Page 11 of Angel's Fantasy

His voice made me jump and I fumbled with the clothes in front of me as I half-turned to answer him. “No,” I lied. “No problem. Could I just have a couple of minutes to change clothes, please?”

“No.”

It took a couple of seconds for my brain to register that he’d answered. Even though I had technically asked—had even said please—the fact that I needed a couple of minutes of privacy wasn’t really up for debate. It certainly wasn’t a request I’d expected him to deny.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, not sure if I’d missed something. Surely he wasn’t telling me I couldn’t change clothes…

“You can do whatever you’d like,” he said, indirectly answering my unasked question. “But I’m not going anywhere. If you want to change clothes, you can do it here. Now. In front of me.”

I felt my eyes widen for a second as I realized where he was going with his explanation, and then I nodded. If that’s how he wanted to play, that was fine. I’d take my clothes off for him, if that’s what he wanted.

Hell, I’d give him the best strip-tease of his damn life.

“Fine,” I said simply, shrugging out of the skimpy cropped shirt I’d been wearing and tossing my hair back as if that was what I’d been meaning to do all along. Then, remembering to smile, I added, “That won’t be a problem.”

I could feel his eyes roaming over my body, making me feel like I was completely naked even though I was only just getting started with what was supposed to be a sexy strip-tease.

What I hadn’t expected was the way that hungry look in his eyes would make me feel, and my fingers fumbled with the buttons on my jeans as I tried to remind myself that I was in control. This was my show, and I was just letting him watch it.

Angel leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracking every move I made. His face was expressionless, like a statue made of stone, but his eyes. I could see in his eyes all the things he wanted to do to me, to my body. And if that wasn’t enough, I could tell from the growing bulge in the front of his dark slacks.

He wanted me. He always had. There was no point in either of us trying to deny it.

With that thought in mind, I felt more confident, almost one hundred percent back in control as I finished unzipping my jeans and shimmied them down past my hips until they were pooled in a heap at my feet. Resting one hand on the oversized bed frame, I carefully stepped out of those jeans and kicked them aside.

He licked his lips and I felt a jolt go through my body, as if his lips—and his tongue—had made contact with me. “Keep going,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

I was already reaching back to unfasten my bra, though. I didn’t need any encouragement from him—not verbally, anyway. His body had already told me what he wanted.

The black lace bra—my favorite one—fell away and I resisted the sudden urge to cover myself. Stripping in front of him felt more intimate, more real than I had expected, but there was no point in being modest now, and it was too late to do anything besides just keep going.

So that’s what I did.

I did my best to ignore the heat in his eyes, to ignore the way my already-sensitive nipples tightened and stood up under his hot stare, to ignore the warmth that was already beginning to radiate from my core as I hooked my thumbs in my panties and began sliding them down.

Only when my panties finally hit the floor and I was standing completely nude in front of him did I meet his gaze again. He was looking at me like I was fucking candy, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud from what that look was doing to me.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and then I did moan, wishing instead that he’d put those big, solid hands on my body, that he’d let them roam over my breasts and down my stomach the way his eyes had. That he’d take those fingers and—

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice just a hoarse whisper. “I could look at you all night if you’d let me.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. My mouth had gone dry, and all I could do was move closer to him, to hope that he’d read my mind and take pity on me, that he’d just touchme.

He didn’t reach out, though. He kept his hands firmly in his pockets. He didn’t move a muscle, in fact, until I was just a few inches away from him, ready to press myself against him, ready for whatever he wanted to do.

“Stop,” he said, his voice still quiet but firm.

I froze, unsure of what was going to happen next. As much as I wanted him to touch me, he wanted it more. I was sure of that.

“I only said I wanted to watch,” he said. “Not touch.”

I blinked. What? Had he gone crazy? Ever since the day I’d turned eighteen, Angel had been looking at me like he was down to fuck—whenever and wherever—if I’d give him half a chance. And now, here I was naked and trembling and my pussy practically reaching for him… and he was saying no?

“I don’t understand,” I said, simply. It was the easiest version of the truth, and the most direct. “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s not about what I want,” he said, shrugging. “But I can tell that you’re not ready. Not tonight.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a step back and finally reaching up to cover myself. “How do you know that? What if I amready?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he gave me a hard, long look and shook his head slightly, then turned on his heel and walked back into the living room.

I let my arms fall back to my sides as I watched him go, wondering what in the hell had just happened, wondering—again—if I was really ready for what I’d gotten myself into.

Wondering if he just might break me before I could break him.

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