Page 86 of Crossing the Top Line

Step Three: Identify the Cognitive Distortions.

I’m magnifying. If stopping my medication was truly that serious, my doctors would have said something. My worst self-harm happened before I was prescribed the mood stabilizer, and I have plenty of those.

I’m jumping to conclusions. I can’t read minds, so I have no way of knowing what Oliver and Elijah may or may not be feeling. I can only ask them to communicate if something makes them uncomfortable, and respect their boundaries.

I’m making “should” statements. I can’t change the past, so dwelling on the guilt doesn’t help me in the here and now. I was busy from the moment I stepped off the team plane. I’m only human and humans are allowed to forget things. I’m allowed to make mistakes.

Step Four: Alternative Thoughts.

I will manage any symptoms that may happen, and communicate with the people around me if any particularly harmful thoughts occur. Oliver and Elijah care about me, and I can do my best to manage my condition and not put undue burden on their hospitality. I may have forgotten to refill my emergency supply, but I can set reminders for myself in the future. I am not defined by my mistakes.

As I finish the exercise, I let out a long exhale, my mind finally starting to slow. The rain isn’t pounding against my skull like a war drum anymore, instead fading into pleasant white noise. As I drift off, I sigh. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.

When I jolt awake, it only takes a few seconds for the little slice of hope I’d fallen asleep clinging onto to fade away. My heart thunders in my chest, my clothes soaked with sweat. I kick off the comforter and crawl off the couch, my stomach cramping. The floor is cool, but the humidity in the air makes it hard to breathe. And worst of all is thehunger.

I whimper pathetically, not able to move as I pant face down on the floor, only able to see the bottom stair through the gap under the sectional. My hand moves before I can try to stop it, sliding down my stomach and under the band of my leggings until I find my clit. My panties are soaked through with my slick. Letting my fingers glide over the swollen pleasure bud, I have to stifle a moan behind gritted teeth.

There’s no room for embarrassment as my hips rock, my fingers circling fast and hard in the race to feed the need screaming like a newborn bird in my chest. But even when I crest the peak, it isn’t enough. A drop of water in a desert. I ache for more, for something to fill me and let me think clearly.

I see a liquor bottle, one of the empties from yesterday’s festivities. The darkest part of my mind, the one who can’t separate pain from pleasure, wants to smash it, to fuck myself with the neck and use the shards to release the pressure under my skin. It’s out of reach, but if I crawl just a few inches—

“Tori!”

A deep alpha voice pulls me away from the edge of that void and I look up, whining as amber eyes stare down at me with no small amount of heat behind them. I reach up with the hand that’s not buried between my thighs, pleading wordlessly for help.

Oliver swallows, looking around for a moment, and an old wound throbs in my chest. He’s an alpha, so of course he won’t help me. They never do. My eyes drift back to the bottle, and the urge to take my fate into my own hands roars in my chest. No longer a fledgling bird, but a dragon. All fire and greed.

“Come here, princess. I’ve got you.”

The words coast across my cheekbone, smelling like bergamot and raspberries and raising goosebumps along my arms. Strong arms pull me off the floor and settle me across his lap, my thighs on either side of his hips. We lock eyes, and I can’t look away. Even in the semi-darkness, his irises seem to glow, though they’re just thin bands around blown-out pupils.

“I could smell you from upstairs, princess. Do you want my help? Or do you want me to watch?” he asks, voice a low rumble.

“Help. It’s—I can’t—please,” I ramble, curling in on myself as another wave of cramps wracks my body.

He shushes me, brushing back my hair before cupping the back of my neck and pulling my face down to his. Our lips meet, and I moan, opening immediately. His taste banks the heat under my skin, and I dig my nails into his bare chest, clinging onto him for dear life. His fingers wrap around my wrists, pulling my hand out of my leggings and away from his chest to wrap around his neck.

“Hold on to the cushion, princess. Don’t let go,” he purrs, my whole body shaking with the sound.

I nod, eyes rolling back into my head as he kisses down my neck, teeth scraping deliciously. I gasp as he grabs the neck of my t-shirt and yanks, tearing it down the center and revealing my heavy, aching breasts. When he takes one of my nipples in his mouth, I arch, one of my hands threading through his hair, trying to hold him.

A sharp crack of pain breaks through the haze of pleasure, and I look down to find Oliver glowering up at me.

“Hands on the back of the couch. I won’t ask again,” he snarls, the threat in his words making my pussy clench and drip.

But I obey for now, mostly so I can feel his mouth on more parts of me. He resumes his work on my nipples, sucking and biting before licking away the pain. A distant part of my mind tries to warn me against making too much noise, but the sounds Oliver pulls out of me are primal, and I don’t know if I could stop them if I wanted to. His hands push my leggings down while his mouth works, and I move to help until I’m completely bare. There’s a moment of relief, the sweat on my skin evaporating to cool me ever so slightly. But then the heat flares up in my lower belly as Oliver takes my ass in his hands, squeezing hard.

“Your ass is so perfect,ma reine. I bet it would look magnificent with my handprints all over it. Make you feel me for days after I’m done,” Oliver whispers against my skin.

I moan, long and low, nodding enthusiastically. I try to grind down onto his lap, but he holds me up, giving me another swat for good measure.

“Such a greedy little thing. You’ll get my cock soon enough. But you’ve got to earn it. Do you know how?”

Oliver’s voice is light, playful even. I whine, still trying to move away from his hands and find something to grind on, the dragon in my belly shrieking for relief. But Oliver growls, one of his hands shooting up to fist into my hair, pulling hard and forcing my back to arch almost in half.

“I warned you,ma reine.Disobedience has consequences,” he snarls.

Before I can react, he throws me to the couch, face down and ass in the air. I try to move, but a knee on my back holds me down, almost forcing the breath from my lungs. And then his hand comes down on my ass, right over the spot he’d struck before. But that was a love tap compared to the spanks he rains down on my vulnerable backside. The pain takes a moment to reach my brain, but when it does, I can’t help the pitiful moan that pours out of my throat, or the way my pussy pulses, slick dripping onto my thighs.

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