Page 54 of Knot All That Glitters: Part 2

We make our way into the basement, Creed laden with far too many snacks and drinks. Me carrying nothing more than the blanket I’ve been using on the couch in the living room and have claimed it as mine.

I pause at the bottom of the stairs as Creed moves to set his burden on the low coffee table in front of the giant sofa. The sofa where I was sitting when I stupidly opened Jude’s laptop and not mine, where I found the spreadsheet full of every sexual act we’d done together, with points assigned to each one.

The sofa where my heart well and truly broke, and I considered giving up entirely.

They did that to me.

This pack that now claims they’ll do anything to make it up to me. They broke me in a way that my father wasn’t even able to break me with all his commands and casual cruelty.

My chest squeezes and tears fill my eyes, but I blink to keep them from falling. I cried my tears. I’m working through the hurt. I don’t need to cry about this again.

But I can’t look away from the couch.

A broad chest slips in front of my vision, rough palms clutch my cheeks, a forehead presses to mine. The low rumble of a purr filters to my ears and Creed murmurs, “breath for me, baby girl. You’re okay.”

I hadn’t even realized I stopped breathing. Now that he’s mentioned it, my lungs are burning from lack of oxygen. I suckin a breath and his fingertips stroke down my cheek. “Good girl. Give me another one, hmm?”

I breathe in again and he continues to talk me through my mini panic attack. Murmuring praise about how good I’m doing when I’m just breathing.

It’s ridiculous, but every stroke of his fingers and every murmured word, the rumble of his purr and his petrichor scent all work together to not only calm me but turn me on. His nostrils flare and I know he scents my slick, my arousal. He groans softly but doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t try to do anything about it, doesn’t kiss me or touch any part of my body other than my face with his hands and his forehead to mine.

Damn, if that doesn’t turn me on more. He’s respecting my boundaries, my feelings. I know without a doubt that Creed will not touch me unless I ask for it. Hadn’t he kept himself from touching me while that game was in effect? Well, he had until I pressed the issue in the alley, went to my knees for him and took him into my mouth. He felt so good-

No, Haven! No. Bad. Don’t think about Creed fucking your throat.

I step away from him, making a weird noise that I think is meant to cover up a whine, but doesn’t really accomplish it. Creed watches as I hurry over to the couch, clutching my blanket to my chest like a shield, and then plop down.

He comes over much more leisurely, sitting close but not too close. I can feel the heat from his body all along my side, but we aren’t touching. It’s a tease to my senses. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him adjust himself, and that’s when I realize he’s fully hard.

From me. From scenting my arousal.

Fuck, that really doesn’t help. Not the slightest bit.

Creed sits silently, eyes on the side of my face as I determinedly keep my gaze away from him, focusing myattention entirely on picking something to watch. But part of the problem is I… well, I’ve been holed up in their house for so long with nothing to do but veg out that I feel like I’ve already watched everything I want to.

On top of that, my stupid brain can’t actually focus on the options. It keeps drifting to the alpha sitting next to me and his erection that I want to lick, his knot I want to sink down on. His mouth I want to kiss.

Stay strong, Haven.

Don’t give in.

Giving in would be bad.

But would it?

Would it be bad? I’m pretty sure it would be pretty damn good, actually. Really fucking good. Like blow my mind good.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I can’t stop myself from wanting them. Physically. I’ve spent more time than I care to admit fucking myself with my fingers in my shower to the memory of them. Sometimes when I can’t sleep because I’m alone and I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with one of them, I silently make myself come instead.

It’s never good enough. Never the same.

“Baby girl,” Creed growls, making me shiver, and goose pimples pop up all over my skin. “Whatever you’re thinking about, I need you to stop. I only have so much self-control.”

I look at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal. “What?”

“You smell like a needy, horny omega, Haven, and right now my alpha is demanding that I mount you and fuck you and give you what you need. So unless you want that to happen, you need to start thinking about baseball or grandparents fucking or-”

He cuts off when I whine. I’m sure my pupils have drawn wide and my thighs are pressing together rhythmically to easethe ache between them. But I can’t help it. Creed saying ‘fucking’ like that, talking about how he wants to mount me? It’s too fucking much.

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