Omega

by Jasinda Wilder

  And then he tried to slow down, tried to stop, jerking on my hair, but I ignored him and bobbed harder.

  "Shit, Layla. You need to stop."

  "Mmm-mmm."

  "Fuck, I'm close." He liked the vibrations, so I hummed as I deep-throated him, and it wasn't just for him. I felt him throbbing and thrusting and knew he was close, and I was humming in appreciation for his body, for the taste of his cock in my mouth.

  But then he did something totally unexpected.

  He jerked free, roughly, and stumbled backward. "I said stop."

  I fell back against the bed. "Why?" I was genuinely confused. Most guys never questioned it when they were that close to finishing.

  "I'm not ready to come in your mouth."

  "Where do you want to come, then?" I asked, coyly.

  He was tensed all over, fists flexing as he held himself back, growling though his teeth as he willed himself away from the edge of coming.

  "Inside you."

  I smiled up at him, a devious, mischievous grin. I reached out and grabbed his cock, and before he could protest or stop me, I had him in my mouth again, gave him one good deep-throat, then glanced up at him. "This is inside me, Nick."

  I wanted it.

  I wanted him to give in to me.

  This was about winning, about getting my way.

  It was also about retaining some distance, some objectivity, some semblance of my former self, maintaining the Layla who didn't feel intense emotional turmoil during soul-shattering sex, the Layla who was shut down and casual. The Layla who didn't fall asleep in a man's arms, content and sated and utterly vulnerable.

  Like I'd just done, for the first time ever, last night.

  I needed to feel like I was in control, like I was doing what I wanted.

  "Jesus, Layla." He grunted this as I resumed my rhythm, going deep, swallowing as he entered my throat to massage his shaft with my throat muscles and my tongue.

  I cupped his balls and pressed hard against his taint, gripped his ass with clawed fingers, moaning as I took him, going down hard and fast now, unrelenting and frenzied.

  "Fuck," he growled.

  "Mmmmm."

  "I'm coming, oh fuck, I'm about to come."

  "Mmm-hmmmm."

  He buried his fingers in my hair and pulled me closer, thrusting into my mouth. I held myself still and let him fuck my throat, swallowing with each thrust, feeling him reach the edge, knowing he wasn't going to stop, now.

  "Shit...Layla, oh god..."

  I felt him spurt, felt it start in his balls cupped in my palm, felt it as a tense of his taint and a throb of his thrusting cock. The first load splashed right down my throat, and I swallowed it, and then backed away to suction my lips around the head, letting go of his rock-hard ass to glide my fingers around his shaft at the base. I stroked him and bobbed around the tip, sucking hard. He cursed again and thrust forward, and now his body locked, thrust forward as the orgasm ripped through him. I milked it for all it was worth, tasting come on my tongue, feeling it spurt. I swallowed it all and kept sucking, kept pumping as he came again, and again, massaging his taint the whole time.

  Finally, he was done. I let him pop free of my mouth but stroked his softening length a few more times until another drop of come seeped out, which I licked away.

  "Jesus, Layla."

  "You say that a lot," I pointed out, standing up to relieve my protesting knees.

  "You have a way of forcing it out of me."

  I just smiled and swayed my hips as I went into the bathroom and shut the door. As soon as I was alone, I collapsed onto the toilet and let myself hyperventilate.

  What the hell had I done?

  I'd had sex with Harris.

  Fucking Harris had been a great idea; that wasn't the problem. He'd rocked my world just as hard as I knew he would. The trouble was, he'd rocked it a little too hard.

  He'd rocked it so hard something had been shaken loose in my heart.

  I wanted more, not just more sex and, more hard fucking. Duh, yeah, I wanted that, too. But problematically, I needed more of him. More of Nick, the man who kissed my temple, the man who gently clutched my throat as he held himself still within me, just feeling me. More of the man who thought I was perfect.

  I didn't want to want more of that. More of that was dangerous. More of that meant everything changing. Everything already had changed, and if I gave in to wanting Nick, wanting to be with him all the time like some addiction, it'd all change again, and I'd lose myself.

