact, he’s the one who’s shaking.

Shock, I reckon.

After all, he was pinned against a wall and almost hit. As a pampered, wealthy Omega, it must have been traumatic.

Yet he hasn’t mentioned his own needs and only thought about mine.

I like him already.

Hurriedly, I reach for one of the squashed chocolates. It’s beautiful and luxurious, made out of black chocolate with a soft filling. A sparkling white chocolate snowflake is pressed onto its top.

Is it only coincidence that the snowflake matches the design of the costume, which I used to wear when I competed?

It looks handmade.

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