Page 83 of Omega

“What am I doing, Layla?” he demanded.

I clawed my fingers down his back in equal parts ecstasy and anger. Bit his shoulder until I knew it had to hurt like a motherfucker, but he didn’t even flinch, just let me bite him.

“What is this thing happening between us, Layla?” He kissed my cheekbone. My forehead. My temple. Always moving, slowly, smoothly, rhythmically, beautifully, and perfectly. “Say it, babe. I want to hear it.”

I shook my head.

“No?” he said.

I shook my head again, refusing to betray myself by speaking. If I did, my voice would break. I’d be forced to admit…shit, a lot of things I didn’t want to admit.

The motherfucker pulled out and got off the bed, breathing hard, eyes blazing, green orbs fiery and angry, chest heaving, sweat sheening his skin.

I threw a tantrum, kicking my feet and flailing my hands, screaming in anger. “Goddamnit, Nicholas! Don’t do this to me!”

“Why not?”

“Why can’t it just be sex?”

He was so hard it had to be painful, his erection flat against his belly, leaking from the tip, my essence smeared and glistening on the beautiful shaft of his goddamned perfect penis. I wanted it. I wanted it back in me. I wanted to feel him finish, feel him let go, wanted his breath on my skin, his weight on my body. I wanted his seed dripping out of me and sliding down my thighs. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to wake up with him and share the intimacy of not having sex, of just talking, sharing, touching, having coffee and being together. I’d never wanted that before. I hadn’t thought I ever would.

I was fucking terrified of how badly I wanted all that.

And Nicholas motherfucking Harris, the man I wanted and needed more than I’d ever wanted or needed anything in my entire stupid life—he wanted to know why I was so scared.

“Why can’t it be more?” he pushed. “What the hell are you so scared of?”

“EVERYTHING!” I shouted. “I’m scared of how much I need you, how suddenly it happened. I don’t believe in insta-love. I don’t even believe in love at all! I don’t believe in anything except my own ability to take care of myself. I don’t need anyone. I’ve never needed anyone. I don’twantto need anyone. But I—I fucking need you, and I hate it. Ihateit. And I hate you for making me need you. For being so fucking amazing that I don’t just need you, Iwantyou. Icraveyou. And I hate that too.”

“Why? Why is it so bad to need someone?” He wasn’t sitting down, and his massive erection wasn’t fading.

“Because.”

“What are you, three? Give me a real answer.”

“Or what?”

“Or nothing. Or I’ll take you back to Detroit and post a guard you’ll never see on you. You’ll never see me again. You can have your lonely, workaholic, pathetic life, if that’s what you want. I’m not going to force this out of you.”

“But you are.” Even in the midst of having my feelings ripped out and put on display, I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock. Harris’s penis was just right, thick enough to stretch me, long enough to fill me. Almost as if…

Fuck it. I knew I had to finish the thought:

Almost as if it had been custom-made specifically for me, to fit me like a puzzle, to complete me, to pleasure me and me alone.

I choked on my own emotions.

Finally, I sat up, put my feet on the floor and folded my hands on my lap, wringing them together, squeezing until my knuckles protested. Kept my eyes off his, on the floor.

What did I want? Him? This?

Or my life back in Detroit?

“Say something, Layla.”

I tried. I couldn’t. It was all too much, too hard too fast and all at once. I just shook my head.

“Fine.” He managed to say the word with both a sigh and a snap. “Have it your way.”