  I shook myself. "Get a grip, Layla," I told myself out loud.

  I peed, and then turned on the shower. When the water was as hot as it was going to get, I got in and soaked my hair, letting the water sluice down my body. I let myself lose focus, let myself not think, not feel, not worry. I just let the hot water beat down on my back and scalp and tried to let the water wash away my troubles.

  I didn't hear the door open. Didn't notice the shower curtain slide aside. I didn't notice anything until I felt hands on my hips and lips on my inner thigh.

  I jumped a mile, shrieking. "Holy shit, Harris!" I pushed his head away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

  He was kneeling in the tub in front of me, staring up at me. "You didn't think you could get away that easily, did you?"

  "Yeah, kind of."

  He just grinned. "Good try."

  "I'm taking a shower."

  "No, you're not." He grabbed my ankle, lifted my leg, and draped the back of my knee over his shoulder.

  "I'm not?"

  He shook his head. "Nope."

  "Then what am I--oh." His tongue was sliding up the inside of my thigh, slowly, inching closer to my core. "Ho--oh...oh--holy shit."

  "You're going to want to hold onto something, babe." He pressed his lips to my pussy and sucked my clit into his mouth, and then backed away. "This might take a while."

  It took a while.

  It didn't have to, but he drew it out.

  He got me back. Oh Jesus, did he get me back.

  His tongue circled my clit until I was gasping for breath and gyrating against his face, and then he'd stop and slide fingers inside me and fuck me with his fingers, reach in, curl his fingers and find that spot high inside and rub it, and his tongue would slide slowly against my clit until I was grinding against his face again, and then he'd stop and just flick tiny quick little bursts of his tongue tip against my clit, teasing, teasing.

  I held onto the wall, pressing my palm flat against the wet subway tile for balance, standing on one foot, my back against the wall, the shower streaming down against my neck and over my breasts.

  He drew it out over and over, getting me to the edge again and again, then pulling me back only to drive me there once more.

  When I was frantic and desperate, riding the edge but unable to fall over because he just wouldn't give it to me, wouldn't give me the rhythm or consistency I needed, I started to growl, grabbing his head with both hands and grinding against his mouth, pushing against him.

  And then...he pulled away.

  "What the fuck, Harris?" I growled. "I was--I'm right there."

  He shut off the water, then stepped out of the tub, shoved the curtain aside, and reached in. Lifted me as effortlessly as picking up a suitcase. Carried me dripping wet out of the bathroom and set me on the bed.

  "Nick, I'm soaking wet--"

  "Don't care."

  "Are there new sheets?"

  He leaned over me, eyes intense. "Nope. But again, don't care. We're leaving soon, anyway."

  "For Rio?"

  "Eventually."

  "What--what--why did you stop?"

  He was levered over me, face inches from mine, and I realized he was hard again, ready again. "Because I know what you're doing."

  "What am I doing?"

  "You can't get away from this, Layla."

  "Away from what?"

  He pushed into me, entering me slowly, his eyes on mine, thrusting in to the hilt. "Don't play coy with me, La
yla Campari. I know you. And I know you're fucking terrified."

  "I am not." This was breathy, because I totally was terrified, and I hated it, and also because he felt so goddamned perfect inside me, felt so goddamned perfect above me.

  "It's okay to be scared," he said, and moved slowly, gliding in a smooth rhythm. "I won't hurt you. I won't disappear. I won't let you down."

  "Fuck." My throat was hot, tight. "Goddamn it, Nick."

  "You are the only person who has ever called me that, you know." He bent to capture my nipple in his mouth, and then my lips. "You can't escape it. You can't stop it. And deep down, you don't want to."

  "Shut up and fuck me, Harris." I bucked against him, angry now.

  He just laughed and kept moving slowly, gently. He pressed down on me with his weight, pinning me, and caressed my face in that way he had, thumb grazing my lips. "Oh, I will. I'll fuck you every way there is, twice. I'll fuck you until you can't see straight. I'll fuck you sideways, upside down, in your ass, I'll fuck your mouth and I'll fuck your tits, and I'll fuck your sweet pussy until it's raw."

