Alpha: Omega Part 22

I caught my left nipple between my thumb and forefinger and pinched it so hard I shrieked; a bolt of lightning blasted through me, striking my core as I twisted the nipple and pinched it again. Pinched both.

"Come for me, Layla." The command was quiet, but spoken with razor sharpness, rife with intensity.

I shattered, twisting and pinching my nipples as the o.r.g.a.s.m ripped through me.

"Finger your c.l.i.t. Right now, while you're coming."

I kept one hand at my breast, twisting and pinching, and my right hand delved down in obedience to Harris's quiet order. I put my middle and ring fingers to my hardened c.l.i.t and rubbed myself in circles, so aroused I needed no buildup, already coming so all I had to do was swipe at my hypersensitive c.l.i.t hard and fast.

"f.u.c.k!" The word was a plea, yanked out of me as the o.r.g.a.s.m spiraled through me and out of control, making my entire body gyrate. "Oh G.o.d, Nick, Nick, NICK!"

I glanced at him through slitted eyelids, and saw a small, pleased smile on his lips as he drove into me over and over. And I realized he still hadn't come.

"Your turn, Nick," I said.

The smile spread, turned feral. "My turn, is it?"

"I need to feel you come, too."

He set me down, unwrapped my legs from around his waist. Made sure I had my balance, and then climbed onto the bed. Rested his head on the pillow, and just stared at me. Waiting.

"Ride me," he ordered.

I took a moment to just drink in his body. So f.u.c.king s.e.xy. Lean, corded with iron-hard muscle. Lupine, primal. Dark, curly, masculine hair dusting his chest and stomach, trimmed close around his junk. G.o.d, his c.o.c.k. Glistening wet with my essence, hard and thick, the very slight curve that felt so perfect inside me, hitting me right where it felt the best.

His eyes followed my movements as I twisted in place and climbed on the bed. My heavy b.r.e.a.s.t.s swayed as I crawled over him, and I f.u.c.king loved the way his eyes just devoured my body, the way his gaze seemed to speak a thousand, million words decrying my beauty, all in silence, a poem in glances, a song in gaze. He didn't need to say a single word, and I knew I was gorgeous, to him.

But then he did speak, as I straddled his hips with my thighs. "Layla, you are...so f.u.c.king beautiful."

"Thanks, Nick."

He reached up, his knuckles brushing my cheek. And then he gathered a handful of my curly, tightly-kinked, ink-black hair, and pulled my face down. It was a rough jerk, tugging my face down to his, but the expression on his face somehow made the gesture seem...tender. I wasn't sure how he managed that but it was effective. My heart was leaping in my chest, thumping painfully hard. Trying to escape, trying to get away from what I perceived in him.

"No, Layla," he said, and nipped my lip with his teeth. "I don't think you get it. You are absolutely perfect."

I had nothing to say to that. I couldn't speak, even if I had possessed the words. I was choked up, throat tight. This was raw terror pounding through me.

Perfect?

G.o.d no.

I knew I was good looking, but more because of my body than because of my face. When you've got dimensions like mine, you don't need to have a beautiful face. Most guys told me I was hot. s.e.xy. That I had a bangin' body. That my t.i.ts were the best thing they'd ever seen. That I had a ghetto booty so fine they could f.u.c.k it for hours. More cushion for the pushin'; legs for days. I'd taken those compliments to heart, and I stayed in shape to keep it that way.

But no guy had ever told me how beautiful I was, not without qualifying it in relation to my body in some way.

And you know what? That kind of hurt, down deep. Knowing my beauty was only because of my body? It was the kind of hurt you don't know how to express, even to yourself.

But in that moment, when Nick told me I was beautiful, that I was "absolutely perfect"? That framed it for me in a way I could finally understand.

I waited for the qualification.

It never came.

And my defenses were on high alert.

Danger, Will Robinson.

I slid up his body, dragging the tips of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s across his chest, brushing his face with them, swaying them over his lips, across his eyes. "Yeah? You like these, don't you?"

He lifted up and captured a nipple in his mouth. "Yes, I do."

I ground my a.s.s on his stomach. "This feels good on you, doesn't it?"

He cupped my a.s.s in his hand, kneading the muscle. "So good." But then, my hair still gripped in his fist, he tightened his hold so he had my hair by the roots, and firmly but carefully brought my face to his. "You have the s.e.xiest body I've ever seen, Layla."

