Page 55 of The Omega Trials: Part Two

What Did You Do?

Sinclair

“What did you do?”1 The question slips out and instantly my cheeks warm even more.

He leans back and leisurely stretches his arms over the back of the U-shaped chair, a devious glint in his eyes. “You’re blushing, Omega. What do you think I did?”

“I don’t know.” I hate how faint my voice is, how unsure I sound.

It only makes him more arrogant. “Well, you must have had some idea what I’d do when you called me. So, tell me . . .” His tongue dusts across his bottom lip. “What do you think I didwhile I watched your tight little ass get stretched and that smart mouth take a rough fucking?”

I swallow at his crude but accurate description. “Took a cold shower?”

He scoffs a dry laugh. “That would have been the smart thing to do.”

I bite my cheek. “Hung up?”

“Another thing I should have done.” He tongues his molars and drums on the armrest like he’s having fun with this little guessing game. “But no.”

My lips quirk. “Threw your phone across the room?”

He looks down and shakes his head with another scoff. “That came later.”

“Later?” My throat goes dry.

With his chin still dipped, his gaze jumps up to mine like pools of dark ink with an emotion as intangible as smoke. “Yeah, later.” He slowly lifts his chin as he speaks. “After I fucked my fist cursing your name.”

My mouth falls open with a sudden strike of hunger. It’s all I can do to get out a one-word question. “How?”

His brows knit together, head canting to the side. “How what?” I know he’s feigning ignorance just to get me to say the words.

“How did you fuck your fist?” For some reason, saying those brutish words out loud was easier than my slow and tedious questioning. Feeling a rush of confidence, I push a little harder. “Will you show me?”

He turns his head to the side and drags his thumb across his lips with a deep breath as if in consideration. When he turns back to me, there’s a ring of gold around his smokey irises.

“A trade for a trade,” he offers.

My heart thumps against my chest. I know I’m playing with fire. I reach behind my neck and pull on the strings of my bikini top . . . . I just can’t bring myself to care if I get burned.

I unclasp the back next, then slip the entire thing out from under my loose tank. Titus’s eyes sink to a new level of darkness as he tracks the stringy top. I hold it out in my hand and then release it, letting it drop to the floor.

I lift my brow with a small flick of my chin, silently telling himyour turn.

“I tried to fight it at first,” he starts, reaching for the hem of his tee shirt. “I was burning up.Hurting.” He emphasizes the word with a pointed look to make sure I know it had nothing to do with physical pain, but the ache that can only come from wanting something you can’t have so bad it tears at the fibers of your being.

He strips his shirt over his head, then gives me a nod.My turn.

I stand up and unbutton my denim shorts, careful when I peel them off not to take my bikini bottom with them. Once I kick them off, I sit back on the bed and cross my legs, the subtle pressure making pleasure zip through me.

Titus’s hands are already on his jeans, and they ball into fists around the waistband when he scents the resulting spike in my perfume.

“Uncross your legs,” he says hoarsely.

I immediately do it, not even questioning him a little, my omega nature taking over.

He doesn’t stand up to take off his pants, just lifts up his hips and slides them down his legs. My pussy feels hot and slick as I take in the hard cock tenting his briefs, desire sinking low in my belly.

He rubs over the bulge with unhurried, shameless strokes. “I wasthisclose to hanging up, but then you looked right into the camera while taking both their cocks, and I fucking snapped.”

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