Page 74 of Daisy
Or I could be brave. I could choose what I want instead of what I'm supposed to want.
I turn the handle slowly, my breath caught in my throat.
I turn the handle slowly, my breath caught in my throat, and push the door open just a crack.
And then I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare.
He's leaning against the wall beside the sink, head thrown back, completely naked from the waist down. His jeans and underwear are pooled around his ankles, and his large hand is wrapped around...
Oh my god.
I've never seen a man naked before. Never seen an alpha's body. The clinical diagrams from my omega education classes didn't prepare me for this. For how beautiful and terrifying and overwhelming the reality would be.
My eyes travel up his body slowly, taking in every detail. His legs are long and muscled, covered in dark hair that makes my fingers itch to touch. His thighs are thick and powerful, the kind of strength that could pin me down or lift me up without effort.
But it's... it'sthatthat steals my breath completely.
He's huge. Not just his height or the breadth of his shoulders, but... everything. His cock is thick and long and flushed dark with blood, his hand barely able to wrap around the girth. At the base, I can see his knot, swollen and intimidating. The head is swollen and slick, and there's something utterly mesmerizing about the way he strokes himself. Slow and deliberate and desperate all at once.
A small sound escapes me—half gasp, half whimper—and I press my hand to my mouth. I should be horrified. Should be running away. But all I feel is fascination and a liquid heat pooling low in my belly.
This is what an alpha looks like. This is what Dante looks like. And he's... he's beautiful in a way that makes my omega instincts purr with satisfaction.
His body is incredible. All hard lines and defined muscle, so different from my soft curves. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, and his stomach... I can see every ridge of muscle there, flexing with each movement of his hand. Dark hair trails down from his navel, and I find myself following that line with my eyes until...
My face burns with heat, but I can't look away. Can't stop cataloging every inch of him.
And his scent. Fuck, his scent is everywhere now. Honey and clove and raw male need, so thick I can taste it on my tongue. It wraps around me and makes my head spin.
I should leave. Should give him privacy. Should pretend this never happened.
But I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but watch him.
My body responds without permission. Heat floods my core, and I can feel wetness gathering between my thighs despite the suppressants. My nipples tighten against the soft fabric of my sweater, and something deep inside me clenches with want.
This is what I was missing all those years on suppressants. This desperate, aching need that makes every nerve ending feel electric.
"Dante?" I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
That's when his eyes open.
Ice-blue and burning with hunger as they lock onto mine. I freeze, expecting him to yell at me. To tell me to get out. To be disgusted that I invaded his privacy like some kind of pervert.
Instead, he holds my gaze and keeps stroking himself, never breaking rhythm.
"Don't stop watching," he says, his voice rough with desire and command. "I want you to see what you do to me."
My breath catches in my throat. What I do to him? "Dante, I?—"
"Touch yourself," he says softly, and there's no alpha bark in his voice. Just a gentle request that I could refuse if I wanted to. The knowledge that I can choose makes my core clench with want. "I can smell how wet you are, beautiful. I know you need it."
Heat floods my entire body. He can smell my arousal? Even from here? The suppressants were supposed to dampen my scent, but apparently they can't hide everything.
"I don't..." My face burns with embarrassment. "I'm not sure I did it right the other night."
His hand stills on his cock, and something tender flickers through the hunger in his eyes. "There's no wrong way, beautiful. It's about what feels good to you."
"But I don't know what I'm doing." The admission comes out smaller than I intended.
