Page 81 of Omega
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 Ihadto look at him…
I wasHOME.
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.
“Fuckinglookat 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 neededmore, 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 whatyoufeel, 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, but the theme of this whole mess with Harris was me at war with myself.