Page 183 of Captive Omega

Sweat dribbles down my cheek and my eyes drift to his muscled thighs and the contents of his black pants. What it contains makes me lick my dry lips and?—

“He couldn’t trust himself to stay away and he’s…” I jump as he rakes a shaking hand through his hair. “None of us have seen his scars in years. Not since the car crash. I don’t think he can handle that much touch. From anyone.”

Even me.

“So you’re going to?—”

“No.”

He’s shaking and I’m fighting the urge to crawl over to him, spread my legs and beg. This isn’t what I wanted, but it looks like this is what I’m getting, anyway.

The first tear that splashes my cheek is hot, and I look away from Garrison, not wanting him to see it. “I don’t want this,” I whisper.

“Neither do I.” Garrison’s voice is so anguished and so quiet I nearly miss it.

I whip my head toward him, shocked.

Garrison is looking at me. He’s gripping his thighs and there’s so much need in his hazel eyes, I can’t believe he hasn’t shoved me to the ground already and mounted me. He’s fighting his instincts. At least for now.

“You don’t?” I breathe.

“Not like this, Resa.”

My fingers itch with the need to strip my clothes from my body and fling myself at him. “How?”

“Don’t you know?” he whispers. “For you to want me because you want me.”

Concentrating is impossible. Talking is… not what I want. I fight to keep my eyes on his face and not the bulge growing in his pants. And his scent…

“You won’t bite me?” That’s when I know I’ve decided that I’m going to do this.

With Garrison.

He shakes his head.

“This means nothing. It’s just…” I fumble for the right word. “Medicinal. That’s all.”

A tiny, barely detectable hint of amusement pulls on the corners of his eyes. “Just medicinal.”

Who am I trying to convince here? Me or him?

“I want to crawl to you,” I breathe, eyes on his, hating being an omega when all it does is remind me that I’ll always be at the power of an alpha.

He pushes himself to his feet. “You never need to crawl, Resa.”

I hold my breath, watching him close the distance between us. He scoops me up, carries me to the side of the bed, and sits down.

I’m straddling him, my knees on either side of his muscled thighs, his eyes on my face and his expression is… unreadable.

Something about it makes me look away, so I drop my gaze.

But I see his body, and I itch to touch.

I lift my shaking hands, palms raised. I want to do everything. Rub my body over his, lap at his pulse, breathe in his scent. I want—No. I need to feast. On him.

He clasps my wrists, and my head jerks up.

His eyes are pools of dark heat. “Touch, Resa. I am yours to touch.”

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