Page 39 of Claimed By the King's Gamma

“What’s wrong?”Gannon asks, genuine concern in his voice.

“Nothing, I just worry about the children, especially the younger ones,” I admit.Gannon brushes his knuckles across my cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“Maybe one day I can take you back to see them,” he says, and I smile, hope kindling in my heart.

“Really?”I ask before my smile fades.What if I run into the butcher?Panic begins to rise within me.I can’t go back.What if he takes me, keeps me like he always said he would?

“If that is what you want,” Gannon says, his voice steady and supportive.My skin itches at the thought of the butcher, and I scratch the back of my neck, only for Gannon to capture my hand.

“One day, you will tell me what makes you so nervous,” he says, his eyes searching mine as he kisses my fingers.

“Maybe one day,” I tell him, a soft smile playing on my lips as he tilts his head to the side, observing me.I observe him back when he leans in, and I hold my breath, wondering what he will do when his lips brush mine softly.I gasp at the sensation, and he tugs me closer, yet he doesn’t deepen the kiss or press for more.When he goes to pull away, I gather my courage.It’s just a kiss, I tell myself, trying to remind myself I like Gannon.

So I kiss him back.I feel him smile against my lips before feeling his tongue sweep across my bottom lip, not forcibly.He is seeing if I will invite him in, and I do.My lips part when his hand moves to the nape of my neck.His fingers massage the back of my neck before tangling in my hair.His tongue brushes mine, and his taste overwhelms me as I kiss him back.

When I eventually pull away from him, he sucks on my bottom lip but allows me space, and my face flames at what I let him do.Yet I like kissing him, and he appears to like it, too, because he smiles at me before pecking my cheek.

“I have work to do, but can I come to see you later?”he asks, and I nod, my heart pounding as I wonder if more kissing would be involved.I turn to walk out when he grabs my hand and tugs me back.He nods to my presents.

“Draw me something,” he says, his voice gentle and expectant.I chew the inside of my lip, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.I nod, accepting the gift before rushing out, and I hear him chuckle as I close the door.I race back to my room and shut the door, hearing him leave a few moments later.

As I settle down in my room, I open the gifts Gannon has given me.The art supplies he has chosen are of excellent quality, making me appreciate his thoughtfulness even more.I let my fingers glide over the smooth, cold surface of the sketchpad, feeling the potential of the empty pages, waiting to be filled with my thoughts and emotions.

I take a deep breath and start drawing, something I haven’t done in ages.The world around me fades away, leaving only the scratching sound of the pencil on paper.My hand moves with a life of its own, guided by my heart and memories, and I find myself pouring all of my feelings and experiences onto the paper.

Time seems to stand still as I work on the drawing, completely immersed in the process.It isn’t until I put the finishing touches on the piece that I realize how much time has passed.I take a step back to look at one of my creations, a mix of nervousness and vulnerability fills my chest.

The drawing depicts Gannon and me standing under a tree, our fingers intertwined.The sun filters through the leaves, casting a warm golden light over us.Our expressions convey happiness, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of longing for the future we might have together.But that nagging voice reminds me.I am a rogue; he will see that, turn me away, and toss me aside.Rogues don’t deserve kindness.I’m about to tear the paper up when I hear footsteps approaching my door; I quickly hide the drawing in my sketchpad and turn to face the door.Gannon walks in, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.“Did you draw something?”he asks, his voice filled with curiosity and excitement.I chew my lip, and he tilts his head to the side.His eyes go to my fingers and the pastels that cover them.

“Will you show me?”he asks.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling vulnerable as I hand him the sketchpad.He flips through the pages until he finds the drawing I just completed.His eyes widen as he takes in the image before him, and I watch as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“This is beautiful, Abbie,” he says softly, his voice filled with emotion.

“Thank you.”He carefully closes the sketchpad and hands it back to me, his eyes never leaving mine.

As we stand there, our hands touching, I can’t help but feel hope and warmth in my heart.

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