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Her fingers twist in my hair, holding me tightly against her as her moans and cries for more get loud and louder.
The table rocks beneath us as she writhes, one of the mugs that was sitting on top of it smashing to the floor. But if she hears it, she doesn’t react. She’s too lost to the race to the end to be aware of anything else happening around her.
“Come for me, Angel,” I demand, my deep voice vibrating through her.
“Yes, yes,” she cries, her grip on my hair tightening until I’m sure she’s about to pull some out, but I don’t stop her. I can’t. I fucking need this just as much as she does.
In only two seconds, her body finally quakes as she screams my name.
My chest swells hearing it, reminding me that she’s still here. That watching him walk out might have wrecked her, but she didn’t chase him. She fell into me. She sought support and comfort in me.
She wants me.
“Fuck,” she pants, finally releasing her hold on me and pushing up on her elbows.
Lifting her foot, she presses it to my chest and gives me little choice but to back up.
The second I’ve released her, she slides off the end of the table and stands, staring down at me on my knees before her.
“It’s going to take more than a mind-blowing orgasm or two. Thanks though,” she says coldly before turning her back on me, grabbing an apple from the side and disappearing down the hallway.
The slamming of her bedroom door rattles through me as my entire body slumps in defeat.
