Page 77 of Omega

I kept my gaze on his, opened my mouth, and took him between my lips, gazing up at him all the while, cupping his ass with both hands. He let out a breath, and his brows furrowed. I backed away, let him bob free of my mouth, and ran my tongue up and down his length, licking him over and over again, broad fat swipes of my tongue against his salty, soft flesh.

I wrapped my lips around the head now, and suckled, starting slowly and gently and increasing intensity until I heard him groan and felt his hips flutter, and then I spat him out. He sagged slightly, exhaling a rough breath.

“Jesus, Layla.” He reached down and tried to lift me, but I grabbed his hands and shoved them into the tangled mass of my hair.

He buried his fingers in my hair and held on, but didn’t make any move to urge me to go down on him again. He seemed content to let me do this my way, for now.

Fine by me.

I was totally avoiding things, because I knew if we fucked again, there would be talking, and shit would get real, and I wasn’t ready for that. Sucking his dick nicely circumvented the whole business, pleasantly for him. And as for me? Well, let’s just say his cock was not only impressive to look at, but enjoyable for my mouth as well. Maybe I’m in the minority here, but I actually kind of liked giving blowjobs. I liked the power, yes, the feeling of knowing I was able to elicit strong reactions. Control a man via giving pleasure. But I also justlikedit, liked feeling cock in my hand, liked to stroke the skin, and the musky taste, the feel of him in my mouth, the way he’d tense and explode. It was also a good test of the man, because the good ones would return the favor, maybe not right then, but at some point. And I also really enjoyed receiving cunnilingus. If he didn’t return the favor, there usually wouldn’t be seconds for him. Call me a bitch, but it was a pretty handy rule of thumb. Not solely because of the oral itself, though, but more because if he wasn’t willing to return the favor, he likely wouldn’t be focused on making sure I got mine during sex in general. Which didn’t work for me. I expected to get mine. That’s the whole point, right?

But this, with Harris, this was several things at once. It was a delaying tactic, an avoidance tactic. It was also because I just genuinely wanted to go down on him, wanted to exert some kind of control over him, put him under my spell as payback for the way he had utterly dominated me during sex.

So, I went down on him.

I brought my hands around front, sank back on my heels, and curled my fingers around his shaft. He exhaled sharply, and his fingers tightened in my hair. I hadn’t even done anything yet, but he was already grinding his jaws and gripping my curls for dear life.

Oh buddy. Just you wait.

I started stroking him; one hand loosely curled around his thickness and pumped up and down, my skin barely making contact with his. My other hand wasn’t idle, though; I had his balls in my palm and was massaging them as gently as I could. I stroked him slowly, gentle caresses of his length, up and down, up and down. When my hand reached the top of his shaft, I cupped my palm over his head and gripped it, twisted, then slid my fingers around the plump pink mushroom head and stroked short pumps around the tip, faster and faster until his hips fluttered and his breath left him in a gust.

And then I stopped.

He made a low sound of warning in his chest, a sound of disapproval. Good. That meant he was starting to really feel things, now.

I scooted backward, pushed him a step away, and then gripped his cock in both hands and began a slow two-handed pumping, pulling him away from his body and leaning forward to take him into my mouth. Just the very tip, at first, the way you might put your lips on the very tip of a tall scoop of ice cream. Double-fist strokes, over and over. He was grunting, a low, almost inaudible sound, but a good sign. I started bobbing, replacing some of the strokes of my hands with my mouth, going lower and lower, my lips passing the groove of circumcision but no further, bobbing up and down, sucking as the springy flesh entered my mouth. He started thrusting, and his grip on my hair tightened. He really had a thing for my hair, it seemed; he now had both hands gripping the mass of it tightly near the scalp. He wasn’t applying any pressure, though, just holding. His hips flexed, pushing his cock farther into my mouth. I took it, accepted more of his thickness between my lips, let my tongue slide against his flesh, stroked with one hand only now, bobbing down into his thrusts, cupping his balls and kneading them gently.

His breath was ragged, rasping grunts, and I knew he was close.

So I slowed down. Stroked his length as slowly as I could, lowered my mouth around him, opening my throat and leaning forward to let him in further, taking him deep. He liked that. I did it again, stretching his cock away from his body until it was nearly horizontal, holding it by the base with both hands. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes and deep-throated him.

“Fuck.” The first word he’d uttered so far.

I hummed a questioning sound—mmmhmmm?

His jaw flexed and he pulled at me, very gently, but a slight pressure as I moved toward him, his cock passing between my lips, over my tongue, the tip nudging my throat. Harris was breathing hard again, his abs tensed.

He was holding back.

That wasn’t gonna work. He was planning to let me take him to the very edge, I realized, and then he’d retake control and try to finish inside my pussy. Try to make it intimate. Face to face, probably. Some way that he could make sure I was there with him, some way he could reassert my vulnerability.

Hell no.

So I sped up, started bobbing back and forth, taking him deep into my throat each time, until I had a good rhythm going. I felt him shudder, heard him grunt and sigh, muttering curses under his breath as he neared the edge.

Closer, now.

He throbbed in my mouth, and I tasted pre-come on my tongue. Full strokes, from the tip of his erection against my lips to his belly against my nose, long wet strokes of my mouth around his shaft. I moved my hands to his ass and gripped him, pulled against him, encouraging him to move. He let himself thrust, then, and I kept pulling, harder and harder, getting him to thrust, to fuck my mouth.

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.