by V T Bonds
Unable to pick through the glorious sensations, I relax into his purr, my own chest vibrating in response.
“Your sounds are so dainty and feminine, just like your soul. I need more, Shya. Give me more.”
His praise releases tension I wasn’t aware I held, and I gladly give in to his command, enjoying the way my delight reverberates inside my chest.
I angle my head, encouraging him to find his way upward, and he licks, nibbles, and teases his way to my earlobe.
My attention snaps to his knuckles as they brush along my ribs, his palms still rubbing my arms.
His tongue steals my focus as it traces my sensitive ear.
The intimate glide of his palms spanning my waist increases the new feeling in my stomach. I want more, but I sense a growing unease, as though a balloon expands somewhere within, but I can’t pinpoint where.
His beard caresses my neck as his lips stroke the shell of my ear. I reach back and grab his thighs, the heels of my palms landing on fabric while my fingers flex on hot flesh. Thick, hard muscles bunch under my digits, and I crave to know every inch of him.
I arch my back as his massive hands smooth up over my sides, his pleasure rebounding through our unfulfilled bond.
His lips close over a sensitive part of my ear before his teeth follow, resting ever so gently, causing havoc to sweep through my body.
The ballooning unease crowds my thoughts as his palms glide over the bottom swell of my chest.
As his teeth pinch my earlobe in the most glorious way, his fingers touch my nipples.
My thoughts tear in two, my decisions stolen from me by the excruciating yet silent pop of whatever balloon hid within me.
Chaos overwhelms me as shrieking bounces off the shower walls, my hands turned to claws as I fight the only man I’ve ever invited to touch me.
I scream, slap, and scratch, too overwrought for logical thought. Memories bombard me, and all I can do is be carried away by their drowning current.
Lost.
Scared.
Mad.
Unbalanced.
Chapter Nine
Dirk
One moment she’s pliant and purring, the next she’s flailing and screeching.
Shock holds me hostage, the drastic change in her too sudden to keep up with.
Her tiny nails slash the back of my hands.
I accept the discomfort, stunned by the turmoil flowing into me from our link.
When she balls her hands into miniscule fists and beats my arms, I wrap them around her, caging her to me. She kicks and wriggles as I stand, lifting her off the ground, but she never manages to hit hard enough to hurt me.
She’s so short her heels strike my thighs just above my knees, but I barely register the hits.
What worries me most is the panic consuming her from the inside out.
My entire focus shifts, my hard cock no longer a priority. Her delectable breasts rest on my forearm, but I push the urge to fondle them away, realizing my touch is what set her off.
Fright and rage pulse along our bond from her, and I combat it with what I sense she needs.
I hold still, clutching her close, purring and sending comfort through our connection, weathering the storm with as much patience as possible.
Guilt gnaws at me. I should have protected her from whatever gave her this terror.
Her struggles quickly fade, sobs wracking her body as her legs dangle along my thighs. I ache to join her in her weeping, but firm my resolve, shushing and nuzzling the top of her head with my cheek.
“Settle, Little One. I still have you.”
After what seems like a million lifetimes, the misery wafting from her eases, her sobs changing to hiccups.
The water still runs hot, so I shuffle closer and hit the off button with my elbow, steam swirling around the small enclosure.
“I’m s-sorry.”
“No, love, don’t apologize. Just hush and be still for a minute.”
I can’t tell if the clump of worms wriggling along our bond is from me or her, but my stomach feels tight and my eyes burn, the sudden change in her so unexpected and drastic a sense of confusion lingers.
Now that she’s calm, I wade through the residual emotions and stand in awe of her aura. Pure innocence, as transparent as glass, emanates from her. The cleanest, simplest thought processes flow from her to me, and I become further enamored with her.
She’s too sweet and delicate for a big, destructive male like me.
But she’s mine.
With every inhale, the urge to claim her creeps closer, but I push it away and focus on caring for her.
I lean against the shower wall, burying my nose in her hair, keeping her held tight to me.
As her hiccups slow and her breathing evens, I hug her and purr, cleaning away as much of her angst as I can.
I want a full bond with her, if only so I can take her every worry away. Before I can think of something else to say, she sighs and leans her head back onto my shoulder.
“Shya?”
Huge eyes look up at me, and I scramble to hide my shock. What were once eyes of grey so light they seemed purple are now an electric pink.
Shocking pink.
It brings to mind a room I haven’t thought of in ages. My younger sister’s.
As the third born son of a wealthy family, not much was expected of me. I had everything the world could offer, except for a loving family. My parents were cold towards me, since I was born the wrong gender. They’d already gotten their two sons—one to take over the family business and one as backup. What they’d wanted was a girl, and I’d disappointed them.
Eight years after my birth, they’d finally gotten their daughter. They lavished her with every stereotypical girly thing a wealthy family could.
When she was first welcomed into the family, I’d walk past her pink room and feel the pang of rejection. One day, I forced myself to walk amidst the shades of pink and found I couldn’t hate the little girl sleeping in her crib.
I’d grown fond of her, but kept my distance. I knew I was the dark spot in the family tree and didn’t want to mar her reputation. Watching her grow had been a treat, and with every new milestone, her room gained appeal. The pink earned a place of respect and yearning in my heart.