"Thanks-" I started, but he didn't let me finish.

He cut me off with a kiss. "I wasn't done. Don't interrupt me." I frowned at the command, but waited for him to continue. He gave my a.s.s a gentle spank-well, it wasn't really gentle, it was still a loud smack, but in comparison to how hard he had spanked me earlier, it was relatively gentle-sending the round globes to quivering, and then smoothed his palm up my back, brushed my jaw with his thumb. "But that wasn't what I was talking about."

"No?" I was trying for casual.

"No. I said you were absolutely perfect." He bit my lower lip again, his palm splayed against my face. "And I meant it. All of you."

It was either cry or avoid the subject, so which do you think I chose?

I reached down between our bodies and wrapped my fingers around his c.o.c.k, fitted him to my entrance, propping my body up with one hand on the mattress beside his face, hovering over him, t.i.ts swaying over his chest. A momentary pause, our eyes connecting, heat and intensity crackling and sparking between us. And then I sat down on him, hard, impaling myself on him.

"f.u.c.k, Layla," he ground out, "that feels-you feel incredible."

I squeezed his c.o.c.k as hard as I could. "You like that?"

He thrust up into me, our hips grinding together. "f.u.c.k yes. Do it again."

I lifted up, swirled my hips so the broad head of his d.i.c.k smeared in circles between my damp l.a.b.i.a, and then plunged down on him, squeezing at tight as I could. "Like that?"

His hands coasted up my ribs to knead my b.o.o.bs, cupping and stroking. "Just like that. Keep doing that. Ride me until we both come."

So I did.

I clamped down as I lifted up once more, relaxing at the apex, circling my hips again to move his shaft around and around, keeping him guessing as to when I would...slam down hard, our bodies meeting with a loud slap of my a.s.s onto his thighs, squeezing with my p.u.s.s.y muscles on the down-thrust.

Seated on him, panting, everything inside me pulsing madly, I knew I had to draw it out. When I came again, it would be hard, and it would break something in me. I was scared of it. It was inevitable, but I still tried to push it away. I had to.

Self-preservation.

There was something real between Harris and me, and it scared the living s.h.i.t out of me.

So I played with him. Drew it out. Used every trick I knew to string him along.

With his c.o.c.k impaled inside me, I rolled my hips in broad circles, grinding down on him. And then I lifted up, paused, and sank down, and then ground hard on him again. Repeated this until I was shuddering and on the edge myself.

Harris was sweating, breathing hard, and clearly feeling what I was doing, but he hadn't said a word, hadn't made a sound. He'd kept his grip on my hair, and his other hand was resting on the bend of my hip where it became thigh, cupping, holding. Letting me do what I wanted.

I lifted up, planted my palms on his chest, and feathered slow, shallow thrusts around him, sliding just the top couple of inches in and out of me. Over and over and over, I teased us both with shallow movements, never letting more than half of his c.o.c.k in me at any one point, sliding up, circling, sliding down his shaft again, pulling back to stretch his d.i.c.k away from his body and moving in circles again.

And all the while, Harris let me.

Jaw clenched, panting, sweat gleaming on his face and body.

Finally, he growled. "Enough, Layla."

He thrust up, jerked my head down, and captured my mouth with his. I was on top, but he was in control. He kissed me. Ho-ly f.u.c.k, did he kiss me. All tongue, lips crushed to lips, demanding that I kiss him back, commanding my mouth. His body moved, his palm on my a.s.s, pulling at me, his hips thrusting up.

I moaned into the kiss and had to glide on him, had to move. The kiss burned me, stole my breath from my lungs and the will from my soul. It was a kiss that dominated, a kiss that possessed. Took.

He f.u.c.ked.

And I could do nothing but ride him, do nothing but take it. I was helpless on top of him, my face kept crushed against his by the rough and firm grip of his fist in my hair, paralyzed by the kiss.

It wasn't just f.u.c.king, though. The movements of his body, the rough and wild and vigorous thrusting-that was f.u.c.king. It was raw and primal and unrestrained. Everything that had gone before that, the spanking and the thrusts from behind, everything I'd done to him up until that moment, it was all just...a precursor.

Foreplay.

This was...something else. Not f.u.c.king. Nothing so impersonal or casual as that. This was Nick taking possession of my soul. This was Harris taking command of my body. This was...my walls being demolished. My defenses eradicated.

