Page 148 of Fallen Omega

It makes me come harder.

We both slam into each other a frantic, frenzied coupling, and his knot is so big, it’s pure pleasure and I could live on this. And Knight’s coming again and again. Even when we’re done, the pleasure flows with tremors of orgasm as he kisses me in intense, romantic, sexual kisses. I kiss him back. We can’t get enough.

The room’s filled with noises from us, the intense scent of the two of us. He’s damp and my skin’s slick. I rock on him, on the knot, milking it for all I’m worth and when he deflates, he remains in me, still hard.

Moments, hours, later, he withdraws and tucks himself away, before picking me up and carrying me up the stairs. “We’ll do it again, later, if you’re not too sore.”

“I feel wonderful,” I admit.

“Tell me that when you wake up.” He puts me down, strips off and gets into bed too, pulling me into his arms.

“I think…I think…I might love you, Knight.”

“I’m a man who’s shown you kindness and a fucking great time in bed. Plus, I’m fucking amazing, Of course you do.” He brushes kisses on me. “I might love you, too.”

And it’s not until I’m almost asleep I wonder what the ramifications of the knotting will be.

Shit.

Chapter

Thirty-One

Reaper

Liz is no longer a virgin. Her smell has changed, deepened. It’s still full-on innocent and a light that fills dark places, and dark where it soothes. It’s just richer now.

The change pisses Dante off, even though he didn’t want a virgin. It’s theidea. He’s in this as deep as Knight with his screwed-up emotions for her.

Me? I have emotions. I’ve just learned to shut them down. Keep them in the limbic range. Low level, except with sex. And even then… I haven’t found a woman to call home.

Fuck that. I don’t want one to call home.

Too many strings and traps. Too many things that aren’t me.

Yet Liz…

She is someone who bleeds through. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.

I swallow a sigh. I meant it when I said I’d walk. I don’t need the fucking bullshit of Dante when he gets like this. I’ve seen it once. A long time ago. We were young and he waspuffed up, protecting me, blustering through something I don’t really remember.

We’d had a club of sorts, a precursor that pack kids make, I guess. The other one—someone playing at alpha—didn’t want me in said club. My scars scared him. But Dante knew what would happen if he let me go.

I’d do something.

Or something bad would happen.

Even then, even skinny and weaker, I’d have put money on me. Not because I was good, but because I was smart. A survivor. A quick learner who knew how to fight dirty. Even then, I’d kill.

Maybe Dante knew it, and didn’t want me to lose parts of myself, more than I already had, and so he puffed up and called it his pack, not ours, and got that kid out and appointed me as his equal.

Haven’t thought of that in years, not since it happened.

But we’re no longer kids and while we understand the inner workings of our version of equal footing, it’s Dante’s pack and mine as much as it is Knight’s. I personally don’t care for politics. Even if Dante thinks he’s the king.

A king needs his cohorts who have more powers than him in certain areas.

It’s what makes us powerful.

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