Page 16 of Omega

“Yeah? Not above begging, are you, sweetheart?”

“Hell no. I need it, Roth. Let me come. Please let me come.”

“Not yet. I don’t think you’re desperate enough.” He went to work again, starting all over, kneading, circling, and finger-fucking arrhythmically, slowly, maddeningly, until I was grinding and biting his sleeve and trying desperately not to scream from the raging need inside me, the whirling fireball of need, the hurricane of sexual desperation.

“Please, Valentine, please. God, I can’t take anymore.” I whispered this in his ear in my quietest voice, barely audible.

He thrust a third finger inside me, hooking them to rub against that spot, fucking in and out faster and faster, the only sound now my ragged breathing and the wet sucking of his fingers.

I felt the edge approaching like an on-rushing cliff, like a detonation building, building. Every muscle tensed, my spine arched off the quilted leather, my heels were pressed against the opposite door to keep me aloft, and my teeth clenched against the scream.

I squeezed his fingers as they fucked in and out, in and out, and then I was beyond all control, focusing only on not screaming. He was in control now, his three fingers and one thumb ruling my universe.

He pressed his lips to my ear, and nibbled my earlobe. “Come for me, Kyrie. Comenow.”

I had to clench my teeth so hard my molars ached as the orgasm blasted through me with nuclear force. I felt myself gush, squirting all over his hand and wrist, and he kept finger-fucking me with relentless speed, pushing my climax to the absolute zenith, pushing it until I was frantic and writhing helplessly, coming and coming and coming.

When it finally slowed, he withdrew his fingers and murmured in wordless satisfaction as I collapsed against the seat, gasping.

“Look at this, Kyrie.” I forced my eyes open, and saw him examining his hand. “You soaked me, love.”

His hand was dripping, his shirtsleeve and the cuff of his coat were dampened. Even the leather beneath my ass was wet with my juices.

I felt myself blush in embarrassment. “I made a bit of a mess, hmmm?”

Roth kissed each fiery cheek. “You did indeed. My hand is going to smell like your pussy all day now.”

I buried my face against his neck. “I’m sorry?”

He laughed. “I’m not.”

I shifted to a sitting position beside him, and noticed a certain problem. “Your turn, I think.”

His eyes cut over to me. “My turn?”

I swiveled to partially face him, curled one leg up on the seat. “I mean, I can’t let you suffer, can I?”

“Certainly not.” He brushed a flyaway strand of hair away from my face, an eager gleam in his eyes.

There was no protestation that I didn’t have to. Obviously not. We were past that, long past. I knew what he wanted, and how he liked it. He knew I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. He just sat there, waiting, his eyes on me.

I shot him a smile as I unbuckled his belt, careful to not let it jingle. I unfastened his trousers, unzipped him. He lifted an inch or two off the seat, and I slid his pants and boxers down to his thighs, baring his cock. It stood tall and straight, rigid, veined, pink, and huge. Begging for my mouth. Pleading for my touch.

I wrapped my fist around him, slid my fingers down the shaft and back up slowly, watching his expression go heavy-lidded. He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out in a slow gusting sigh. With my other hand, I cupped his balls, kneading them gently, sliding my middle finger down, down, finding his taint. He shifted lower, let his knees fall apart as wide as his pants would allow, brushed my hair out of my face, lip curling in pleasure as I stroked his length.

I kept it slow, teasing. Toying with him. Just touching him. A thumb across the tip, smearing the droplet, squeezing around the broad head until it popped out over the top of my fingers then plunging my hand down to the root. Again. Again. And again, and this time his hips flexed involuntarily. I squeezed harder, and he sucked in a breath.

“You like that, don’t you?” I asked him in a nearly inaudible whisper. “When I squeeze your cock?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“You like it hard and tight, don’t you?” I kept my eyes on his as I bent over him. “I know why, too.”

“Why’s that, love?” His voice was even, steady. But his eyes betrayed him, gave away his need, gave away how much he was enjoying my ministrations.

“Because it feels like my asshole, and I know how much you love to fuck me there.” I said this, and then wrapped my lips around the thick head of his dick.

“Jesus, Kyrie,” he mumbled, and let his head fall back against the seat.