Page 144 of Knot Their Omega

Suzy showed me this side of her.

Before she was forced to marry the pack who killed her.

The pack that my brother signed the contract for her retrieval.

The one who tossed the blame on me to save his career.

“It’s ME! Blair Vesper! Multi-millionaire lyricist who can’t even show who the fuck SHE is because our society sucks!”

My poor Rebel.

All the signs are crystal clear.

When you reach that breaking point where nothing seems to make sense, and the agony of desperation stabs you with its final blow.

All that’s left is waiting for its victim to crumble.

I won’t allow it.

Not a second time.

The silence around us intensifies, leaving me to focus on how her breath struggles to get out. The way those flushed cheeks only grow redder while her face is far too pale. Wide eyes filled with fear and angst, and those parted lips with bruised skin that bleeds with that droplet of blood.

All my Alpha instincts cry out for me to react, but I know my role is different this time around. My instincts last time were too rash. Cold. Stemmed from my need to disassociate from the world and made it seem as if I didn’t care that my little sister was castaway to a group of strangers over a bit of money that would “catapult” my brother’s career.

As if the funeral funds raised weren’t enough for this fucker.

The mere idea of witnessing the life leaving these stunning blue eyes makes me move into action, my movement more calculating than ever as I pack aside my drastic yearning to make amends for this situation by ruining anyone who dares stress my Omega.

My hands glide into her shot locks, stilling her head as my palms press along her jawline.

She stills at my touch, confusion and dismay washing over those alluring features that make her so mesmerizing to look at, near or far, but I don’t give her the privilege to question my motives.

Words won’t register in my Omega’s mind right now.

What will is touch—my touch.

My touch. My lips. My silent promise that despite the revelation she’s bestowed upon me through her anger, I’m not going anywhere.

That’s exactly what I do as my lips claim hers, but instead of taking the lead, I allow my lips to remain still against hers.

Waiting for what she wants to do with this initiated move.

She could push me away. She could also accept the kiss and take the lead. I’m giving her the choice to do either.

I was giving her a glimpse of the control she’s earning in the heat of the moment.

Yes, this is a distraction from the spiraling dilemma she’s in, and no, it won’t stop us from facing the elephant in the room, but this will give her a taste of control.

This will remind her that she has the power to take the reins and steer this horse called life into the pathway she wholeheartedly yearns for.

I’m simply a commodity that’s essential in helping her along the way due to the hierarchy of power dynamics in our cruel world.

If I have to wait forever for her to react, I’ll stay right here, waiting for her command—whether acceptance or rejection.

I won’t run away like a coward, frightened to face the heading storm.

Relief fills me when those soft, bruised lips come to light. She presses them firmly against mine, moving with swiftness to kiss me as though it’s our last.

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