  I gasped, blinking, as he pushed deeper, lifting my legs onto his shoulders and driving deeper yet. "Oh--oh--holy fucking shit. Nick...Jesus." He was so deep now it hurt perfectly, so deep, filling me completely, stretching me and opening me.

  "But you know what else, Layla?"

  I took the bait. I had no choice. "What, Nick?"

  "I won't just fuck you."

  "No?"

  "Oh no. I'm going to show you what it means to be possessed by me. To be treasured. To be the object of devotion, and passion." He moved, slowly, deeply, rhythmically. Gently. Tenderly. "I'm going to show what it means to be mine. And you'll never want anything else again."

  Little did he know, I already didn't want anything else. So ruined. I was so ruined.

  Then the bastard messed me up even more. Right when I knew he was on the edge, and I was there too, he pulled out.

  "I'm going to kill you," I snapped.

  He didn't answer. He rolled us so I was on top, let me find my balance, and then slid his body down until his face was underneath me. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth--whatever the fuck that bullshit phrase even means--I sat on his face. His tongue speared into me, and I gasped. Then his tongue flicked my clit, and I moaned. And then he sucked my clit into his mouth, shoved three fingers into my slit, reached up and twisted my nipple...and I screamed.

  I rode his face like he was a goddamned penny pony at the grocery store, and he took it and ate me out until I was screaming nonstop and frantic and grinding my clit on his mouth like I'd die if he stopped. I just might have, you never know.

  But the bastard wasn't done. He just had to up the ante, because he was a bastard. The best kind of bastard, but still a bastard.

  What did he do, you ask?

  He put one in the stink. Not the pinky of the left hand he was three-fingers deep inside my pussy with, either. No, he reached around my hip with his right hand and pressed his middle finger against my asshole. Already cresting the edge of orgasm, this was nearly too much. But just because I'm a glutton for punishment, I held myself back. I wanted that finger in me, first. I forced myself to relax and open for him as he massaged the rosebud of muscle.

  I grabbed his hand, pulled it up to my face, and spat on his fingers.

  No shame in my game, bitches.

  I heard as well as felt the bass rumble of his laughter.

  He smeared my saliva against my rear entrance until I was nice and coated, and then pressed his finger in, gently, slowly, carefully. One knuckle, pulsing rhythmically in and out, tongue slowly working my clit, keeping me at the edge but not pushing me over. I rocked my hips, and got another knuckle's worth for my effort. I couldn't stop the moans from escaping then, and didn't try. He increased the pace of his mouth over my core, tongue flicking in quickening circles, fingers sliding in and out of my hot, wet slit, long thick middle finger now fully inserted, his palm flat against my flesh. Couldn't be a comfortable position, his wrist curled around like that. I let myself go, then.

  I felt it start in my belly and in my chest, my muscles tightening, my heartbeat going wild, my thighs trembling from the effort of holding myself aloft over him. I cursed and started convulsing, grinding on his face arrhythmically, wildly, rocking against his fingers, the one and the three, which he used to great effect, thrusting them in and out of me in a steady rhythm.

  The scream when I came probably woke up people in China.

  He still wasn't done with me.

  Still coming, I had no choice but to grab onto his shoulder for balance as he slid out from beneath me, rose to sit on his shins, and lifted me up. My thighs were done, toast, jelly; I had to cling to his neck, shaking all over, quaking with tremors of the orgasm that still had me in its grip.

  Harris wasted no time, no motion or energy. He palmed my ass cheeks and lifted me up, and I, savvy to his intentions, reached between us and guided him home.

  Fuck. Did I really just think that? Home? There was no home. I had no home.

  But this felt like it. Holding onto Harris's strong neck and broad shoulders, wrapping my legs around his waist and letting myself sink down around him to sit on his thighs...that felt like home.

  Clutching Harris for all I was worth, still ripped by waves of climax, feeling him deep inside me, one of his corded forearms beneath my buttocks, the other gathering my hair into a ponytail and gripping it at the base of my skull and roughly jerking my head back so I had to look at him...

  I was HOME.

  Goddamn it.

