Page 72 of Daisy

"Just thinking about tomorrow." Another lie. "About keeping you safe."

It's not entirely untrue. I am thinking about her safety. And about how badly I want to strip her out of those soft clothes and show her exactly how an alpha can make his omega feel.

"I feel safe with you," she says, and her voice has gone soft. Breathy. "I'm glad you're here with me."

The trust in her words nearly breaks me. My hands clench into fists on the bed, knuckles white with the effort of keeping them to myself.

"Daisy…"

"It's your turn," she whispers, but her voice has changed. Gone husky with something that makes every alpha instinct I have roar to life.

I look down at my cards, but the colours blur together. All I can focus on is her scent, growing richer by the minute. There's definitely desire there now, sweet and sharp and calling to me like a siren song.

The way she's breathing. The flush spreading down her neck. The way she keeps shifting on the bed like she can't get comfortable.

She's getting turned on. Just from sitting here with me. Just from talking and playing cards and being close.

And I'm about to lose my fucking mind.

"I think…" My voice cracks like a teenager's. "I think I need a break."

"Oh." Disappointment flickers across her face, and the sight of it nearly kills me. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. God, no." I stand abruptly, getting up from the bed. "You're perfect. You're…"

I stop before I say something I can't take back. Before I tell her exactly how perfect she is and how badly I want to show her what that perfection does to me.

"Just need to use the bathroom," I manage.

I escape before she can respond, closing the bathroom door behind me with trembling hands.

Fuck.I'm completely fucked.

I lean against the sink, gripping the edges until my knuckles go white. My reflection stares back at me. Pupils blown wide, face flushed, looking exactly like what I am. An alpha who's barely holding onto his control.

The memory of her touch burns against my palm. So soft. So warm. The way she looked at me when our skin connected, like she felt it too. Like that simple contact affected her as much as it did me.

My cock throbs against my jeans, hard and aching from hours of her innocent torture. Every smile. Every laugh. Every time she bit her lip in concentration. Every brush of her fingers against mine.

It all went straight to my knot.

And her scent. Even in here, her scent follows me. Sweet honeysuckle and vanilla and that growing edge of arousal that makes my mouth water. Makes me want to bury my face between her thighs and taste her until she screams.

I try to think about anything else. Work. The weather. The fucking national debt. But all I can see is the way she looked at me when our hands touched. The wonder in her eyes. The trust.

My hands shake as I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. The need is too strong, too overwhelming.

I'm going to lose my mind if I don't do something about this.

My hands shake as I unbuckle my belt. This is wrong. She's in the next room, trusting me to be better than this. To be her scent match…her alpha.

But I can't think straight. Can't function with this need clawing at me like a living thing.

I shove my jeans and underwear down in one motion, freeing my aching cock. It springs up against my stomach, thick and heavy and already leaking. My knot is swollen from being hard for so long, from hours of wanting her. Just from sitting acrossfrom her. Just from breathing her in. Just from one innocent touch that lasted maybe five seconds.

"Fuck," I breathe, wrapping my hand around myself.

The relief is immediate but nowhere near enough. I stroke slowly in long movements, imagining it's her small hands touching me instead. Her curious fingers exploring every inch. When I brush against my swollen knot, the sensation nearly has me seeing stars.