She tells me she’s on her way to check on dinner and asks about sparring. Rather than answer, I take her chin in between my fingers. The desire to kiss her is so strong I can barely contain myself.
Thankfully, I don’t see any tear streaks on her face. So, she wasn’t crying, she was masturbating. Who was she thinking about when she was touching herself?
The thought sends a wave of possessiveness flowing through me. It shouldn’t matter if she’s touching herself, thinking about another man. But it does.
Rather than dwell on that, I tell her that I want her to seek me out if she feels alone and sad. I want to be the one to hold her. I want to be the one she comes to if she’s scared or lonely. And what I desperately want is to show her that I can ease that ache inside her in ways that she can’t imagine. I want to fulfill all her needs.
I’m not sure what she sees on my face, but her beautiful sage–green eyes are wide, and her cheeks are flushed. Once again, I rein myself in.
“Sparring was good,” I say, putting us back on neutral ground. I watch her body relax as she, too, focuses on an easier conversation.
I’m not used to wanting someone like this, so I tell her I want her to sit with me at dinner. I know it’s not necessary. I watched Enya interact with the omegas this morning. She’s a natural with them. But I want to spend more time with her.
After telling her that I’ll meet her after I shower, I watch her walk off, then head to my room.
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