Page 75 of Omega

Foreplay.

This was…something else. Not fucking. Nothing so impersonal or casual as that. This was Nick taking possession of my soul. This was Harris taking command of my body. This was…my walls being demolished. My defenses eradicated.

I think I came at some point, but I was so blown apart by the implications of how much I wasfeelingemotionally that it didn’t really register.

I like sex. Duh. I mean, Ireallylike sex. A lot. A whole fucking lot. It’s, like, my favorite thing, along with getting naked-wasted on cheap red wine and bingeing on Netflix.

But I’d never had sex like this. It was…new. Strange. Intense. Emotional. Fraught with meaning. It…meantsomething.

And I didn’t know how to deal.

I couldn’t deal.

But Nick wasn’t letting go, wasn’t letting me off the hook. He gave me enough slack in the grip on my hair that we could pause the kiss to take a breath, but that was almost worse. Without the kiss, I had to meet his gaze. And fuck, his eyes…the passion in them. The need. The way he looked so deeply into my eyes, the way his glance flicked down to where our bodies joined. It was all too much.

I kissed him, this time.

Smashed my mouth to his so hard our teeth clacked and my lip split. Harris pulled back, licked my lip where it throbbed and kissed it. And then, slowly, gently, masterfully, he claimed my mouth. Once again taking the initiative and control away from me.

God, he fuckingownedme. He knew exactly in each moment and in each situation exactly how to snatch control away from me and make me utterly dependent on him.

My choice was to either cede control to him entirely, or get off and walk away.

I thought about it, I really did.

If we came together—and we would, I was positive—something was going to change.

But I couldn’t walk way.Couldn’t. I tried. Jesus, did I try. But I couldn’t make myself do it.

I was too ensnared by the mastery of his kiss, too paralyzed by the throb of upwelling ecstasy, too pierced by the intensity in his eyes and the rising urgency in his thrusts.

And can I just say, holy hell, the man had extreme stamina.

He let me pull my head back, but didn’t let go of my hair. His fingers were fisted in my curls at the nape of my neck, and he let me rise up enough to plant my fists in the pillow by his face. Our faces were inches apart, but we weren’t kissing, now. He was thrusting slowly, long, deep glides in and out with smooth, perfect strokes. I drew my knees up under me and started pushing back into his thrusts, our eyes fixed on each other and unwavering. Not looking away.

I wanted to.

I hated the intensity, hated the vulnerability I felt in myself. Hesawme.

I couldn’t look away.

I knew the exact moment he lost the battle for control over his own body; he snarled like a wolf and began fucking in earnest, wild manic upward plunges, and his grip on my hair tightened to the point of pain, but I liked that, because it grounded me. Distracted me a little from the open passion in his eyes, from the raw furious frantic need in his gaze. From the blazing connection streaming between us. I could only push down onto him, could only ride him and take his fucking.

God, it felt perfect.

The most heavenly ecstasy ever, Harris fucking me while his eyes promised so many, many things. Tender things.

“Layla,” he murmured.

I couldn’t speak. Could only whimper breathlessly.

“Squeeze. Hard.”

So I squeezed as hard as I could, went still and focused on squeezing.

“Oh…fuck. Layla. I’m coming.” He jerked me down so our mouths touched, but didn’t kiss me, his eyes on mine. “Look at me. Don’t you dare look away.”

“I won’t…I’m looking at you,” I gasped.