Page 53 of Trust No Alpha
I turned away.
“I can leave these here for you, Kris. If you think you are clear enough to use them.”
“I don’t want them.” I could not believe how ungrateful I sounded.
“Well, you decide. But they are here for self-care.”
On one shaky hand, I tried to sit up. I half-fell, then pushed hard with one arm while using the other to swipe at the toys. I shoved hard, pushing them all off the bed in one swing.
“I don’t want them!”
The toys clattered to the hard floor, a hollow, sour tune. Maybe some of them even broke. But I didn’t care.
Thorne stood motionless, still watching me, his brows lowered.
I glared at him. “You should just lock me away like Father did! I’m useless. Nothing. Disgusting.”
The frown on Thorne’s face stretched to pity, which I hated even more. “Every Alpha goes through this--”
“I’m not an Alpha! I don’t want an Omega. Or toys. I don’t want anything!”But you.
“Your mind is not clear.”
“I don’t care!” I turned away from him again, looking toward the window, thinking about climbing out of it and running forever through the snow and into the shadows of the furry pines on his back acreage.
Right here and now, I honestly wanted to die.
“I will not allow that.” Thorne’s quiet voice was like a secluded waterfall in a peaceful glade. It poured over me.
Had I just said my last thought about wanting to die aloud?
“I can’t.” My voice just above a whisper. “I just can’t.”
“Because you won’t allow help?”
I shut my eyes tight, not answering.
“My help?” he asked.
My breath froze in my lungs. My heart seemed to stop. The entire world went even quieter as if everything at once had stopped. Stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped existing.
The light against the curtains wavered. The room began to dissipate as I heard him say, “Will you allow my help?”
I felt even I had stopped existing at those words. I wanted this dream—this nightmare—to lift, but it grew even deeper.
Something touched my shoulder. I started to flinch. Stopped myself. The offer was too good. My cock throbbed in response.
But he’ll hate you after,a voice inside me cried out. The voice of my self-critic, it held the tone of Father.
The mattress moved, then sloped with a new weight upon it. Gravity caused my body to roll slightly toward him. I felt velour against my upper back, and the scrape of the sleeve of his robe.
Thorne’s robe. I’d awakened him from sleep. He’d come from his own bed. He probably had nothing on underneath it.
The thought flamed through my veins and an ache formed within me deep and rolling, like a void folding in on itself.
“Kris, if you cannot hold on to control, let me catch you. I’m here for you. I won’t let harm come to you.”
A stubbornness rose up to combine with the horror that Thorne was forced to deal with this. But when his hand on my shoulder moved down my arm and his fingers brushed the skin of my bicep, all my insides became liquid and I turned, the sheets sticking and wrinkling beneath me, to press my shoulder into his broad chest and slide my hip against his thigh.