My Omega has superseded every kernel of positivity the color means to me, extrapolating the emotions attached to the color.
My Shya, the epitome of all things pink: soft, pure, sweet.
These massive hands must tread carefully, or their previous efforts will be for naught.
Sucking in a deep breath, I push away my sexual desires and focus on her needs.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, sensing she needs the push to begin introspection.
Her eyebrows scrunch in a cute way, showing her concentration.
“N-no. I’m sor-” She cuts her apology short when my expression hardens, and I watch in horror as her eyes fill with new tears. Forcing my face to relax, I ache to take the glossy shimmer of sorrow from her.
“I messed up. You told me not to apologize.”
“It’s okay, Shya. Take a deep breath.”
She does, her ribs expanding within my arms. A trickle of warmth drips down the back of my hand, and the coppery scent of blood wafts up.
A choked sob breaks from her.
“I hurt you!” she clutches my wrists, her little fingers only reaching halfway around them. Lifting her head from its perch on my chest, she looks down at my hands.
I follow her line of sight. A bead of blood leaks from a thin slice on the flesh between my thumb and pointer finger, pursuing the single drop before it. Proof of her sharp nails.
“Don’t worry, baby girl, I’m fine.”
“No! I need to make it better. Please, let me fix it,” she says, her ribs moving in big jerks as she reaches hyperventilation levels.
“Okay, Little One, whatever you need.”
The scratch doesn’t even hurt. In fact, it’ll heal within the hour, b
ut panic and sorrow threaten to swallow her, so I’ll do whatever it takes to calm her.
I haven’t worried over such a trifling injury before. What would make her feel better?
“Shya.” I wait until she looks back up at me.
“How do we make it better?” I ask, drowning in her gorgeous luminescent eyes.
Her brows furrow again, her nose scrunching too. A mixture of disbelief and concentration fills her visage as she searches my face.
“Medicine, bandage, and a kiss. Has no one helped your boo-boos before?” she asks, a hint of sadness tinging the disbelief surging through our partial bond.
Memories flash through me, my various past injuries plaguing me. I’ve been wounded before, much more severe than this. Each time I sustained a sizable injury, one of my teammates was there, patching me up. Just like I was for them.
Those times were not like this. Excruciating pain and dire circumstances mark those memories, the care I received from my teammates efficient and necessary.
What she’s proposing is the care of an Omega. She’s offering a gentle, caring touch, akin to how a mother treats a child’s scraped knee. Something I’ve never had before.
A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down and break it apart with a purr.
“You’ll be the first, my sweet little Omega.”
“That makes me a little sad. I wish I could have kissed all your other boo-boos away, just like how my Mommy did for me. You should have had someone to take care of you.”
A tear escapes from her eye, but she blinks it away and forces a smile.
“I’m here now. I’ll make it better,” she says, lifting her left hand and caressing my cheek.
“And I won’t ever hurt you again. I hate hurting you.”
The fierceness in her expression accompanies a surge of resolve in our link, and I can’t help the smirk pulling at my lips.
“Fight and cry whenever you need, love. I can handle it. Let’s go patch me up.”
When I bend to set her on her own two feet, her breasts pillow my arm, making my cock swell in response. I grit my teeth in frustration, angling my hips so my dick doesn’t brush against her. She sways a little, so I hover close, holding her waist until she’s steady.
With our height differences, I have to stay stooped to hold her there, and I keep my fingers pressed together, being sure to avoid probable trigger areas. My fingertips almost touch each other, her waist so narrow, but her hourglass figure gives me a clear place to hold. If I were to splay my fingers out, I could brush sensitive areas on both her breasts and between her legs.
My spine tingles as the thought takes hold, my mind conjuring up the delicious scene, and I siphon off my desires. Now is not the time.
Soon. We’ll find a way soon.
First, I need to bask in the beautiful, caring soul of my Omega.
Once she’s steady, she looks up and over her shoulder at me, worry flitting across her face. I swallow the extra saliva in my mouth, tucking away the instinct to conquer.
She sees my lingering gaze and a blush colors her cheeks. A shyness befitting her innocent mindset emanates from her, and my heart tightens as I soak in her sweetness. It may pop if she fills it with too much of her cuteness.
“I’ll get you something to wear once we’re in the room, but I don’t have anything to cover you in here, unless you want my soaked shirt.”
Her blush deepens as she takes in the way my wet shirt clings to my chest. Pride bursts in me as she nibbles on her lower lip, her desire obvious in her eyes.
“No, that’s okay.”
She lets me take her hand, leaning against my arm as we exit the shower. We leave a trail behind us, since we neglected to select a dry cycle. My shirt and underpants drip water.
It kills me to lose sight of her gorgeous body, but I open the slide-out wardrobe and pull one of my white undershirts off a hanger. To further torture myself, I scrunch it up and offer the head hole to her, waiting for her to lean forward before slipping it over her head.
A wave of giddiness floods our link as I settle it over her shoulders and help guide her arms into the sleeves. It engulfs her, hanging down to her knees and hiding her elbows.
