Page 53 of Feral Omega

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. "It's not. But you're going to come when I say you can, and not a moment before."

A shudder runs through me at the commanding tone, my cock jerking in his grip. I've never been one to take orders well, but there's something about the way Plague says it that has me wanting to obey. To be good for him.

And isn't that a fucked up thought?

Plague picks up the pace, his hand flying over our cocks in a blur of motion. The pleasure is building in the pit of my stomach, coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke. I'm so close, teetering on the edge, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.

"Please," I grind out, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. I can't remember the last time I begged for anything. "Fuck, Plague, I need?—"

"I know what you need," he cuts me off, his voice rough. "And you'll get it when I'm ready to give it to you."

He punctuates his words with a particularly vicious twist of his wrist, and I can't hold back the broken moan that spills from my lips. My whole body is trembling now, my muscles drawn taut as a bowstring.

Plague's breathing is growing harsher, his rhythm faltering. He's close too, I can tell. His cock is throbbing against mine, the heat of it searing my flesh.

"Come for me, Whiskey," he commands, his voice barely more than a growl. "Now."

And just like that, I'm coming, my orgasm slamming into me like a freight train. I cry out and snarl at the same time, my back arching off the table as ecstasy rips through me, white-hot and blinding. My cock pulses in Plague's grip, spilling over his fist and onto my stomach in thick, pearly ropes.

Plague follows me over the edge a moment later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he comes. I can feel the hot splash of his release against my skin, mingling with my own.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing filling the room. Plague's hand is still wrapped around our softening cocks, his grip loose and slick with our combined release.

Slowly, he lets go, stepping back from between my legs. I watch groggily as he reaches for a towel, methodically cleaning himself off before tossing it to me.

I catch it reflexively, my limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated in the aftermath. I wipe myself down, grimacing at the sticky mess on my stomach.

When I'm done, I look up to find Plague watching me, his expression unreadable. He's already tucked himself back into his pants, his belt buckled and his gloves back in place.

Like nothing even happened.

"Feel better?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

I snort, tossing the towel onto the floor. "Like you care."

Plague shrugs, a fluid roll of his shoulders. "You're no use to anyone if you're too wound up to think straight. Consider this a preventative measure."

He picks up the discarded towel by a corner only to drop it pointedly in a biohazard bin with a grimace, as if he had nothing to do with the mess. Back to being a judgmental dick, I see.

I bristle, my hackles rising. "I'm not some fucking animal that needs to be kept in check."

"No," Plague agrees, his eyes glinting with something that might be amusement. "You're worse. At least animals have instincts to guide them. You're just a slave to your own impulses."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand. "Save it, Whiskey. We both know I'm right."

And the worst part is, he is right. As much as I hate to admit it, Plague knows me better than anyone. Knows exactly which buttons to push to get under my skin.

Knows exactly how to take me apart and put me back together again.

I let out a harsh breath through my nose, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with my half-naked state.

"Fuck off," I mutter, zipping back up and refastening my belt. He doesn't offer any help with that. "You're no damn better than me."

There's a beat of silence, then the soft rustle of fabric as Plague moves. For a moment, I think he's going to argue, but then I hear the click of his boots on the tile floor, growing fainter as he walks away.

The door hisses open, then shut, and I'm alone again.

I close my eyes, letting out a shaky breath. My shoulder still throbs with a dull ache, but it's nothing compared to the twisted knot of emotions in my chest.

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