Page 39 of Claimed

“Okay,” I say, probably too quickly, because he sighs again, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

I’m not being very convincing. And he’s still angry.

I don’t know what to do with myself right now. I’m on his lap and he’s visibly angry.He doesn’t want me to give him space with his anger, obviously, since he lifted me up and put me here on top of himself.

He’s holding me in a gentle hold. I don’t feel like I’m in physical danger, but I don’t know what to do about his anger. I’ve said I’m sorry, and I know that’s usually not good enough for an alpha. It certainly never is for Wyatt even though he expects to hear it over and over. Wyatt also wants actions that demonstrate remorse. He wants you to do something to make up for whatever you did to disappoint him.

What can I do to make this up to Greyson?

I have nothing to give him. I could clean the house, but I already told him I was going to do that, that I’d find it fun, so that’s not going to show I’m sorry. I could bake for him, and I will, but we’ve just eaten and the ingredients here all belong to him or got gifted when Carrie and Bailey dropped all that food off, so that wouldn’t be an adequate gift from me.

I can feel the ball of frustration in my chest in that little section that I know is Greyson’s new place. I want to nurture that little spot. Take care of it. Take care ofhim.

I do the only thing I can think to do. The thing I do for the girls at home when they’re upset. That I would do for the sick who were close to dying. For the babies when they used to cry inconsolably.

I bury my face into his throat, put my arms around him, and hum the intro, then sing the first song that comes to mind. My go-to – the first song I taught myself.

I Dreamed A DreamfromLes Misérables.

I’ve never seen the play, though I have seen the movie with Anne Hathaway. I found an old suitcase record player while I was playing in the junkyard when I was a child. A record from 1990 was still in it. I dragged it inside after Malachi swiped some black electrical tape from Father’s workshop and taped the cord for me. It worked! I played it over and over, singing that song until I could hit all the notes the voice on the record hit.

Greyson’s grip on me tightens as I sing, and after a few lines, he pulls back enough that I know he doesn’t want my face buried in his throat, so I stop singing.

This was stupid. A song? What would this strong, powerful alpha want with a silly song?

“Keep singing,” he requests softly, all the anger gone from his face, softness there instead.

And now I’m beyond self-conscious, because he’s watching me sing. But I manage to keep going, seeing that in fact… this has helped. He’s watching me with a different look on his face now, with a much nicer feeling in my chest in Greyson’s place.

When I get to the section where my voice has to climb multiple times, he does a slow blink and his lips part in what looks like surprise.

I stop abruptly before the last few lines of the song. “I don’t sing that last bit," I whisper. "Because I don’t like sad endings.” I moisten my lips and shrug.

“Blossom,” he rasps, “That was fuckin’ beautiful. Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

I feel bashful, but manage to find my voice again. “I found a record player with the soundtrack to that musical when I was a kid. Played it over and over. Didn't have any other records." I shrug. "There were some scratches, but none during that song. I sing it when babies cry with colic or hunger, or when old people are sick. It seemed to comfort them, so…” I shrug.

“A sad fucking song like that won’t help anyone feel better, sweetheart. It’s your angelic voice. It’s the effort you put in to comfort them that helps.”

“Did I help you? Because I thought maybe this was silly but also… you don’t seem angry anymore, so…”

He grabs the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to his. When he releases it, it’s only to say, “I need to knot you again.”

“Oh,” I whisper, knowing I won’t make the mistake of talking about any past sexual experiences again. In fact, I’ll be extra careful not to upset him at all if I can help it.

He lifts me up into his arms and carries me upstairs, straight into the bathroom. He sets me on the long countertop between the sinks and I clap my hands as he starts up the shower. Amusement hits his eyes.

“Are you applauding me, wife?” he asks.

“Shower time,” I say and swing my feet. “Are you gonna do what you did last time, um… in there?” I point.

Wow, does he ever have a beautiful smile. I could stare at it all day, for the rest of my days.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, eyes playful. “You want my mouth between your legs?”

I’m embarrassed. I hide my face behind my hands. I peek between my fingers seeing him throwing his head back andlaughing. He then gently pulls my hands away from my face. “My wife’s wish is also my command.”

As if I could command an alpha. But I guess I have, because he’s going to do that thing with his tongue again.

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