Page 52 of Unhinged Alphas

"It's okay," I say softly, taking his hands in mine. "You can touch me."

I guide his hands to my breasts, gasping softly as his calloused palms make contact with my sensitive skin. Wraith's touch is feather-light at first, barely there. But as I arch into his hands, silently encouraging him, he cups my breasts fully, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that sends sparks shooting through me. I can't help the soft moan that escapes my lips, my head falling back as I lose myself in his touch.

When I look back at Wraith, the hunger in his eyes has intensified. There's a primal edge to it now, an alpha responding to his omega's pleasure. But there's still that gentleness, that care that sets him apart from every other alpha I've ever known.

His hands continue their exploration, mapping out every curve and dip of my torso. Each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, stoking the heat building low in my belly.

I find myself grinding down against him, seeking friction, seeking more. I can feel himhardening beneath me, his body responding to mine in kind.

He's… huge. I expected that, obviously, but feeling it is another matter.

Part of me is terrified by how much I want this, how easily my body is betraying so many years of mistrust and fear. But a larger part, a part that's growing stronger with each passing moment, doesn't care.

As Wraith's hands slide around to my back, pulling me closer, I let out a shaky breath. I know we're crossing a line here, stepping into territory neither of us has ever explored before.

But as I look into Wraith's eyes, seeing the mix of desire and tenderness there, I realize something.

I'm not afraid.

My heart races as I lift myself off Wraith's lap, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pants. His eyes follow the movement, darkening with desire as I shimmy out of them and kick them off my foot. Now I'm left in just my plain cotton panties, feeling more exposed than I ever have before.

His hands come to rest on my hips and his fingers toy with the elastic band, tracing along the edge where fabric meets skin. The touch sends shivers through me, goosebumps rising onmy flesh.

Wraith's hands slide down to my thighs, his palms rough against my smooth skin. He explores every inch, mapping out the curves and dips of my body like he's committing them to memory. When his fingers brush the insides of my thighs, dangerously close to where I'm aching for him, a whimper escapes my lips.

The sound seems to ignite something in Wraith. A low growl builds in his throat, vibrating through his chest. Before I can react, he pulls me flush against him, one massive arm wrapping around my waist.

His other hand traces up my spine, fingertips dancing along each vertebra. The touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my nerves. I can't help but shiver, my body arching into his touch of its own accord.

The reaction seems to intrigue Wraith. His eyes narrow slightly, a spark of curiosity joining the hunger in their blue depths. Gently, so gently, he lays me back on the bed, looming over me.

My breath catches in my throat as he climbs on top of me, his massive frame dwarfing mine. I should feel trapped, pinned. But I don't.

I feel... safe. Protected.

Excitement courses through me, mingling with athread of nervousness. This is all so new, so overwhelming. I've never been thisintimatewith anyone before, let alone an alpha. Let alone Wraith, who even other alphas fear.

My gaze is drawn to his gas mask, hiding the lower half of his face from view. I reach up, my fingers hovering just above the edge.

"Can I...?" I whisper, not needing to finish the question.

Wraith goes utterly still above me, tension radiating from every line of his frozen body. I can see the war in his eyes. The need to know if I'll still want this—still wanthim—warring with the bone-deep self-hatred that tells him I won't. Self-hatred that has only been reinforced over and over again.

"It's okay," I say softly, letting my hand fall back to the bed. "We don't have to kiss. There are other things we can do."

The relief in his eyes is palpable as his shoulders sag and he lets out a long breath that whooshes through his mask. Then he averts his gaze and signs again.

C-A-N-T.

I pause, not sure what he means. “Can’t what?” I ask.

He motions to his mask, then my face.

“Kiss?” I ask.

He nods. The thin black fabric coming down from beneath his mask and covering his neck rustles as he swallows hard. Anxiously. It’s like he’s suddenly afraid of me again.

Is it because of his scars? I know he can't speak.