No #2
Crispin looks so enraged, like he’s looking for any excuse to hit me back. And the silence that follows is worse than anything he's said all night.
All I can hear is the distant clinking of silverware from the dining room, followed by muffled voices. A reminder that life is completely normal for everyone but me.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts, and every instinct I have screams at me to look away, to apologize, and take it back. But I don't move.
I can't.
I stay frozen under his stare, waiting to find out how angry the alpha really is.
Then, the corner of his mouth lifts, thin and forced.
"Careful, omega." He shakes his head slowly, the way you'd correct a child.
"I know the games omegas like to play before the bonding.
A little temper. A little bite." His hand slides back to my thigh, but this time his fingers sink in slow, pressing until it stops feeling like a touch and starts feeling like a warning.
"It's cute for a night. I'll even admit I like some fight in my bed. "
His voice doesn’t rise.
If anything, it drops lower, softer, more reasonable than it has any right to be.
"I am not the kind of alpha who enjoys disrespect," he says.
"Not out here and not in bed. Not from anyone, and especially not from the woman who's about to bear my name.
" His thumb digs harder into the muscle of my leg.
"So let's be very clear, since you seem confused.
No games, Lyra. You will treat me with nothing but love and respect. "
Fear and panic rise in my throat, but rage rises with it.
I want to tell him exactly what I think.
I know exactly what kind of man is sitting inches from my face, and I know that telling him no might be the thing that finally breaks whatever leash has kept him gentle so far.
Let it break.
Let him fly into a rage, and leave marks on my body.
Let my father see them tomorrow across the breakfast table and understand exactly what his perfect arrangement bought him.
"This isn't a game," I say, trying to steady my hands. "I'm not being difficult, Crispin. I’m telling you the truth." I lift my chin, holding his stare. "I will not marry you."
The muscle along his jaw ticks once, twice. Color climbs up his throat and into his face, replacing every trace of his forced patience.
"You won’t marry me?" He repeats my words with a flat tone. For one terrifying moment, his face is frozen in an unreadable expression, then a short, ugly laugh breaks out of him. But it cuts off just as quickly as it came. "That's adorable."
He leans in, his eyes flashing with rage.
"You signed that contract of your own free will, Lyra.
" His fingers dig into my leg so hard I whimper.
It feels like he might tear my muscle through my skin.
"There is no version of tonight, or any night after it, where you don't belong to me.
" His voice drops, slipping into a dangerous growl.
"So I suggest you fix this little attitude of yours, and fast."
"No," I whisper, determined to get through this. "I won’t—"
"Shut up!" His other hand shoots into my hair, fisting hard enough to wrench a cry out of my throat. He hauls me forward until my face is inches from his, his breath a hot wall of whiskey. "You are mine to do with as I please. Do you understand me?" His teeth flash as he leans in. "Mine!"
He moves fast, faster than a man his size should. One knee drops onto the cushion beside my hip as he crawls over me, caging me against the arm of the couch until there's nowhere left to go.
"Crispin, please—"
His hand shoots up and clamps around my jaw. He grips hard, his fingers digging into my cheeks, crushing the soft inside of my mouth against my teeth until I taste copper.
I whimper, but he only squeezes tighter, tilting my face up to his.
"You are going to learn that tonight if I have to teach you myself."
Then with one powerful movement, he shifts forward, forcing me onto my back, his weight crushing me into the velvet cushions. The air rushes from my lungs in a pained gasp as his body covers mine, thick and heavy and impossibly strong.
The scent of whiskey and clove floods my senses, suffocating, overwhelming.
"Crispin." I manage to say his name, but it comes out weak, my voice shaking. "Please, don’t–"
His hands grip my thighs, forcing them apart with brutal strength.
Panic erupts inside me, hot and blinding, a primal terror that makes my heart hammer against my ribs like it's trying to break free.
This can’t be happening.
"I wanted this to be different," he growls, his voice low and menacing as he shifts his weight, pinning me more effectively.
