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Angel pounces before the man can even finish his sentence. His quickness seems to catch the stranger by surprise, and a loud crack explodes through the otherwise silent night as Angel’s fist catches the redhead’s jaw.
The man collapses into the mud below, knocked out cold. Angel looms over him, but doesn’t linger on the small victory, instead he looks towards the loser’s friends. “Who’s next!?” he roars, rage rolling off of him like steam.
The remaining Irishmen aren’t as talkative as their downed acquaintance; they just lunge at Angel, all at the same time like a pack of swarming hyenas.
“Angel!” I shout, as if my warning will do him any good. He knows what he’s doing, and it quickly becomes apparent that I should be more worried for his attackers.
Angel moves like a tiger through the jungle, ducking and swerving through the fists and aggressive bodies without a single wasted movement. Ribs cracks and noses shatter as my man gets his hits in. I can practically see the pent-up frustration of all we’ve been through exploding out from his fists.
Still, he’s outnumbered, and though he quickly knocks out two more of the men, the three remaining fighters are just quick enough to jump on him and drag him down into the mud.
“No!” There’s no sense in my mind as I rush forward to try and help. I don’t get far before my arm catches on something and I’m tugged backwards.
“He’ll be fine,” a voice comes from behind me. I turn to see the old bartender who was serving us the whole night. He has a concerned look on his face and a cellphone up to his ear. I can hear someone pick up on the other end. “Mr. Kane? It’s Robert Doherty, I’m out front of my bar and you may want to come back. Looks like your foreign friend has gotten into a bit of trouble. He might need your help.”
“Angel doesn’t need anyone’s help,” I hear myself stubbornly say as I tug away from the well-meaning barkeep’s grip. As if on cue, the three men on top of my fighting Angel go flying off of him.
Angel stands up, his face stained with mud and his shirt torn and tattered, steaming like the devil himself. Soft rain taps over his shoulders as he marches for his nearest foe. The man scrambles to get up, but he’s not quick enough. Angel bends down and plants a furious fist right between the stranger’s eyes. The crack is as loud as thunder. Angel doesn’t linger. He rises from the corpse and turns to the last two fools. They’re back on their feet... and it appears some sense has finally been knocked into them.
They share concerned looks before turning on their heels and making a run for it. Angel seems to consider going after them, before something else catches his attention.
Me.
And then the man standing behind me.
Angel marches towards us like a man on a mission. I can see the fury in his eyes and the blind anger in his heart. He’s let himself completely loose, and he’s not done unwinding yet. The barkeep’s in trouble.
I step forward and raise my palm to my approaching bull. “No, Angel! He’s helping! He called Cyrus.”
My voice seems to knock Angel back down to earth. The anger unglazes from his eyes and a new heat takes them over.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice as deep and rumbling.
I can only nod. A heavy gulp works its way down my throat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be intimidated by the steaming beast staring me down...
Instead, I’m incredibly turned on.
Angel seems to notice, because a split second later, his hand is around mine and I’m being pulled back inside the bar. “Angel, what are you doing...?”
The door slams shut behind us and my heaving beast grabs the nearest table, dragging it in front of the door. The barkeep tries to get back in, but the barricade locks him out.
“Angel!” I squeal, filled with a new sense of thrill.
Without a wasted movement, I’m in Angel’s arms, then I’m splayed out against the nearest pool table. I’m wearing a long Aran sweater and warm leggings, but the leggings are immediately around down my ankles. Angel’s rough stubble and cool cheeks come as a shock against the insides of my thighs, bu
t the warm thickness of his tongue quickly has me melting.
“Oh, Angel,” It’s all I can say as my fingers run through his dark hair. The sound of the rain disappears, as does the noise of the barkeep trying to get back into his pub. All that exists is Angel’s tongue, and the waterfall that it’s licking up from between my legs.
27
Angel
Adrenaline pumps through my veins like fire as I lap up the last bits of Catalina’s wetness. There’s more to drink, of course, but I’ve had my fill of her dewy petals for now. It’s time to take her mouth.
“Up,” I tell her, grabbing my wild little jungle bird around the wrist. I tug her up onto her ass. She’s still trembling from the work I did on her down below, but there’s a hunger in her eyes that won’t let her sit still.
She takes control of unbuckling my pants, and before I know it, mine are right beside hers on the pub floor.
