Omega (Alpha #3) (7 page)

When it finally slowed, he withdrew his fingers and murmured in wordless satisfaction as I collapsed against the seat, gasping.
 

“Look at this, Kyrie.” I forced my eyes open, and saw him examining his hand. “You soaked me, love.”

His hand was dripping, his shirtsleeve and the cuff of his coat were dampened. Even the leather beneath my ass was wet with my juices.

I felt myself blush in embarrassment. “I made a bit of a mess, hmmm?”
 

Roth kissed each fiery cheek. “You did indeed. My hand is going to smell like your pussy all day now.”
 

I buried my face against his neck. “I’m sorry?”

He laughed. “I’m not.”

I shifted to a sitting position beside him, and noticed a certain problem. “Your turn, I think.”
 

His eyes cut over to me. “My turn?”

I swiveled to partially face him, curled one leg up on the seat. “I mean, I can’t let you suffer, can I?”

“Certainly not.” He brushed a flyaway strand of hair away from my face, an eager gleam in his eyes.

There was no protestation that I didn’t have to. Obviously not. We were past that, long past. I knew what he wanted, and how he liked it. He knew I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. He just sat there, waiting, his eyes on me.

I shot him a smile as I unbuckled his belt, careful to not let it jingle. I unfastened his trousers, unzipped him. He lifted an inch or two off the seat, and I slid his pants and boxers down to his thighs, baring his cock. It stood tall and straight, rigid, veined, pink, and huge. Begging for my mouth. Pleading for my touch.
 

I wrapped my fist around him, slid my fingers down the shaft and back up slowly, watching his expression go heavy-lidded. He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out in a slow gusting sigh. With my other hand, I cupped his balls, kneading them gently, sliding my middle finger down, down, finding his taint. He shifted lower, let his knees fall apart as wide as his pants would allow, brushed my hair out of my face, lip curling in pleasure as I stroked his length.

I kept it slow, teasing. Toying with him. Just touching him. A thumb across the tip, smearing the droplet, squeezing around the broad head until it popped out over the top of my fingers then plunging my hand down to the root. Again. Again. And again, and this time his hips flexed involuntarily. I squeezed harder, and he sucked in a breath.
 

“You like that, don’t you?” I asked him in a nearly inaudible whisper. “When I squeeze your cock?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“You like it hard and tight, don’t you?” I kept my eyes on his as I bent over him. “I know why, too.”

“Why’s that, love?” His voice was even, steady. But his eyes betrayed him, gave away his need, gave away how much he was enjoying my ministrations.
 

“Because it feels like my asshole, and I know how much you love to fuck me there.” I said this, and then wrapped my lips around the thick head of his dick.

“Jesus, Kyrie,” he mumbled, and let his head fall back against the seat.

I took him in my mouth, flattening my tongue to taste the salt of his taut flesh as he slid between my wide-stretched lips. I backed away, letting him pop out. “Don’t you?”
 

“Don’t I—what?”
 

I felt a wild thrill of satisfaction; I knew I was doing it right when he lost composure. I squeezed as hard as I dared, and leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Don’t you love to fuck me in the ass?” I plunged my tightened fist down from tip to root, squeezing, clenching around him. “Like this? Tight and hot?”

He made a sound low in his throat. “God yes…just like that.” He thrust his hips, his groan rumbling deep in his chest.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then his throat, and then bent over him and licked the tip of his glans, tasting pre-come, and then stroked his cock with my hands, taking him deeper into my mouth as I lowered my fist around his girth. He groaned again and leaned forward, thrust upward, and I took the thrust willingly, letting him fuck my mouth, letting him fuck through my squeezing fist and between my lips.
 

But then I backed away and glanced up at him. “That’s enough, now, Valentine. Let me make you feel good. Don’t move.”

His eyes narrowed, Roth nodded, resting his head back against the seat once more. He threaded his fingers through my hair, tucked his other hand behind his head, and let out a sigh.

I waited another moment, drawing it out. Then, keeping my eyes on his, I pulled his shaft away from his body, tilted my head to the side, and took him into my mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring, chest swelling, jaw tensing and flexing as he watched his dick slide between my lips. Back away, bend closer, take him deeper, let him almost slip out…I matched the rhythm to the pace of his breathing, faster and faster and faster, until I was bobbing almost frantically.
 

