Omega (Alpha #3) (31 page)

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.

He jerked free, roughly, and stumbled backward. “I said
stop
.”
 

I fell back against the bed. “Why?” I was genuinely confused. Most guys never questioned it when they were that close to finishing.

“I’m not ready to come in your mouth.”
 

“Where do you want to come, then?” I asked, coyly.

He was tensed all over, fists flexing as he held himself back, growling though his teeth as he willed himself away from the edge of coming.

“Inside you.”

I smiled up at him, a devious, mischievous grin. I reached out and grabbed his cock, and before he could protest or stop me, I had him in my mouth again, gave him one good deep-throat, then glanced up at him. “This
is
inside me, Nick.”
 

I wanted it.

I wanted him to give in to me.

This was about winning, about getting my way.

It was also about retaining some distance, some objectivity, some semblance of my former self, maintaining the Layla who didn’t feel intense emotional turmoil during soul-shattering sex, the Layla who was shut down and casual. The Layla who didn’t fall asleep in a man’s arms, content and sated and utterly vulnerable.
 

Like I’d just done, for the first time ever, last night.

I needed to feel like I was in control, like I was doing what
I
wanted.

“Jesus, Layla.” He grunted this as I resumed my rhythm, going deep, swallowing as he entered my throat to massage his shaft with my throat muscles and my tongue.

I cupped his balls and pressed hard against his taint, gripped his ass with clawed fingers, moaning as I took him, going down hard and fast now, unrelenting and frenzied.

“
Fuck
,” he growled.
 

“Mmmmm.”
 

“I’m coming, oh fuck, I’m about to come.”
 

“Mmm-hmmmm.”
 

He buried his fingers in my hair and pulled me closer, thrusting into my mouth. I held myself still and let him fuck my throat, swallowing with each thrust, feeling him reach the edge, knowing he wasn’t going to stop, now.

“Shit…Layla, oh god…”

I felt him spurt, felt it start in his balls cupped in my palm, felt it as a tense of his taint and a throb of his thrusting cock. The first load splashed right down my throat, and I swallowed it, and then backed away to suction my lips around the head, letting go of his rock-hard ass to glide my fingers around his shaft at the base. I stroked him and bobbed around the tip, sucking hard. He cursed again and thrust forward, and now his body locked, thrust forward as the orgasm ripped through him. I milked it for all it was worth, tasting come on my tongue, feeling it spurt. I swallowed it all and kept sucking, kept pumping as he came again, and again, massaging his taint the whole time.

Finally, he was done. I let him pop free of my mouth but stroked his softening length a few more times until another drop of come seeped out, which I licked away.
 

“Jesus, Layla.”
 

“You say that a lot,” I pointed out, standing up to relieve my protesting knees.
 

“You have a way of forcing it out of me.”
 

I just smiled and swayed my hips as I went into the bathroom and shut the door. As soon as I was alone, I collapsed onto the toilet and let myself hyperventilate.

What the hell had I done?

I’d had sex with Harris.

Fucking Harris had been a
great
idea; that wasn’t the problem. He’d rocked my world just as hard as I knew he would. The trouble was, he’d rocked it a little
too
hard.
 

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 of
him
. 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’t
want
to want more of that. More of that was dangerous. More of that meant everything changing. Everything already
had
changed, 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.”
 

“For Rio?”

“Eventually.”
 

“What—what—why did you stop?”

He was levered over me, face inches from mine, and I realized he was hard again, ready again. “Because I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You can’t get away from this, Layla.”

“Away from what?”
 

He pushed into me, entering me slowly, his eyes on mine, thrusting in to the hilt. “Don’t play coy with me, Layla Campari. I know you. And I know you’re fucking terrified.”

“I am not.” This was breathy, because I totally
was
terrified, and I hated it, and also because he felt so goddamned perfect inside me, felt so goddamned perfect above me.

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said, and moved slowly, gliding in a smooth rhythm. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t disappear. I won’t let you down.”

“Fuck.” My throat was hot, tight. “Goddamn it, Nick.”
 

“You are the only person who has ever called me that, you know.” He bent to capture my nipple in his mouth, and then my lips. “You can’t escape it. You can’t stop it. And deep down, you don’t want to.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Harris.” I bucked against him, angry now.

He just laughed and kept moving slowly, gently. He pressed down on me with his weight, pinning me, and caressed my face in that way he had, thumb grazing my lips. “Oh, I will. I’ll fuck you every way there is, twice. I’ll fuck you until you can’t see straight. I’ll fuck you sideways, upside down, in your ass, I’ll fuck your mouth and I’ll fuck your tits, and I’ll fuck your sweet pussy until it’s raw.”

I gasped, blinking, as he pushed deeper, lifting my legs onto his shoulders and driving deeper yet. “Oh—oh—holy fucking shit. Nick…Jesus.” He was so deep now it hurt perfectly, so deep, filling me completely, stretching me and opening me.