Page 64 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“I haven’t shown anyone what’s inside here.”
“You don’t have to show me,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
He comes a little closer, stealing my oxygen once more and searching my face. “Trust me when I say no one is pressuring me into anything. If I didn’t want you in here, I wouldn’t invite you.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll give you the same courtesy. Do you want to be here, Whitney?” He lifts his free hand and trails a finger up my arm. “Do you want to leave?” He traces the hollow of my shoulder through my shirt.
This is wrong. He’s a beta and I shouldn’t be playing with fire, but the burn of his touch is too damn delicious to deny. I shiver a little and wet my lips, shaking my head.
“I need to hear you say it,” he says softly, placing his hand at the base of my neck. He flexes, but doesn’t hurt me. “Do you want to leave?”
“No,” I rasp, tipping my head back and staring into his eyes. We share a few breaths, standing close enough to kiss, but neither of us closing the gap.
“Good,” he whispers, brushing my nose with his.
I lift up and try to capture his mouth. He uses his hand to force me back down and shakes his head. Rejection crashes over me. A gut-wrenching reminder of how pathetic I am. How easily I fall into traps. He was never going to let me kiss him. Was this some sort of cruel game? Tease the poor omega and hurt her? I drop my gaze, hating him a little for making me feel safe.
“You’re trouble.” His thumb strokes my neck, and I close my eyes at the touch, wishing I could hate it. “Don’t hide from me. I want to kiss you, but not when you’ve been drinking.”
Those words soothe some of the hurt, and I look at him. His eyes are hooded, and he presses a little closer, keeping his hand on my throat. A possessive and claiming touch that makes my stomach flip. His scent grows stronger, as if the skies opened up and began pouring rain in his room.
“When I take you, you’re going to be sober. When you give me full control, I want to make sure you mean it. Do you understand?” His words are softly spoken but there’s undeniable command in them. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a natural born alpha.
“Yes.”
His grip on my throat tightens. “Good girl.”
Those two words send a trail of fire straight to my core. My need to be loved roars to life and my heart seizes on the praise. An unbridled need for more rushes over me, but I bite my tongue to keep from begging. I’m so fucked in the head.
He releases me and sits on the bed, giving me a moment to recover before he says, “Let me read to you.”
Brushing my hand over where he held me, I take a few steadying inhales. My heart is hammering, my scent rampant with need and lust. I don’t know how he’s resisting the smell. Anytime my fathers caught a whiff of my mother’s heat, they practically went feral. I was taught most men—regardless of if they’re alpha, beta, or delta—react the same way.
With nothing but patience and control, Hayden waits for me to sit next to him before opening the book and scanning the contents. He flips the pages like one might touch a lover, with gentle care and reverence. I never thought I’d envy paper.
He clears his throat, the deep reverberation sending a rush of gooseflesh down my arm. In a matter of minutes, Hayden has ensnared me. Does he realize what he’s doing?
“Promises,” he reads the title of the page. “Words are such simple things. A combination of vowels and consonants. Mouths piece together sounds, our brains processing these noises into coherent sentences. Promises are spoken without much thought or regard. They’re so easily broken. To most people, promises aren’t really promises. They’re a string of words. But promises aren’t simple. Broken promises can shatter a person. Broken promises slice into veins, releasing the blood of trust. Promises will leave you broken.”
Whoa. I furrow my brow and withhold all questions. He closes the book and laughs a little, shaking his head.
“My writing is basically a bunch of rambling. It’s a little silly now that I read it out loud.”
“I don’t think it’s silly.”
He glances at me, gray eyes guarded. “You don’t?”
“No. Not if you wrote it and you believe it.”
Don’t break your promise.
That’s what he said to me the first time we met. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Then when he found me at the club, he sounded so disappointed. Some of that is starting to make sense, but I don’t know enough about why they matter to him this much. Obviously, it’s important.
A fist raps on the closed door. “Hayden.” Trev is annoyed, go figure.
“Yeah?” Hayden asks, staying next to me. He shifts so our thighs are pressed together, somehow providing comfort with the smallest of gestures.