And then I stopped, and Roth groaned. He’d never apply force or pressure, but his grip on my hair tightened.
 

I let his saliva-glistening member pop free of my mouth, and then, eyes on his, moving slowly, deliberately, I licked him from root to tip, pressing my tongue so it was wide and flat against the veined flesh. As I reached the apex, I took him back into my mouth and this time wrapped my fingers around him just beneath my mouth and stroked him with both at once. I took him to the back of my throat, and then I added my other hand around the base—god, I’d never get over how huge his cock was, how perfect, that I could fit both hands and my mouth around him and still have room to move, that I had to stretch my lips and jaw around him, that my fingertips didn’t quite meet when I gripped him with my fist.

I began moving slowly, then. Torturously slowly, gliding down with my mouth, stroking with both hands, pulling upward so just the soft and springy head of his cock was in my mouth, and then I began sucking. Fists moved, sliding up and down, faster and faster.

Harder and harder.

And then slower. I removed my mouth, pulled him away, looked up at him, maintaining eye contact as I stroked him hand over fist, smearing my saliva and his leaking pre-come all over his cock. He groaned again, fisting my hair even harder, so the roots tugged. He was close, then.

I jacked him with one hand, the tip of his cock at my lips, kissing, licking, sucking, a gentle careful scrape of the teeth, and then he was flexing his hips and clenching his teeth to keep from making too much noise.

“Just your mouth, love. Give me your hands.” His voice was an unexpected rumble.

I reached up and he took my hands in his, cupping my small ones in his much larger paws. I rested my cheek against his stomach and slid lower, closer, and let his cock slide into my mouth. Sucked. Bobbed. Paused to lick the tip and flick my tongue against the hole at the very apex, tasting the smoky essence. And then bobbed lower and took as much of him as I could, setting no rhythm.

And then he was rasping in his throat and his hips were flexing, and I knew it was time to stop playing with him and make him come.

I tugged one of my hands free from his grip and cupped his sac in my palm, slid my middle finger against his taint and pressed in. His breath caught, and I began fucking with him my mouth in earnest, now, no finesse or technique, just my lips and tongue on his throbbing cock, faster and faster.

I pressed harder with my finger, slid it a little further back, earning a grunt of surprise from him. He didn’t protest, though, so I pushed yet farther, until I was right there, tip of my middle finger pressed against his asshole and he was fighting to relax, wanting to tense, but not allowing himself. I found the center of the knot of muscle and pressed, slid the tip of my finger in, and he groaned helplessly, his muscles going limp even as his hips flexed and stayed taut.
 

All the while, I was going down on him, not hard or fast, but with a consistent rhythm. He wanted it faster, wanted it harder. But I didn’t give that to him. My goal wasn’t to make him come quickly, but intensely, and to that end drawing it out as long as possible was best.
 

He was close, though; I could feel it, taste it.
 

And I wanted it. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel him let loose, feel him take his pleasure in my mouth.

Until Roth, giving blowjobs was something that was just…a thing. Not a bad thing, or a good thing, just something one did as a routine part of sex. I didn’t mind doing it, but I didn’t enjoy it. I always knew my partner enjoyed it, obviously, because every male whether straight or gay loves few things more than getting his dick sucked. But this…with Valentine?

This wasn’t about sex, really. It was about an expression of love, about showing him how much I loved him, showing him how much I wanted to make him feel good, showing him that his pleasure was paramount to me. I loved his body, every inch of it. And I especially loved his cock, all the glorious length of it. I’d never have thought it was possible, but I loved feeling him in my mouth, loved the sensation of stroking his hardness with my hands, tasting the pre-come on my tongue, feeling him tighten and grow harder under my touch. I loved feeling him go crazy, watching him lose control, knowing it was
me
, knowing I could make him feel so incredible that he couldn’t hold back. I loved the way his cock would throb and thicken as he got closer to orgasm…like he was at that moment, rock-hard abs taut as a drum skin, balls tight up against his body, hips flexing involuntarily, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in short wild gasps…

Yes, here it came, the release.