  He just held me like that. Seated on him, my head tilted back so I was staring down at him past my nose, my hands clawed into talons gripping his shoulders. So deep. So thick inside me. Throbbing, hot. My cunt pulsed around him, oozed essence. He didn't move, just stared at me.

  "You feel us?" He thrust once, hard.

  "Yes," I breathed, and tried to close my eyes.

  "Fucking look at me, Layla." He gave my hair a jerk. "Tell me what you feel. Out loud, right now." Another thrust, this one slow but forceful, lifting me up with the power of his thighs.

  "I feel us. I feel you." I ground my hips on him, needing more, even though he couldn't go deeper and I'd already come so hard I was still out of breath, but there were the facts: I needed more, and I hated myself for it. Hated my weakness for the drug that was Nick.

  "Copout."

  "It's not a copout, that's what I feel."

  He pulled on my hair until I bent backward, so my tits thrust into his face. He latched onto my breast, licking first the wide dark brown circle of my areola and then flicking his tongue over my nipple. A thrust, once again hard and slow, lifting me up. He was doling out the thrusts like they were in short supply, and it was working, making me want them all the more for how few I was getting.

  "No shit you feel us, Layla. I'm inside you. I can't go any deeper." He bit my neck, my throat, kissed my chin, keeping a firm grip on my hair so I couldn't move to even kiss him back. "I know you feel us. Tell me what's inside you."

  "You are."

  He laughed. "True. But you know what I mean. Don't be a pussy, Layla."

  "Tell me what you feel, then, Mr. I'm In Touch With My Feelings." He may not have heard the capital letters on that, but they were there.

  "I've fucked a lot of women in my life--"

  "Wow. Great to know while you're inside me," I snapped.

  He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "None of them have ever made me feel even a fraction of what you do, Layla. You've ruined me for other women. You've ruined me for sex with anyone else, ever again. And you know how we talked about being scared every time I went into combat? Well, I'm not ashamed to admit the way you're making me feel emotionally has me all kinds of fucked up in the head. I'm scared of you. You scare the shit out of me."

  "How many women have you fucked, Harris?"

  "You're jealous?"

  "No. God, no." I totally was. I didn't want to be, b
ut the theme of this whole mess with Harris was me at war with myself.

  "You are."

  "No, I'm not. It's just a dick move to brag about how many women you've fucked while you're in the middle of fucking a woman."

  "I wasn't bragging. Just stating a fact."

  "Why are we having this conversation?" I asked. "Why now?"

  "Because you're trying to avoid me. You thought you could avoid me by going down on me." Just to make sure things stayed...relevant, he pushed up into me, pulling a gasp from me. "You can't avoid this. It's real. It's happening. It's been happening."

  "I'm not avoiding anything."

  "You're a shitty liar, Layla."

  I was, though. The man knew me. I was a bad liar, and I was lying.

  "Goddamn it, Nick. What the hell do you want from me?"

  "I want you to admit this is more than just outrageously incredible sex. It's more than just a good hard fucking." He pulled my hair again so I was leaning backward, spine arched, and he leaned backward as well, reaching between our bodies to caress my clit. He fucked me, then, moving hard and fast, pounding into me over and over, driving up with all of his considerable power so our bodies crashed together with a slapslapslapslap of flesh on flesh.

  My tits bounced roughly on my chest, my ass hit his thighs and shook like gelatine.

  God, I loved it.

  "You like that, don't you, Layla?"

  "Fuck yes," I admitted, breathless.

  "You like it when I fuck you so hard you can't see straight."

  "Don't stop, Harris. Please, don't stop."

  He stopped.

  He let go of my hair and tipped me backward so I hit the mattress, and then he was over me, above me, still inside me, his hand on the back of my knee stretching my leg up toward my chest, splitting me open, pushing deeper and deeper. He pinned my knee in place with his arm, and his free hand brushed my hair out of my face.

  And he moved, slowly, gently, with a rhythm so smooth there was no way for me to know where the thrust in stopped and the pull out began.

  "How about this?" he asked. "Do you like this?"

  I whimpered in answer. Lifted my hips to meet his. "Yes," was all I could say.

  "Is this fucking?"