Page 126 of Fallen Omega

She looks at me, and I almost come, my cock jerking in my trousers.

I groan. “Now, casually come toward me, but don’t touch me. Touch the chair, move by, then stop. Look at me once more.”

Shit, she does and the need claws at me. I need to touch her. Taste her again. I need to fuck her, rut her.

She’s not degraded. She fucking likes it.

“Come to me and move your ass against me,” I say. “Then your tits, come in close, breathe my skin, rub that fucking pussy against me.”

I shut the fuck up because she slowly comes back like sheforgot something, and she trails her fingers over my shoulder, up my throat, through my short beard.

And that touch is liquid electricity, lighting me up and pushing me higher. She rubs her tits down my arm as she bends, turning her ass in my fucking face, and I’m hit by the heady aroma of her. Gardenias and spice and something I’m labelling asplease fuck me now.

She’s way too close for a fucking lap dance, yet she doesn’t feel close enough.

She rises and arches and then begins a slow dance, her body moving around me, over me, and we stare at each other. No words are spoken. This is a battle and conversation on a different level.

She makes fucking hot and dirty sex in the air with the music. It’s almost a filthy version of making love. Making lust.

She exudes it everywhere, and I’m having a real hard time not taking her in all the ways.

I can feel the thrum of her heart, the heat of her sex, the slick of her desire, and she isn’t even touching me.

Until she does.

Lizette straddles me and starts to rock that cunt against me, up and down my aching cock. Her wetness slows her down, gives her shorts a drag that feels both like hell and divine. Her hands come up, and she lowers her top, giving me a front seat view to the most gorgeous tits I’ve ever seen.

Her nipples are dark red, with a wide areola. And the fucking minx plucks at them and slides a finger in my mouth. I suck it and then she pulls it free to swirl over one nipple and then the other.

Never in my life has my control been so tested. I want her to fuck me. I admit that. And she wants me to take hold of her and have my way with her.

It’s a fucked up battle of wills that’s soaked in erotic intent.

My Angel is a dark pony. She rubs her bare tits against meand then she puts her hands either side of my face and kisses me.

I explode inside, my control in tatters. I hook a hand in her hair and rock up against her while dragging her over me, and I plunder her mouth hard.

She tastes of whiskey, sex, and need. She’s dark and light, innocent and the fallen. She’s perfection and addiction, and—Fuck. I. Need. Control.

Breaking the kiss, I pull her head back by her hair as she rocks harder into me, little mewling sounds spilling from her.

I want to bite her throat, but instead I lock on to her nipple, my other hand pushing down into the shorts as I shove three fingers into her. I bite hard on her nipple.

Reward or punishment, I don’t know, but she cries out, her cunt spasming on my fingers as I suck on that nipple. I switch to the other tit as I start thrusting roughly into her sweet, hot, tight pussy. She’s wet, slick. She’s willing, and I rub her clit.

Oh, fuck. Control’s out of reach. I’m ready to throw her down on the ground and have my way.

What the living fuck am I doing?

Before I completely lose it, I shove her from me. She falls onto the ground by my feet with a humph, her eyes wide with shock while I’m fighting the urge to suck my fingers.

“You’re not giving lap dances.” I look down at her, tits out, shorts pulled low on her hips. She looks like she just had sex. And it's an image now burned into my memory. I know I’ll be jerking off to this moment in time, this picture of her.

Or—No.

She needs to be punished.

I crave it.

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