Page 52 of Hell's Secret Omega

“Mine,” Cyrus whispers again.

An intense shudder runs through the powerful body on top of him. The bond pulses with Mezor’s heartbeat. A strange pressure builds inside him where Mezor’s cock fills his passage, and he has the sudden urge to bare his neck.

Abruptly Mezor shoves a hand between them and grabs Cyrus’s ass, holding him open as he eases out.

“Cyrus,” he groans.

Cyrus stares at the sky as unimaginable smugness washes over him.Oh. He liked that.

“My knot,” Mezor murmurs. “Ah, fuck.”

His brow furrows and his arm begins to work quickly. Cyrus pushes himself up on weak arms. “What is it?”

“Hurts,” Mezor hisses.

Cyrus looks down.

His cock is dark and pulsing, come still streaming from the tip to pool in the grass. At the base, where before there was only a faint bulge, now a thick, rigid knot protrudes.

His pulse kicks. “Can I…?”

He reaches for it. Mezor lets go, bracing both hands above Cyrus’s shoulders. His expression is pained and need floods the bond. When Cyrus’s hand closes around the knot Mezor rumbles deeply, his brow tightening.

“It needs to be milked.”

Cyrus squeezes and pulls the knot, watching in hungry fascination as more seed spurts from Mezor’s tip. There’s more than usual, spilling in thick bursts onto the ground.

“My cock would reach deep into your womb and plant all this seed while the knot held you in place.” Mezor lifts his head, pinning Cyrus with his gaze. “I would fill you to the brim.”

Cyrus can’t hold back a whimper. He should be horrified. Instead he craves it.

He uses both hands to satiate Mezor’s knot, until at last Mezor shudders and sighs and his cock begins to soften.

“Goodvergis.” He slumps to the grass. “Come here, bright flame.”

Cyrus crawls into the crook of his arm. He licks his hand clean of seed, the musky, heady flavor utterly satisfying. “I didn’t mean to make that happen.”

“We got carried away.” Mezor’s arm comes around him comfortingly.

He rests his horns on Mezor’s shoulder. Why can’t I have this forever?

Mezor believes in him when Cyrus hardly believes in himself. If only he had more to give in return. But the bond offers comfort, whispering that he’s satiated his primus. A deep, unidentifiable emotion lurks below the surface—something Cyrus can sense, that makes the hair on his arms lift, but he doesn’t yet have the courage to name.

The glow of the clearing lulls him to sleep in Mezor’s arms for a while, but his mind churns even in sleep, and he wakes not feeling rested.

Mezor stirs when he sits up. He props himself up on his elbows, his red eyes blazing with emotion.

“Let me take you to the King. If I demand it, he’ll grant you access to the Hellspring.”

Cyrus balks. “Now?”

“It would keep you safe in the Court.”

“What about the bond?”

“It may be stable enough that it’ll break cleanly. You would survive,” Mezor says.

Cyrus searches for Mezor’s shirt to shield himself against the cool air, avoiding his gaze. “There must be another way.”

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