"I wanted our first time to be tender, something you'd remember with fondness. But you had to ruin it. Didn’t you?
" His eyes flash with anger. "Now I have to do what I have to do. "
I thrash beneath him, my hands flying up to hit his chest, his face, anything I can reach. My fists connect with solid muscle, but he doesn't even flinch, doesn't acknowledge my desperate struggle at all.
He just shifts forward, positioning himself between my legs, his hips pressing into mine, holding me open.
He’s so big and heavy, rendering my struggles useless.
"Stop fighting," he growls, his voice low and menacing. His hands shoot out, capturing my wrists in one powerful grip. He forces them over my head, pressing them into the velvet cushion with enough pressure to make my bones ache.
Not sure what to do, I go still for a second, and that’s when I feel the hard line of his cock through his trousers, pressing against my hip.
I try to squeeze my legs shut, to force him away, but he's wedged between them and he doesn’t budge. His thighs press against mine, holding me open, vulnerable.
His free hand moves down, sliding between my legs. I hold my breath, my whole body tensing as his fingers graze my pussy through the thin fabric of my underwear.
The touch is light, almost exploratory, and it sends a sudden rush of nausea through me so violently I taste bile at the back of my throat.
Every instinct screams at me to kick, to bite, to do anything to stop this invasion. I try the best I can to pull my hands free, but his grip only bears down harder, grinding the bones of my wrists together.
"Fuck, you smell good," Crispin growls softly as his fingers trace the shape of me through the damp fabric.
I can feel the slickness starting to gather there—a humiliating betrayal of my own body that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with terror.
Crispin leans down, his breath hot against my neck.
His lips press against my skin, and I have to fight the urge to shudder.
He starts kissing my neck, slow and deliberate, his tongue darting out to lick a trail up to my ear.
The wet warmth of his mouth makes my stomach turn, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
"Warm vanilla cream and toasted almonds," he whispers. "Such an intoxicating scent."
My throat tightens as he nips the skin right behind my ear, and a deep, primal disgust washes over me, making me want to claw my own skin off.
"No," I mumble as I keep trying to move, pulling my arms free, but they don’t even move an inch.
"I can feel how much you want me," he moans, then his fingers force their way past the edge of my panties, going right for the slick seam of my pussy.
My stomach twists into knots, and I heave once.
But Crispin doesn’t seem to notice. He simply hums against my skin—a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through my entire body. He sucks at the sensitive skin of my neck, leaving a hickey for everyone to see, a sick brand of his ownership.
The wet heat of his mouth combined with the clumsy feel of his fingers pressing against my clit makes bile rise in my throat.
Pulling in a deep breath, I swallow it down, then close my eyes.
And then something terrifying happens…
The fight drains out of me, the panic recedes, and a strange calm settles over me.
My mind goes quiet, my muscles relax, and I feel myself becoming pliant beneath him.
It's as if a switch has been flipped somewhere deep inside me, overriding my terror with a chilling stillness.
I'm no longer struggling, no longer fighting.
My body has surrendered completely, accepting the inevitable with a resignation that feels both like a betrayal and a strange kind of survival mechanism.
I can feel his weight on me, his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, but it's all happening to someone else, to a body that no longer belongs to me.
Crispin seems to notice the change in me. He pauses, his fingers still resting against my clit, a curious expression on his face.
"That's better," he murmurs, his voice softening slightly. "See? You can be a good girl when you try."
But I'm not trying. I'm not doing anything at all.
My body has taken over, making decisions without my consent, doing whatever it thinks is necessary to survive this moment. And as I lie there, frozen and pliant beneath him, I can feel a part of myself breaking, piece by piece.
"It’s almost shocking how quickly omegas can sense a bond with their mate." Crispin smiles slowly, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face, like he's so fucking happy I'm finally obeying. "Tell me how much you love this."
Then he pushes two dry fingers deep inside me, making me wince in pain.
The rough, invasive thrust cuts through me, but my body remains pliant, betraying the scream that wants to tear from my throat.