Page 233 of Unhinged Omega

I'm close—too close—but I refuse to finish before he comes again. I bend forward again, one arm braced beside his head, the other reaching around to grasp his cock. It pulses in mypalm, hot and slick, and I match the rhythm of my hand to the increasingly erratic snap of my hips.

When he comes a second time with a hoarse cry of my name, his body clenching around me, I follow him over the edge. My release hits like a freight train, white-hot energy searing through every nerve ending. I feel the base of my cock swelling, the beginning of a knot that has nowhere to go, but I push anyway, instinct overriding reason.

Raven yelps, his body clenching around the intrusion, and for a moment I think it might work, might actually lock us together.

But he's not built for it, no matter what that brothel tried to make him into. The angle's wrong, the physiology all wrong, and after a moment of resistance, the swelling recedes, leaving us both panting.

I pull out carefully, disposing of the condom before collapsing beside him on the sweat-soaked sheets. Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the only sound our ragged breathing gradually returning to normal.

Finally, Raven shifts, turning to face me. His eyes are clear, the fever that had gripped him finally broken. "You know what's fucked up?" he asks quietly. "I think this actually worked."

I grunt in response, not trusting my voice just yet. My mind is already racing, cataloging all the ways I've just irrevocably fucked up everything. All the lines we can never uncross.

Because despite what he thinks, he isn't just a sliver of my world. He's more of it than I ever realized until this moment. Until I feel it all starting to crumble around me.

"Hey." His hand on my cheek startles me. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"The self-flagellation. I can see it in your eyes." His thumb traces my cheekbone, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. "This wasn't your fault. I wanted it. I'vealwayswanted it."

I grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from my face. Can't handle that tenderness. Not now. "It's not that simple."

"It could be," he insists, those blue eyes searching mine. "If you'd just?—"

"No," I cut him off, my voice harder than I intended. "Go to sleep, Raven. Just… go to sleep."

I can see the argument brewing in those stormy blue eyes, but whether it's exhaustion from the fever finally receding or the hazy satisfaction of what we just did, he doesn't fight me on it. For once.

It doesn't take long for his breathing to fall into the measured rhythm of sleep. He moves closer, burrowing against my chest, and I don't have the heart to push him away. Not until I'm sure he's out.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair. The reality of what we've just done is setting in already, heavy and inescapable. I've done a lot of terrible shit in my life. Killed more men than I can count. Betrayed, stolen, destroyed.

Hell, I walked away from my own blood. Walked away from my father's empire, determined to build my own even if it cost me my damn life.

But this…

This is the only thing I know I'll never be able to forgive myself for.

Chapter

Fifty

RAVEN

I've read the same paragraph at least twenty times now. The words blur together, my mind refusing to focus on the weathered pages of the pre-war novel I borrowed from Geo's extensive collection. Something about star-crossed lovers and forbidden romance.

The irony isn't lost on me.

Geo doesn't have a romantic bone in his body, so I'm sure he only has this in his collection because of the time it was written. It's as if he thinks if he cobbles together enough of the old world, he'll be able to open up a portal and escape the clusterfuck we were all born into.

Not a half bad idea, all things considered. And if this shithole didn't happen to possess one moonlight-scented saving grace that makes up for everything else, I might be tempted to join him.

My eyes drift to Nikolai again. He's finally stopped thrashing, at least. That's something. His white hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his sharp features softened by the fever that's been ravaging him for the past day and a half. The steadyrise and fall of his chest is the only thing keeping me anchored to this chair.

Not that I care if he lives or dies. Not anymore.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

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