Page 23 of Hell's Secret Omega

“Ravenous little beast,” he rumbles, sliding his fingers between Cyrus’s cheeks to feel his hole. It’s soft and tender. Cyrus wriggles as Mezor’s claw brushes his soft balls. “Am I not feeding you enough seed down here?”

“S good.” Cyrus’s voice is little more than a rasp, buried in his collar.

Sparks tingle in Mezor’s mind, evidence of Cyrus’s smugness. Heat has left them connected in a way that should alarm him, but instead pleases his greedy primus.

“Have you come back, now?” He nuzzles Cyrus’s hair, carding it gently with his claws. It’s soft as water over his fingertips, short enough that he keeps going back for more.

“Don’t want to,” Cyrus mutters, digging his claws in.

“Not yet, then. Your heat will last a little longer.”

He lifts Cyrus by the hips and proceeds to show him the delights of a dexterous tongue applied to his hole, and Cyrus holds onto his horns and rides his face with a yowl.

It doesn’t last much longer, though.

It can’t.

Cyrus’s vergis hormones burn themselves out. New emotions flicker to life every time he comes down from a peak. Worry. Fear. Uncertainty. Never, to Mezor’s relief, shame.

The next steps are simple.

They part.

The connection fades.

The memory slides into the cradle of other memories, warm and glowing and perfect.

But he has a strange feeling it may not go to plan.

Chapter 15

CYRUS

Cyrus’s heat fades,and it leaves him hollow in a strange way. As if in compensation, more and more of Mezor’s emotions become clear to him. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible, but he can tell they’re Mezor’s, not his. Satisfaction is primary—the pleasure of servicing a vergis. Every time he notices it, his insides quiver and he gets the urge to fall on Mezor’s cock again. Even though his hole is rapidly verging on too sore.

Next is pride, which Cyrus experiences as a muddle ofproud to make him so tender and fucked-outandproud that he took my cock so well, both of which make him want to crawl away and hide and demand praise at the same time. Neither are desires he’s comfortable with.

It’s just instinct,he assures himself.

He wonders if Mezor is telling himself the same thing.

“Have you been with other vergis through their heats?” he asks, propping himself up on Mezor’s chest.

Mezor wraps his hands under his head. “I haven’t. I’ve known a few vergis—angels used to visit this realm, long before the cataclysm, and among them were a handful of vergis. But my desire for them was little, even when they were unmated.”

“Why?”

“Well, we were worlds apart. Of course I was curious, but I was never…interested.”

Cyrus hums. “So there haven’t been any vergis among your people?”

“My people are sexless. I’m the only one with a designation.” Mezor shrugs, his muscles rippling.

“You’re like me, then.” He sits up.

“Hmm,” Mezor rumbles. “In that, you’re right. We are alike. But why the curiosity?”

Cyrus shifts, suddenly worried he’s overstepped. “I don’t understand why I’m the only vergis demon in the Court.”

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