I loved this too, when he cut loose in my mouth. I felt him thrust deeper into my mouth and pressed my finger deeper, felt him tense, flex. He gave my hair two sharp tugs as a warning signal.
 

I slowed my pace.
 

He groaned, growled, sounding almost feral.

I slowed yet more, pulling back until he nearly popped out, and then plunged down, taking him to the back of my throat. He growled again, thrusting up as he prepared to come.

I hummed, moved my finger ever so slightly in and out, and gave him one more long slow stroke of my mouth, and then I tasted salt and heat, felt the initial spurt as I was backing away. Felt it on my tongue, splashing into my mouth. I swallowed, continued my slow deliberate stroke, until I was at the edge of my gag reflex.
 

I wrapped my free hand around the thick root of his cock and stroked him there too, hard and fast now, while moving my mouth up and down slowly, slowly. The contrast of the slow movement of my mouth versus the quick hard jacking motion of my hand drove him crazy, and he shot another thick stream of come into my mouth. I swallowed. He groaned, a low but loud rumble, and I kept the contrasting pace going, milked his orgasm for yet another spurting gush, another smaller one, and then one last dribble.
 

Finally done coming, he let out a sigh.

But I wasn’t done. I used my hand alone now, caressing him slowly from root to tip, coaxing more semen out of him, casting a glance at him as I licked it away. Again. And only when he was finally starting to subside and go limp did I let him go, helping him tug his underwear and pants back into place.
 

And at that moment, as I was tucking him back into his boxer-briefs, the privacy glass whirred and lowered,.

“Hey, we were thinking of stopping for—oh
Jesus
! Seriously, you two?” Layla’s voice shifted from casual query to disgust and outrage within a single breath. “You’re for real blowing him right there in the back of the limo? We’re right
here
!”
 

I glanced at Layla as I zipped, fastened, and buckled Roth. “That’s why it’s called privacy glass.”

“Yeah, but—” she faked a dramatic shudder. “Seriously did not need to see that.”
 

“Good thing you didn’t open the window any sooner, then,” I said, resuming my seat and smoothing my hair back.

Layla just stared at me for a long moment, and then her brows drew down. “Um. You’ve got some…right by your mouth—oh god. I’m not sure I can look at you anymore.”

I wiped at my face and grinned at her. “Oh please. Like I’ve never walked in on you before. In fact, I think I did, and you didn’t even slow down, if I remember right. You just kept on going.”
 

Layla looked equal parts embarrassed and angry. Roth was silent, but clearly enjoying it, and Harris? I wasn’t sure about him. He kept his eyes straight ahead, hands at ten and two on the wheel.
 

“Yeah, well—” Layla started. But then she laughed despite herself. “That was so damn awkward. We were in the shower and you had to use the bathroom. But he was right there so I couldn’t just
stop
, and you were about to wet yourself.”
 

I laughed even harder. “I pretended I didn’t know what was going on, and you pretended I wasn’t there. Only, there was a shower curtain between us, clear from the waist up. Thank god it wasn’t glass, but I could just see the top of your head moving…”

“You wouldn’t look at either of us for weeks after that.”

“Yeah, well, your creeptastic whatever-of-the-month didn’t have that problem. He’d look at me like ‘yeah buddy, you want some, too?’”

“He did?” Layla asked.

“Um, yeah? He stared me down all the time after that. Gave me these looks, wiggled his eyebrows. Shit, he all but pulled his junk out and offered it to me.”
 

Harris coughed, then, and Layla glanced at him, and I saw her expression shift from amusement to embarrassment, and from there to walls-up defensive anger. “What?” She turned to him. “Got something to say,
Harry
?”

He swiveled his head ever so slightly. “No, Miss Campari.”

“Oh please. ‘Miss Campari’ my ass. You know my fucking name.”
 

“True.”
 

“So what?” She tilted her head, and I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was spoiling for a fight, Layla-style. Poor Harris. Layla in pissed-off or embarrassed mode is scary. She could flay the red off a brick with nothing but a few well-turned phrases. “You don’t like to hear about my sexual exploits…
Harry
? Got a problem with it?”