Page 34 of Hell's Secret Omega

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He warms Mezor’s thumb with his mouth, relishing how the claw pricks his tongue. Need slithers down his spine to coil in a hot ball. The digit between his lips twitches, stroking his tongue gently back and forth. Cyrus can’t stop the noise that escapes him. The fear and pain seep out of him, replaced by warmth. Mezor’s cock pushes insistently at the crook of his ass, and the broad chest pressed into his back expands rapidly.

Mezor withdraws his thumb, stroking his cheek with the damp tip. “That’s not what I brought you here for.”

Rejection stings.But why wouldn’t we?He shuts his eyes. He wants to see Mezor, wants to show him how his touch makes Cyrus long for more. Maybe Mezor doesn’t want that. Or maybeCyrus just needs to be clearer. He parts his thighs and lets that heavy primus cock slide between them.

“Want,” he croaks, hardly able to get the word out. It’s hard to express what exactly he wants. Everything is a fog ofcloser, tighter, more.

Mezor’s fingers trail across his chest, his ribs, his hip, and then behind him to his ass. One pad rubs gently against his hole, but Cyrus reaches back and pushes his hand away dazedly. Hot embarrassment crawls up his throat. He’s practically dripping for it, and it’s not even his heat.

“Very well.” Mezor murmurs in his ear. “No touching there. It’s alright. I know what you need.”

Cyrus bites back a whimper. His whole body tingles with energy. Then Mezor’s knuckles brush his leg and the thick length of him twitches, and he’s pulling back, thrusting forward, his cock gliding between Cyrus’s thighs gently. His breath puffs in Cyrus’s ear.

“You need my seed. You’ll feel better once you’re covered in it.”

Cyrus squeezes his thighs in thoughtless anticipation and Mezor grunts. Hedoeswant it. He wants to be smothered in Mezor’s scent. He rocks back and forth, meeting Mezor’s powerful hips. His hand slides down and he strokes himself with sloppy movements, letting his fingers drift down to the tip emerging from between his legs, careful not to graze it with his claws. It bumps his palm, hot and damp. Mezor’s breathing becomes unfocused. He tenses, his cock jerking against Cyrus’s fingertips, and hot spurts hit Cyrus’s palm. The heavy scent makes him lightheaded.

“Good vergis,” Mezor huffs into his neck. “So good. Rub it on yourself.”

A deep sense of pleasure spills over him, as if he’s reached his own peak. He does as Mezor tells him, letting the seed sink into his skin.

The dark starts to feel floaty. Cyrus’s muscles melt. He curls closer into Mezor’s arms, satisfied somehow. A tiny voice in the back of his head is outraged—What’s happening? Why do I feel this way?But the rest of him is too hazy to care.

Light meets his eyes,a faint, warm glow. Cyrus feels somehow more rested than he’s ever felt. He’s so warm. Maybe he’s at the forge again and someone will come to oust him rudely. But there’s no clamor of industry nearby. Nor is he laying on hard stone. In fact, it’s so very soft.

His eyes drift open. He jolts upright.

He’s in a room. Alone.

It’s a smallish room, faintly lit. The light doesn’t come from torches—instead, the floor itself is a thick, glowing carpet of vine and leaves, the likes of which Cyrus has never seen. There are shades of pale green, splotches of purple, veins of rich burgundy. Leaves as big as his head and as tiny as a button. Vines that snake along the floor and criss-cross the wall. He gapes.

“What…?”

“You’re in my cottage.” Mezor’s deep rumble startles him. His shadow fills the doorway, eyes unfathomable as he watches Cyrus. He’s fully naked, the markings on his skin on display. They make him look wild in the midst of the glowing garden. Lush dark hair springs from his armpits and groin. Cyrus’s heart kicks. Memory comes back of being lifted out of his nest. Did Mezor carry him here?

“You didn’t come when I summoned you.” He tries to sound angry, but it comes out plaintive. He winces. To his embarrassment, pity crosses Mezor’s face.

“I was away.” Then he shakes his head. “No. The truth is, I chose not to come. I thought it best.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” Cyrus clenches his fists in the impossibly soft furs that surround him, his mind spinning in a hundred different directions. “Does this mean I’ve lost the challenge?”

“The challenge is over,” Mezor says roughly.

His heart sinks. “You don’t want me to win.”

“It’s not that.” Mezor comes to the bedside and crouches, and Cyrus finds his hands engulfed. “There are more important things at stake. During your heat we formed a bond, and you’ve been apart from me for too long. You’re bond-sick.”

Cyrus yanks his hands out of Mezor’s grip. “Wewhat?”

“I should have known it would happen. My mind was occupied—but it’s not an excuse.”

Panic balloons in his chest. A bond? What did his book say about bonding? The words swim before his eyes. Words likeForever. Mate. Pups.

“What does that mean?” he demands, throat tight.

“It means it’s dangerous for us to be apart until the bond stabilizes,” Mezor says gently.

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