Fuck, I should have grabbed a black shirt. The water on her skin makes the white partially see-through, and the outline of her nipples make my mouth water.
She catches sight of my “injured" hand and grabs my wrist with both hands, fierce concern stealing across her features again.
Big expressive eyes meet mine, emotions swirling without restraint. Her silent plea passes through me, and I lead her to the medical kit next to the food storage. When I snap open the box, she glances over the side, sees what’s inside, and goes ashen.
Medical supplies, including a scalpel, syringe, and other emergency items needed for extreme situations, sit near the top of the box. She takes a step back while shaking her head, squeezing her eyes closed and clutching my elbow.
I snatch up a simple bandage and a little container of ointment before snapping the box shut, purring and sending her reassurance through our bond.
“Okay, Little One. It’s out of sight. You’re okay,” I promise, escorting her to the little table jutting out from the wall on the opposite side of the room.
She clings to me for a moment, pressing up against my side before sucking in a deep breath and shedding her fear. As though nothing happened, she lets go of my arm and pulls out the chair. Grabbing my wrist again, she points toward the chair and aims her stunning pink orbs at me.
Powerless to resist, I set my soggy ass in the seat, thankful for the cool temperature of the room. My cold, wet boxer briefs pose enough of an annoyance to keep my thick length in check. I’m hard, there’s no helping that, but the discomfort helps me fend off my urge to snatch her up and force my cock in her.
Once I’m settled in the seat, she lifts my wrist closer to her face, her tiny fingertip tracing a ring around the miniscule cut. Her emotions turn somber, and I sit statue still, soaking in every nuance of her care and attention. After completing her inspection, she turns to the table, pops open the ointment, and dips her petite finger inside. The little fingertip comes out with a glob of medicine, which she dabs onto my hand with utmost diligence.
My heart stutters at her adorable, vigilant little face. I could weep over how sweet she is, my parched heart devouring every drop of attention she gives me, until it feels on the brink of bursting.
Once a thick coat of ointment smothers the sliver and surrounding area, she turns to the table and opens the bandage. Turning back, she inspects her work before gingerly placing the band-aid over it.
After piling the trash on the table and closing the ointment, she uses both hands to pick up the one she just cared for. My heart thumps into my throat, her teeny, delicate hands a stark contrast to my massive paw.
Her sincere eyes meet mine, a sheen of tears making the pink seem almost neon. The throbbing in my throat echoes in my pants, my body and emotions warring. I wish to stay in this intimate moment forever, yet long to claim her.
As her lips get closer to my flesh, my heart pounds harder, a shaking building in my chest. The storm behind my sternum breaks when she’s about an inch away, the strongest purr I’ve ever created bursting free.
Her eyes gain a new sheen, the glossy unfocused look a testament to my effect on her.
Her warm breath electrifies my skin before her enticing lips touch the bandage. As chaste as her kiss is, my cock still twitches in response, eager to take her. Her lips pillow around the bandage, her soft flesh caressing mine.
My purring breaks apart the lump in my throat, but the emotions of the moment hold me hostage.
Her tender devotion saturates my soul until I ache to fulfill our unfinished bond. It would be so easy to mark her, right here right now, and turn it into a complete connection, but I long for her to be whole and healthy, fully capable of loving me back. Right now, it seems as though she’s regressed to a single-minded focus, unable to con
template the repercussions of lifemating. She lifts her head, a crease between her brows, before she circles the band-aid again.
“There, all better,” she declares, but she still looks concerned. Her eyes pierce my heart as she gives me an imploring look.
My first attempt to speak gets tangled in the pieces of the broken lump, but after I clear my throat, I reply, “Yes, Little One. All better.”
Relief morphs to happiness, her mouth tilting in delight as her expression softens. As she’s lowering my hand back to the table, a yawn breaks free of her, and I sense the sudden exhaustion accompanying her relief.
“Do you need the relief port?” I ask.
Her blush and quick head shake make me worry she’s saying no solely because she’s embarrassed, so I delve into our link and check as deeply as I can. Beyond her contentment and exhaustion, a serene pool blocks all worries away. I sense zero discomfort in her, so I don’t press the issue.
“You’re tired. Time to lay down,” I decide, my heart swelling further as she nods acquiesce. So trusting and innocent.
Another yawn escapes her, and I curse my wet clothing. If not for them, I would set her on my lap and let her sleep there.
Another yearning fills me, and I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, needing to see her reaction to my question.
“Want to build a nest?”
Deep longing fills her face, the dam holding back her Omega ripping free and flooding our link. A dainty purr fills the air as she nods her head.
I frame her delicate face with my massive hands, ensuring I have her full attention.
“Will you share it with me?”
Her bottom lip quivers as she sucks in a huge lungful of air.
“Yes, please. I-I want you in my nest,” she whispers, and I feel doubt creeping past her defenses.
“Trust me, Shya. I want what’s best for you. You have nothing to worry about,” I plead and promise in the same breath, ready to conquer the world for her.
I’d do anything to take away every ounce of bad in her life.
Except I know I’m one of those things. I’m not a bad guy, per se, but I’ve done my fair share of terrible things.
