Page 28 of The Rust in Her Hair

The thought arrives distant and strange, like it belongs to somebody else's life.

Not sure what to say or do, I fix my eyes on the ornate brass doorknob past his shoulder and let him keep talking. The office is dimly lit, the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room, making the space feel intimate and suffocating.

"You're so quiet." His thumb strokes over my knuckles. "I like that about you. My mother never stopped talking. Drove my father up a wall." He laughs, low and pleased with himself, then he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His knuckles graze my cheek on the way down. "You know, I'm very good to the people who belong to me." There’s a slight tightening around his eyes as he says it, a flicker of something possessive that makes my stomach clench.

Belong to me.

No!

Crispin leans in slowly, his eyes dropping to my mouth. "I know you’re a virgin," he whispers, his voice all gravelly, and a whole new kind of shock slams into me. "I’ll try to wait for your heat," he growls, "but I have to warn you. I’m not a very patient man. I will be gentle." He smiles like we’re sharing some kind of sweet moment.

Fear and anger rise in my throat, but before I can say a word, Crispin’s mouth presses to mine.

It’s soft at first, testing, like he's savoring something he's waited a long time for. The taste of whiskey and clove floods my mouth, and his hand slides into my hair, cupping the back of my skull to hold me still.

His mouth is firm and dry against mine, his tongue dragging along the seam of my lips, waiting for me to open. I keep my jaw locked and my lips pressed flat, letting him kiss a mouth that doesn't kiss him back.

"So perfect," he rasps as his grip tightens in my hair, turning the kiss more forceful. His mouth grinds against mine hard enough to bruise.

A moan rumbles low in his throat, needy and satisfied, like this is the best kiss of his entire life.

My stomach churns violently, bile rising to burn the back of my throat.

Then his tongue pushes past my clenched lips, forcing its way into my mouth. His hand tightens around my hair, pulling so hard it hurts.

Desperate, I shove both palms against his chest, wrenching my mouth free and scrambling back against the couch cushion.

Crispin laughs, low and delighted, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's okay, Lyra." His gray eyes track over my face, gleaming with satisfaction. "I know this is all so new to your body." He reaches for my chin again, and I jerk back before his fingers land, and his smile only widens. "I get it. Your omega instincts still think I'm a stranger,” he says like he finds that adorable. "Every part of you is still wired to run from an alpha who hasn't claimed you. But that urge won't last." He reaches for my knee, slower this time. "I'm going to enjoy teaching your body who I am."

Disgust crawls up the back of my throat, thick enough to choke on.

"You're shaking." His head tilts, patient, almost fond, and his voice drops lower. "I like that too, if I'm honest." His hand slides over my bare thigh, fingers spreading wide against my skin. "You'll get used to me being inside you. All of me." His thumb strokes higher, whiskey rolling off his breath in a slow wave. "I hear virgins take the knot hardest the first few times. Something about the stretch, the way it⁠—"

My hand swings connecting with his cheek.

Crispin's head jerks to the side, the sound of the slap cutting through the quiet room.

I instantly freeze, shocked at what I just did.

For one long second he doesn't move, his jaw angled away from me. My palm stings from the force I used, but the alpha’s skin looks the same. Not even a faint red mark.

I brace myself as Crispin blinks a few times, then he slowly turns back.

I swallow hard, waiting for him to react. To scream or yell or maybe even attack me.

But instead of violence, a laugh punches out of the alpha. It sounds delighted, almost giddy.

"You are so surprising sometimes." He licks his bottom lip, chasing the last taste of me. "God, I love the spark in you." He reaches for my knee again. "You are like no other woman, I’ve ever⁠—"

"I'm not taking anything from you." My voice comes out low and rough, nothing like my own. "Not your hands. Or your mouth. Not your knot. Nothing."

Crispin's smile drops off his face like it was never there. His jaw goes tight, his gray eyes narrowing to slits, and the hand on my knee stills completely.

The shift is so sudden it's almost jarring.

"What?" His voice is rough, his eyes dark as they narrow at my face.

I swallow hard, trying to gather my thoughts, but nothing else comes out.