Page 9 of A Promise of Forever
Broken.
Imperfect.
But none of that happens.
Forrest just waits, his purr deepening until I calm enough to look at him again, my heart still hammering in my chest. He tilts his head to the side, studying me, but I can’t tell if he’s angry or concerned, which just makes me all the more worried that I fucked up. "I'm sorry, sir," I stammer, my voice wobbling. "I didn't mean to... I don't know why I..." The words tangle in my mouth, a fresh wave of tears streaming down my cheeks. Wilson used to make me call him sir. I hated it, but it feels right here.
"You did very good, Sterling," Forrest offers, the praise quieting my blubbering. Something warm blooms in my chest despite my embarrassment. "Do you think you can finish washing up? I can help you out of the bath when you're done."
I feel almost dejected as he hands me the washcloth, like I've failed some test I didn't know I was taking. The feeling confuses me because I've never wanted to be touched by someone else before. I've never wanted anyone to look at me the way men look at Omegas they desire. Wilson's touch always felt like a violation, like something being taken from me rather than given.
But with Forrest, it's already different. His scent makes me want things I've never wanted before, makes my Omega instincts purr with contentment even when my mind is screaming warnings. I want to please him, want to be worthy of his protection and care. I want him to think I'm a good Omega, even if I don't know how to be one.
The contradiction is maddening. I don't want to be touched, but I want him to want to touch me. I want to be safe, but Ialso want to be wanted. The desires war in my chest, leaving me confused and aching.
A new set of tears glazes my eyes as I take the washcloth from him, my fingers brushing against his briefly. Even that small contact sends sparks through my nervous system, though I can't tell if they're from fear or something else entirely.
Forrest bows his head a little, studying my expression. "Do you need me to stay, Sterling?"
"Is that okay?" I scrunch the cloth in my hand, soap seeping between my fingers and down my arms into the bathwater. Hope swells in my chest at the gesture. "I don't know why. I just..." I can't finish the sentence because I don't understand it myself. All I know is that the thought of him leaving makes panic flutter in my chest. What if Wilson finds a way in? What if this safety disappears the moment I'm alone?
"I don't know anything about Wilson," Forrest says, settling back against the tile wall like he can read my mind. "But I know men like him, and I can't imagine having someone like that in your life. That being said, he can't find his way in here. There are guards at every entrance, several cameras, and motion sensors. You're very safe here."
The list of security measures should be comforting, but it also drives home how dangerous Forrest's world must be. Normal people don't need guards and cameras and motion sensors. Normal people don't have to worry about enemies breaking into their homes.
"And there's a lock on your bedroom door," he continues.
My eyes go wide, fear spiking through me at the idea that Forrest is only playing nice until he leads me into that bedroom.
Forrest must see the panic in my expression because he frowns immediately. "Sterling, the lock is on the inside of the door. You get to choose who comes in and out."
I nod, not trusting my voice, and continue washing myself with shaking hands. The washcloth feels rough against my skin, and I'm probably not doing it right, but Forrest doesn't criticize or take over. He just sits there, leaning back against the tile with his eyes closed, his scent slowly filling the space until it’s tangled with mine.
I've never been this close to a Valla before, never been in the same room as one without expecting violence. Even relaxed, Forrest radiates power and danger, the kind of predatory stillness that speaks to barely contained strength. His expensive suit is ruined from carrying me and now damp from the bathroom steam, but he doesn’t seem to care.
It's terrifying, being this vulnerable around someone so powerful. But it's also the safest I've felt in longer than I can remember. I finish washing as thoroughly as I can, paying careful attention to the areas around my injuries so that I can be good for Forrest. Some of the cuts have started bleeding again from the movement, pink water swirling around me, but the sting still feels cleansing rather than painful.
"Sir, I'm done," I say quietly when I can't find anything else to clean.
Forrest opens his eyes immediately, focusing on me with that intense attention that makes me feel like the most important thing in his world. He takes the washcloth from me and places it in a small wicker basket beside the tub.
"Let's get you dried off," he says, reaching for a towel that's probably worth more than I've ever owned.
He helps me out, drying me with the same gentleness that he did in the bath before carrying me into the bedroom attached. It's enormous, easily three times the size of any room I've ever slept in. The bed dominates the center of the space, a massive four-poster draped with dark silk that looks like it could sleep six people comfortably. Everything is done in deep colors, richfabrics that speak to wealth and taste I don't understand. It's beautiful and intimidating and completely overwhelming.
The moment Forrest places me on the mattress, I curl up into a ball instinctively, making myself as small as possible. The silk is cool against my naked skin, softer than anything I've ever touched, but it feels wrong somehow. I don't belong on something this expensive, this perfect.
"Dinner will be ready shortly," Forrest says, adjusting the towel to make sure I'm covered. "But no one will disturb you unless you want them to." He moves to a dresser and pulls out what looks like a set of linen clothing, setting them on the bed within my reach. "Are you okay with Betas?" he asks, and I nod quickly. "Good. No one will touch you without your permission, not even me."
The promise should be comforting, but instead, it makes something cold settle in my stomach. Not even him. He doesn't want to touch me either, doesn't want to deal with a broken Omega who panics at the slightest contact.
"You're not going to demand that I mate with you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Wilson always said that was what Omegas were for, what made us valuable despite our other failings. If Forrest doesn't want that from me, what use am I to him? What happens when he realizes I can't provide the one thing that supposedly makes Omegas worthwhile?
Forrest's expression darkens for a moment, but the anger isn't directed at me. "I'm not into coercion, Sterling. Is there anything you don't eat?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. Food is food, and I learned long ago not to be picky about what's offered.
