Page 184 of Fallen Omega

And as he slowly begins to tease by pushing his finger in and out, deeper and deeper each time, and he looks past me, right as Reaper presses against me and his mouth finds mine.

It’s heaven.

Hell.

Wild.

Perfection.

I’m already melting, and I lose form completely under the administrations of Reaper’s magic tongue. I’m falling apart, coming together, falling apart, and each time it’s different, like when I rebuild, another piece of me is exposed for their pleasure.

Reaper thumbs my mouth open and strokes in with his tongue and every part of me wants to stretch in opposite directions all at once. I want to reach up and meld with him, and also sink down on Dante’s hand, rocking until I come.

“Liz,” Reaper says, breaking the kiss, “I have to make some rounds. Stay with Dante.”

And with that, he’s gone and I’m bereft.

Then Dante pulls me down, on his hand and on his lap. He’s thrumming my clit, pounding his fingers into me, and I roll back into him. “Don’t come, Angel. Don’t. Fight it. I’m going to take you to the edge and then I’m stopping. I’ll do it a few times.”

“And then I can come?” I’m panting.

He keeps the rhythm and I’m melting into pools of hot desire, of need, my body aching for the thing he’s telling me to deny myself.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, picking up his drink and feeding some to me. “Can you?”

It’s getting hard to focus. And I’m trying to remember this is for show. But I keep losing track of that, the battle to not come is taking over fast.

Dante puts down his drink and skims a hand down over me, and cool air touches my upper thighs, and around my open pussy.

Oh hell, he’s lifted my skirt and everyone can see what he’s doing and I almost come. His fingers keep up that rhythm in me.

I need to come. It’s not a want anymore, it’s a need. I’m tingling, aching, so hot and liquid that I can feel the fever pitch rise higher, unspooling my thoughts until I’m just sensations.

“Liz? Angel? Focus, look around. Anyone you see?”

I’m breathing fast, heavy. “I…I can’t.”

He stops. I look down; the top of his hand keeps moving, but he’s pulled his fingers out, and I nearly scream in frustration. “Angel, do it.”

I blink, trying to focus and pretend he’s still got me on that brink. I’m there, but it’s the side of horrible frustration, the one that tells me I’m not coming, and I hide that response as I loll my head and see a man, glaring. He’s half focused on my pussy, the rest is on Dante. And it’s hate I see.

I know who it is.

He recognizes me, too.

Somehow, I shimmy down my skirt, pull free of Dante, and turn. I flip the script and kiss him hard. And then hands on his face as his grips my ass, I say, “In the far corner, past the stage with the dancer, the corner near the bathrooms. Jake.”

He goes stiff, and I’m holding him down. Not that I’m that strong, but the pressure I can exude is enough to stop him storming off and spilling blood.

I’m relieved when familiar hands catch my hips.

“That asshole is here.” Reapers fingers bite into me. “We can’t kill him, Dante.”

“Fuck,” Dante says.

The asshole starts our way. He could cause trouble and before anyone can do anything, I whisper, “I can fix this.”

“Nothing to fix. We ignore him,” Dante says in a way that saysignore himwhile he lays bleeding on the ground.

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