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He drums his fingers on the table, watching as I trace the woven design of the table. “You’ll figure it out,” he murmurs.
“Will I?” I mutter. “Because I feel empty. Like a blank slate. It’s as if the world is one big riddle, and I’m picking up clues but can’t fucking solve it.”
There’s a moment of silence as he stares at me. “Riddles can be fun,” he says quietly. “Especially if other people are there to help you solve it.”
Too bad I don’t have anybody.
But I don’t tell him that.
It sounds pathetic.
Pain.
I double over in shock, choking out a breath as my womb cramps. Fire flares through my body and I hold back a whimper while my insides burn.
“Fuck.”
James is next to me in a second as I lean over the side of the table, slowly sliding out of my chair.
The pain takes my breath away, and I collapse against him as he settles onto his knees by my side.
“Harp—Princess, what’s going on?”
Gone is his mischievous tone; just a frantic whisper escapes his lips as my body cramps and the headache returns with full force. I’m halfway off the chair and falling into his lap, his arms wrapped around me, my face in his chest.
Howembarrassing.
“Sorry,” I whisper against him, my face flaming as I drown in his scent. He’s massive; even as he crouches down next to me, he’s still taller than the table.
“I’ve got you,” he rumbles as another cramp hits me and I hiss in pain.
I need to get out of his arms. I wriggle in his grip, but he only holds me tighter, forcing me into an intimate position.
“Are you sick?” He asks me, his breath tickling my ear, and I fight back a moan.
Because, even through the ache, I’m painfully aroused.
His peppery, delicious scent floods through me, and I bite my lip to fight a whimper.
Get out of his arms get out of his arms—
But he shifts slightly, and the front of my dress brushes against his pants.
Oh, fuck.
He’s hard underneath me, his erection obvious.
My cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, arousal dissipating my headache.
He lets out a shuddering breath, the sound sending shockwaves to my clit.
If I tilt my head up the slightest amount, our eyes will meet, and I could kiss him—
STOP!
I will not dry hump an Alpha I don’t know in the middle of a fucking garden.
“Sorry, sorry,” I try again, as wetness floods my inner thighs. Thankfully the dress is made of thick fabric, so hopefully I won’t leave a damp spot on his pants.
