Page 44 of Shattered Trinket

As much as I want to see more of that pretty blush painting her skin, brightening from a light pink to scarlet, I keep that thought to myself, not wanting to push things too far and risk scaring her. So, instead, I censor myself.

“Because I like seeing that fight in you, even when it’s directed at me…Especiallywhen it’s directed at me.”

Looking into her eyes, I see my own fiery desire reflected back at me, making it harder to continue to deny my basic instincts when she’s looking up at me like she is right now. Like she needs me as much as I need her, but also like she hasn’t got a clue what to do with that feeling because of her lack of experience with it.

She’s too pure for me, too perfect, too sweet. I’ll ruin her, stain her innocence.

So why does the thought of corrupting her purity, of completely ruining her innocence every chance I get… entice me so fucking much? Why does the image of her splayed out across my chest after the carnage, soul content and needs satisfied, with her hair in tangles around her beautiful face, and lips swollen from me biting and sucking on them—both sets—ignite a part of me I didn’t even know existed?

Because it’s her. It will always be her, and nobody will ever compare now that you’ve found her,a voice whispers in the back of my mind as I drink in every expression she makes, every sound that escapes her, tucking them away for myself in the part of my soul that’s reserved for her.

I graze my lips against hers, loving the way she chases and tries to assert more pressure, and I can’t help but grin at the frustrated noises she makes as I deny her what she wants.

“Jeremiah,” she whines, and I have to close my eyes to stop myself from kissing her senseless because my name on her lips does insane things to me.

Her wiggling beneath me is distracting and when I open my eyes again, raising a brow down at her, she freezes and blinks her eyes innocently at me. Truly innocent, which makes it so much harder to deny her, but I’m also enjoying getting a rise out of her, because for once, she’s not in her head, too focused on me not giving her what she wants. I’m getting to see her just… be, and it’s magnificent.

“Come on, sweet girl. Let me hear it one more time. It’s probably the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard,” I purr against her lips, just barely touching them.

She swallows, those pretty blue eyes wide as she stares up at me nervously, blushing over me playfully calling her growl sexy, and I can’t help but love how responsive she is. How easilyyou can read her and tell what she’s thinking, much to her annoyance.

When her tongue snakes out to wet her bottom lip, grazing against mine, I don’t move. I barely suppress the groan fighting to crawl up my throat when she whimpers. Then she shifts slightly, bringing my thigh closer to the apex of her thighs while unconsciously searching for a relief I don’t think she quite understands.

Suddenly, her head lifts, a determined expression on her face, but I tilt my head upwards when I catch it, just enough to elude her lips. She narrows her eyes, surprising me when she quickly nips me on the jaw, her teeth pinching the skin briefly before she jerks back. Letting her head fall back against the pillows surrounding us with a whine, she aims an adorably menacing glare my way that makes my gut clench. My smile over her bratty behavior only further annoys her until she turns her face away from me with a pout, attempting to ignore me.

But that only lasts for so long, and eventually she glances at me out of the corner of her eyes. Something tells me if I wasn’t holding her wrists right now, her arms would be crossed tightly over her chest to really emphasize the pout on her lips. The longer I go without pressing my lips to hers, the more frustrated she gets until she can’t stop it, and when she growls at me this time, she bares her teeth, evoking a whole new feeling in me.

I groan as I rub my nose against hers, my cock harder than it’s ever been, and the torture of my jeans reaching an uncomfortable level of tightness—rubbing against my bare shaft—is almost too much. The more she growls and glares at me, bucking up in an attempt to flip me over so our roles are reversed while simultaneously managing to rub against my rigid length with every upward thrust of her hips, the harder I get as I come to a sudden realization.

I don’t want to dominate Cozette or make her submit to me. At least not right now. Quite the godsdamn opposite. I want to submittoher, almost desperate for her to succeed in getting me on my back to see what she does, and it’s such an odd feeling for me despite how instinctive it feels.

Witnessing this new playful and angry side of Cozette fills my heart with an overwhelming sense of pride and more love than I ever imagined was possible to feel for one person. It’s impossible to miss the contrast between the woman in my arms tonight and the one I found a year ago; she’s like a phoenix on the brink of shedding her ashes, poised to emerge even more dazzling and enchanting than ever before, but there’s still a good amount of self-discovery ahead of her.

She doesn’t understand the sudden surge of irritation she had once I was fully in the nest or why she growled at me when I silently teased her after she inadvertently rubbed her cute, pert ass against my already semi-hard cock when she was fidgeting. And now that I have her pinned beneath me, I recognize something in her gaze that almost surprises me.

She might not realize it yet, but Cozy doesn’t actually want control.

No. That’s not true.

She craves control, or at the very least, the sense of having it, and she needs reassurance that she has options, to be reminded she’s no longer a prisoner and will never be forced to do something she doesn’t want to do again. But above all else, I know that her need for freedom is paramount. It’s not really about her need for control, but about being able to grow, learn, and express herself fully, without the dark cloud of repercussions or punishment hanging over her if she steps out of line.

So while I know she needs some control over her life, I think she also craves… no,needs,direction. More specifically,direction with intimacy. Thinking of allowing her control over intimate situations—letting her have control over my pleasure and knowing I’ll reap the rewards whether I come or not—as I give her direction on what to do has my body tensing as my need for her threatens to consume me before I close my eyes briefly to rein in my hormones.

Being separated from Cozette, and subsequently in hiding for a short period, left me with a lot of time on my hands. A lot of time to think about her and about the changes I needed to make in my lifestyle, a lot of time to make plans for when I could finally be with her again, and a lot of time to read.

I, of course, knew the basic knowledge all alphas should have about omegas, but for Cozy, I felt like I needed to know more. More information on how omegas tick, and more in-depth details on the ins and outs of caring for an omega when it comes to their needs and wants, apart from the obvious. I spent hours researching and reading, and when I learned what was available on basic omega stuff, I turned my search to darker topics. As much as I’m grateful for the information, I think the rest of my hope in humanity died when I saw just how much material there is out there on abused omegas.

How to care for your omega that’s been abused.

Things to avoid doing around an abused omega.

What to do for your omega if they have a panic attack?

A good portion of what I read were blogs from other omegas, though none with a background like Cozette’s. Then again, I suppose her situation is unique.

But the information I gained was still relevant, so I absorbed as much of it as I could because, fuck, if I can do just one thing right in this life, it’ll be making sure my omega has an alpha that can take care of her whether she’s breaking apart or thriving and content.

While I’ve become lost in my thoughts, Cozy takes advantage of my momentary distraction and, with more strength than I expect from her, she flips me over. Suddenly, I’m the one on my back with my hands pinned by my head as she hovers over me, grinning so widely in triumph at besting me that I nearly forget how to breathe because of how truly fucking pleased she looks.