Page 69 of Angel

“No,” he says, voice thick with tears. “You’re not hurting me.”

“Then why… why are you…” I try to lift off him again, but he digs his fingernails into my back.

“I just… got something in my eye.” He blinks a few times and takes a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

He’s clearly not. Crying during sex isn’t normal, is it? It’s supposed to be fun and pleasurable. Not sad.

“Are you sure? Can I… do something?” Although I have no idea what I can do when he doesn’t want me to move.

Rhys keeps his gaze lowered, his lashes still clumped with moisture. “Let’s flip.”

I don’t know how he does it since he’s so much smaller than me and I’m basically smooshing him into the mattress, but being small doesn’t mean he’s weak. All those dancer muscles are stronger than I’ve been giving them credit for.

He leverages himself somehow, then shoves. And in one swift motion, we’ve rolled so I’m flat on my back and he’s straddling me. My dick is still firmly buried in his butt.

It takes a moment for me to orient myself, and in those few seconds, Rhys has taken control. He braces his hands on my stomach, and starts bouncing on my lap. It’s like what we did in the video, and at the same time, it’s not.

The position is the same. Rhys’s quads are flexed and fully on display. His dick smacks against my stomach in loud thwacks. His head is thrown back. His body is beautifully arched.

But there’s something else too. Something raw and unfiltered, primal and potent. Rhys’s nails scrape over my front, almost painfully, leaving red, burning trails in their wake. The sounds he makes are deep and guttural. His face is screwed up tight. The pace he sets is punishing, driving, like he’s chasing something that’s just out of reach.

It’s so good that my mind spins. Too many sensations coming at me from too many directions. Too fast for me to catalog, too fast for me to capture any memories. All I can do is hold on to Rhys’s thighs and let him ride me toward the edge of the cliff.

He slaps his hands on top of mine, then moves them up so I’m palming his pecs. I squeeze them, his nipples hard against my palms.

“Yes, yes, that’s it. Almost there, teddy bear. You with me?”

“Yes! Yes!” I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to, but if Rhys is asking, my answer will always be yes.

He reaches down for his dick, and his hand flies over it, stroking so quickly it’s nothing but a blur. His hips never falter, only going harder, faster.

“Come for me, Angel. Come now. Now!”

My orgasm rips through me, sending me right off the cliff and into the air. With a roar, my hips come off the bed. Rhys’s hole clenches tight around me, a hot vise that milks my cum from my balls. At the same time, scalding liquid shoots from Rhys’s dick and lands on my skin, branding me.

We both freeze, locked into those positions by utterly paralyzing pleasure. Wave after wave until I’m battered, bruised, and broken.

Sluggishly, Rhys lays himself down on me, face hidden between my pecs. I run my fingers through his long, damp hair, down his toned, sweaty back.

The high of the orgasm clears slowly, but even then, it’s much too soon. And in its place is a niggling worry. Rhys cried. While I was inside of him, on top of him. I must have done something wrong, something he didn’t like.

Maybe I’m too heavy. Maybe he doesn’t like being coddled. Or it makes him feel trapped. Guilt eats away at me as the words burst from my lips.

“I’m sorry!”

Rhys stills before pushing himself up to gaze down at me. The tears are gone, but there’s a hint of pink rimming his eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, voice strained.

He sounds like he’s only saying that so I don’t feel bad, but that only makes me feel guiltier.

“Was it something I did?”

Rhys lets out a strangled laugh, then rolls off to the side. My fingers itch to drag him back to me. I want to hold him. I want him to hold me. The scant inches of space between us feels like miles.

“No, it’s not you.”

I don’t believe him. What else could it have been? I shift onto my side, hoisting myself up on an elbow, leaving enough room so I’m not hovering over him.

Rhys regards me for a moment, then raises a hand to cup my cheek. I turn into his palm, eyes drifting shut as I lean into the contact.

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