I think I came at some point, but I was so blown apart by the implications of how much I was feeling emotionally that it didn't really register.

I like s.e.x. Duh. I mean, I really like s.e.x. A lot. A whole f.u.c.king lot. It's, like, my favorite thing, along with getting naked-wasted on cheap red wine and bingeing on Netflix.

But I'd never had s.e.x like this. It was...new. Strange. Intense. Emotional. Fraught with meaning. It...meant something.

And I didn't know how to deal.

I couldn't deal.

But Nick wasn't letting go, wasn't letting me off the hook. He gave me enough slack in the grip on my hair that we could pause the kiss to take a breath, but that was almost worse. Without the kiss, I had to meet his gaze. And f.u.c.k, his eyes...the pa.s.sion in them. The need. The way he looked so deeply into my eyes, the way his glance flicked down to where our bodies joined. It was all too much.

I kissed him, this time.

Smashed my mouth to his so hard our teeth clacked and my lip split. Harris pulled back, licked my lip where it throbbed and kissed it. And then, slowly, gently, masterfully, he claimed my mouth. Once again taking the initiative and control away from me.

G.o.d, he f.u.c.king owned me. He knew exactly in each moment and in each situation exactly how to s.n.a.t.c.h control away from me and make me utterly dependent on him.

My choice was to either cede control to him entirely, or get off and walk away.

I thought about it, I really did.

If we came together-and we would, I was positive-something was going to change.

But I couldn't walk way. Couldn't. I tried. Jesus, did I try. But I couldn't make myself do it.

I was too ensnared by the mastery of his kiss, too paralyzed by the throb of upwelling ecstasy, too pierced by the intensity in his eyes and the rising urgency in his thrusts.

And can I just say, holy h.e.l.l, the man had extreme stamina.

He let me pull my head back, but didn't let go of my hair. His fingers were fisted in my curls at the nape of my neck, and he let me rise up enough to plant my fists in the pillow by his face. Our faces were inches apart, but we weren't kissing, now. He was thrusting slowly, long, deep glides in and out with smooth, perfect strokes. I drew my knees up under me and started pushing back into his thrusts, our eyes fixed on each other and unwavering. Not looking away.

I wanted to.

I hated the intensity, hated the vulnerability I felt in myself. He saw me.

I couldn't look away.

I knew the exact moment he lost the battle for control over his own body; he snarled like a wolf and began f.u.c.king in earnest, wild manic upward plunges, and his grip on my hair tightened to the point of pain, but I liked that, because it grounded me. Distracted me a little from the open pa.s.sion in his eyes, from the raw furious frantic need in his gaze. From the blazing connection streaming between us. I could only push down onto him, could only ride him and take his f.u.c.king.

G.o.d, it felt perfect.

The most heavenly ecstasy ever, Harris f.u.c.king me while his eyes promised so many, many things. Tender things.

"Layla," he murmured.

I couldn't speak. Could only whimper breathlessly.

"Squeeze. Hard."

So I squeezed as hard as I could, went still and focused on squeezing.

"Oh...f.u.c.k. Layla. I'm coming." He jerked me down so our mouths touched, but didn't kiss me, his eyes on mine. "Look at me. Don't you dare look away."

"I won't...I'm looking at you," I gasped.

I felt him start to come, and my eyes watered.

He cupped my face, thumb brushing over my lips. "Come now, Layla."

I came. Holy f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, I came. So hard.

"Say my name, Layla. Say my f.u.c.king name while you come apart on top of me."

"Nick," I breathed. "Nicholas. I'm coming, Nick."

I felt him unleash. He bit my lip, kept my face pressed to his and kissed me dizzy, and his hand slid down my body and spanked my a.s.s once, hard, and then, finally, he came. Jet after jet of hot seed poured out of him and into me, and I couldn't do anything but feel it and squeeze him and marvel at what I'd never felt in my life before, the hot wet gush of a man coming bare inside me, filling me, surging up into me and stuttering in his thrusts as he came, came, came, his kiss fumbling as he lost all control, his hand on my a.s.s, gripping, kneading, pulling me harder against him.

I ground onto him, clenched him with my inner muscles, and whimpered as I came with him, not coming again, but coming still, a continuation of a long shattering climax.

"f.u.c.k," he breathed, settling back.

"Holy s.h.i.t." I collapsed onto him.