Page 131 of Fallen Omega

Trick is to leave on my own terms and in one piece.

I might need to stay a little longer, so if I can keep working, make myself needed, then they might do that.

Instead of getting rid of me at the first chance.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep and slow breath. “Keep this in your head, Liz. No matter how they make you waver, keep it in your head. Leave when you can. When you have enough. Fuck them, enjoy them, but don’t let them touch you.”

Not the inner most part of me.

If I can keep that separate, I’m golden. Safe.

A lovely thought.

And way easier to say, I suspect from how I react to them all, than to do.

I’m overwrought. I’m upset. Horny. Dante didn’t let me come, didn’t give me that big, beautiful orgasm I could almost touch.

God, I hate Dante.

I drop my hand to the shelf below the rum and grab the nearest bottle of something to forget what happened.

Because inside, the need is throbbing. I’m turned on and more than a little dirty and pathetic inside.

“That’s gross.”

Almost dropping the bottle, I whirl around, eyes burning.

Knight’s there, smiling softly. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed. His fine cashmere sweater in moss green brings out the green in his eyes, the copper and gold in the caramel of his hair.

I wobble.

Thing is, he’s everything I need at this moment. An oasis in the storm. Everything good. He’s so many firsts. And he… Oh, he’s the antithesis of Dante. He’s light to the other man’s dark depravity.

I want to go to him, throw myself in his arms and breathe in that honey and lavender, the leather. I want his big hands to hold me, his lips against my skin, his heart beating with mine.

But I don’t move.

How can I do that when I’m nothing more than a…a…an oversexed girl? One practicing her resolve, one plotting her escape. And one who was just getting finger fucked by the world’s worst man, one who gave that man a blow job, a man who’s my enemy. An enemy I want as much as I want Knight and Reaper.

The gentle humor on Knight’s face is inviting, soft, welcoming and the resolve starts to slip, fast.

Because now, it doesn’t matter what I was thinking, it doesn’t matter that I sucked another man’s cock and he came deep in my throat. What matters is the need and want for him. For Knight.

How can this be normal?

It can’t be.

Because if he asked, I’d go to him, play the sweet submissive girl to his loving and stern Daddy Dom and let him teach me about sex. If he asked, I’d lay down and spread my legs and let him have that stupid virginity.

It’s depraved, wrong. Pathetic.

Another version of pathetic. I’m collecting them all, apparently.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Liz, stop. For one, you look like you’re beating yourself up, and for another, if it’s driving you to drink that shit, you’re in trouble.”

“I don’t care.”

He straightens and crosses to me pulling me into his arms, his lips brushing my forehead. “Oh, Liz, you do.”

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