Page 53 of Fallen Omega

“I’m not a drunk. I’m in heat and I don’t…I don’t know why you hate me. Why you’re repulsed by me.”

“Fuck.” He rubs a hand over his eyes. “I think we’re done talking. Darcy will be in with some drugs, something to knock you out until we can get the blockers.”

“I don’t want drugs,” I snarl.

“You drank a shit ton of booze. That’s a drug. So are the O-blockers you went to the Hollows to buy.” The nasty smileappears again, and I want to run my fingers over his shadow of a beard, his lips, dip in.

I want to run my fingers over him, rub my slick over his mouth. I want to grind into him, drown in his heat, his touch, let him do what I know he can: stop the pain and make me feel good.

“If you don’t want me, Knight does.”

I rise.

“Oh, fuck.” He points the hot water bottle at me. “Stay the fuck down on the bed.”

“No.”

I cross to him, and the closer I get, the more that intoxicating scent of secret places, earth, salt, and rain. All of it comes together and whispers sex to me.

The closer I get, the more soothed I am. And, at the same time, inexplicably, more feverish. I stop right in front of him and look up.

Everything spins in me.

Oh, this man is handsome, hard edged, dark souled and I can’t help but want to drop down and offer myself to this god-like creature, have him make me his slave. Do with me what he wants.

“Back the fuck off.”

It’s a warning, a challenge, a taunt, and to my fever and heat fueled brain, a come on.

I put my hand on his chest.

Electricity sparks through me, lighting me up.

He’s hot. Beyond hot. Fire itself. From hell. From the heavens. From all the secret places.

I’m fused to him in a way that doesn’t involve the physical self. And the slight parting of his lips, flare of his nostrils, they tell me he feels it too.

“I just need…I need…” I rise on my bare toes to kiss him, one hand reaching for his cock.

Suddenly, I’m slammed hard against the wall, wrists in a tight grip above my head.

The world spins, and when it stops, when I can breathe, all I can taste and feel and smell is him. I whimper.

“Listen up, little omega, and listen good, because I’m only fucking saying this once.” His gaze drops to my mouth and the hunger in it makes a liar of the harshness in his tone. The rejection.

“You want me,” I whisper.

“No. This is heat. Omega. Alpha. Fucking nature and base animalistic needs we feed into because that’s all society can be bothered to cling to. Because it’s easy to control people when you set up rigid rules and ways. I don’t want you. My body might, but fuck that.”

“Fuckme.”

“We don’t need groupies like you hanging around, squeezing out our kids, tying us to a life we don’t want,” he murmurs. “The norms and restrictions and all that fucking bullshit the Council pushes on people.”

“I’m not a groupie,” I say.

“Then don’t fucking act like one.”

He comes in close, his mouth a whisper from mine.

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