Page 26 of The Angel in Her

He was so close, his hand still around the back of my neck tucked up into my hair. He wasn’t grabbing at me, pulling me toward or away from him, simply holding me, so incredibly gently. What made it even more extraordinary was I knew how strong he was. I knew he could pick me up and throw me around as though I weighed nothing, but he didn’t. He displayed absolute control and restraint, and it made me feel safe in a way I didn’t recall ever feeling before.

He stared at me for a beat, and when I opened my mouth to speak, he kissed me again, harder this time, the desperation thick between us. I didn’t know why he needed me, what it was about me that broke the control he obviously worked so hard to maintain, but I needed him more than I’d ever needed anyone. To me, he represented everything good in this world. The parts of the world I didn’t often get to see—acts of selflessness, caring and compassion, and love without only sex.

Love?

I don’t know where such a thought came from, but I shoved it to the side of my mind as I pushed my tongue into his mouth, tasting him, moaning his name against his lips as I ached to have more of him.All of him.

Scrambling on top of his body, I pressed my chest onto his as he sank back into the old couch, groaning in protest under our combined weight. When there was a crack, and we both dropped six inches, he smirked, and I laughed with my face buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His arms had tightened around me when the couch had broken, and my heart swelled at the knowledge his first instinct was to protect me. The moment of laughter didn’t last long when I became entranced by his scent. How it was possible for a man to smell so heavenly, I didn’t know. It wasn’t any cologne I had ever come across. It was pure him, and hungrily I bit into his shoulder, swirling my tongue across his skin, tasting him. His fingers gripped into my back, flexing and releasing against my skin as I kissed my way around his neck and tasted the sweet salt of his skin against my tongue. He was groaning, low and deep as I tasted his skin. The sounds he was making were intoxicating, and I wanted more. I wanted to make himmoan.

“Zaqiel,” I panted. I was practically rutting against him, grinding my hips against his, desperate for some friction, desperate for him. “Touch me, please.”

His hands clenched against my shoulder blades, almost painfully. I couldn’t keep still, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to touch him until he was right here. Everything I wanted to say, all the hurt I was feeling from the way he ignored me these past few days, all the explanation I felt I owed him for my lifestyle until the day we met was pushed out of my mind by the feel of his hard chest underneath me and arms around my body.

When his hands glided down my back and over my ass, we moaned together as he gripped and pulled me against him. He was hard, and I could feel him through his boxers.

Hard and… I shifted my hips,fuck.

Good for you, Zaqiel.

He would fill me like no other man had before him in more ways than one. Because, possibly for the first time, I cared. When I sat up, still straddling him, his eyes were heavy with lust as I pulled the loose t-shirt over my head and discarded it to the side. His eyes fell to my breasts, and I gave him a moment simply to look. His lips were slightly parted as he devoured me with his gaze, and I could feel his stomach muscles tighten between my thighs. His fingers were digging into my hip bones, a good pain if there were such a thing. I ran my fingers over my nipples, and his eyes shot to mine.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. For some reason, he seemed to need reassurance. Perhaps he thought he was taking advantage of me, that I had some sort of fucked-up Stockholm syndrome. “I want this.” And when he raised his hands, trembling slightly, and took my breasts, I gasped his name. Placing my palms on his chest, I shifted and ground my hips against his, finding that perfect spot where the outline of his cock nestled between my thighs, between my pussy lips, and I could use his hardness to grind against my clit. His hands massaged my breasts, his thumbs finding my nipples and rubbing over them as they hardened under his touch. It felt like the first time, but so much better than my first time had actually been. It felt like the way I imagined it could be, the way I wished it could always be—all pleasure and whispers and kisses.

I was so close, I had been teetering on the edge since I kissed him, and the throbbing between my legs only increased in intensity as I continued to grind against him. His eyes grew wide as he massaged my nipples between his fingers, watching where our hips met and my movement on top of him, becoming desperate and sporadic as I neared my peak.

“Zaqiel,” I panted out. “I’m going to…”

I wanted to stop, to wait until we could come together, but my body was acting against my mind. The hardness of his chest under my fingers, his large hands encompassing my chest, the way his breathing was deep and ragged as though he was drawing pleasure from mine, it was too much.

I couldn’t stop, and when he grabbed my chin with one hand, I stared at him.

“I want to watch you come,” he whispered.

That pushed me over the edge, and as my orgasm shuddered through me, he grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him. His eyes never left mine. I struggled to keep my eyes open and in focus as he watched my expressions through the stages of my orgasm, swallowing up all the twitches and jolts from the absolute peak of intensity to the aftershocks of pleasure that pulsed through me. Just as I was coming down, he pulled me forward, hands still on my cheeks, and pushed his tongue into my mouth—urgent, desperate, hungry.

With one hand, he reached down and started yanking at my shorts, and I kicked them off without breaking apart from his lips. The sound he made when he touched between my legs and felt how wet I was,God, it was soanimal.As he pulled down his boxers one-handed, I wanted to help. But every time I’d go to move away from him, he’d bite at my bottom lip and tangle his hand in my hair, keeping my face on his and his tongue dominating my mouth. My lips were swollen and raw from his constant attention on them, and all it did was make me crave more, crave the closeness that could only happen by being with him like this.

When he ran his length between my legs again, now nothing between us, hegrowled, and I swear that nearly put me over the edge again. This man, who had hesitated to touch me, who at times would barely look at me, who had done nothing but treat me with respect and care, well, he changed in that moment.

Because when he sat up, wrapping his arms around my torso, crushing my breasts against his chest, my nipples, already sensitive from his earlier attention, were aroused again at the feeling of his skin on mine. His body was hard, sculpted, and I gyrated my hips against him. When he came close to penetrating me, he growled again, nipping at my neck and shoulder and shifting me. I moaned in frustration, pleads and begs dropping from my lips. He wanted control, and I was going to give it to him—control of me and everything that I was.

He almost smiled. I could feel his lips curve against my neck as he stood, lifting me with him. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around him, throwing my arms over his shoulders. His movements were smooth as though I weighed nothing to him, and as he lowered me onto the couch on my back and kneeled on the hard floor between my spread legs, I could finally meet his eyes again.

All the hesitation and fear were gone from his face.

His expression had darkened, and he held my hips still as I tried desperately to get him closer to me, pulling him toward me by digging my heels into his lower back.

“Please.”

When his eyes met mine, I was hypnotized for a moment.

“Evie,” he mumbled and leaned forward, kissing his way up from my nipples to my neck again, already red and raw from his lips and teeth.

With his hand, he guided himself into me, and I cried out, gripping his shoulder blades with my nails as I was forced to stretch around him. Squeezing my eyes shut, I opened them when he stopped moving. His face was still buried in the crook of my neck, and his breathing was heavy like a raging bull. But he was still.

“Are you okay?” he whispered against my skin.

“Yes,” I shifted my hips on the cushions. “Just adjusting.”

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