Page 79 of Omega

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 ofhim. 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’twantto want more of that. More of that was dangerous. More of that meant everything changing. Everything alreadyhadchanged, 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.”