Page 40 of Drown My Sorrow

Oh, god.

I brush my teeth, go to the toilet, and then slink out of the bathroom, only to find Beau laid out deliciously naked on my bed. My breath hitches in my lungs, and I have this very real urge to cry.

He is so damn beautiful, and I’m just broken old me.

Beau stands up and approaches me like a jungle cat.

“Where have you gone?”

“Into black thoughts and thunder,” I whisper.

“Well, that’s not allowed. Let me make you feel good, Omega.”

I cringe but don’t stop him when he reaches for the tie of my wrap dress and undoes it. The dress falls open, and he peels it from me and tosses it away.

“Beau?”

I turn my head into his, pressing my lips to his. He tastes so good, and the moment I start moving, he does, too. I lead, tasting and teasing, and he chases, deepening and taunting.

The sound of my whimpers and moans fill the room.

My bra comes off and gets tossed aside, and my panties are gone already. Now it’s just me, exposed to him, and I don’t want to see. I don’t want to give him a chance to tell me I make him sick.

I reach for his cock, encircling it with my fingers and stroking in long pulls.

Beau pulls his lips from mine, spins us, and lowers me carefully to the bed. Before I can say anything, he steps back and looks down at me.

I know what he sees. There are scars on my left side, my left thigh has a massive scar, and it’s dimpled and recessed. It’s ugly. I hate the way it looks. I hate the way it feels.

In the winter, my hips ache. My leg isn’t reliable. I get really terrible aches to the bones sometimes, muscle cramps and spasms. The nerves light up like fairy lights, dancing and flickering with electricity.

There’s a smaller scar above my right breast in the shape of a triangle. It’s not as deep, but it’s still ugly, and the big one that takes up a third of the left side of my face.

That’s what he sees.

A ruined omega.

“You’re beautiful.”

I stare at him, sure I’ve heard him wrong. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. I’ll have sex with you, anyway,” I mutter.

Beau freezes and glares down at me. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

I stiffen and look up at him in alarm. “What?”

“Do not accuse me of lying when I call you beautiful. You don’t see you the way I do. I see a survivor who never gives up. A woman with golden skin, wide hips, soft curves, and the most beautiful breasts and pussy I’ve ever seen. To me, you are gorgeous. Your scars just show how strong you are and what you’ve survived. I love them because they are a part of you.”

“But-”

I don’t get to say another word. Beau climbs on the bed and pushes my legs apart. He gets in between them and lays down.

“Now, I took care of your leg. Let me take care of other needy parts of you.”

His lips descend, and I arch up, gasping as the hot heat of his tongue glides through my folds, flicking my clit.

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