Page 78 of Angel

I filmed the two scenes I was assigned for Sebastian’s 12 Toys of Christmas project, feeling weirdly lonely after both. They were solo scenes, just me and the toys, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Angel the entire time. The roughness of his hands, the furriness of his body, the scent of fresh sawdust that I now associate with the best sex I’ve ever had. I wish he could’ve been there with me, to touch me, kiss me, hold me.

But he’ll be here today, at The Bronzed Rail, which we’ve rented out to film our second video. I’ve choreographed the pole routine to “Dragon” by Miriam Bryant. It’s a moody and haunting song, not exactly Christmassy, but whatever. It’s what I’m feeling these days, so Sebastian can deal.

I’m pacing back and forth by the club’s bar while Sebastian and Christian set up the lights and cameras around the stage. I’ve got my phone in hand, obsessively checking my messages to make sure Angel’s still on his way.

I’ve never felt this way before, so anxious to see someone, to be in the same room as them. It’s making me antsy and irritable and a bitch to be around. Just ask Hayden—he’s been hiding in his room for days to avoid me.

Where is Angel? He’s supposed to be here already. What if he doesn’t make it in time? What if he doesn’t show up? My heart aches with how much I miss him. It’s making me want to crawl out of my skin.

“Hey, Rhys, you okay?” Sebastian’s standing a few feet away, watching me with worry in his eyes.

“Yeah! I’m fine! Why do you ask?!” My voice is too high and slightly hysterical. I clear my throat and take a breath. “I’m fine.”

Sebastian gives me a disbelieving look, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he holds up his iPad. “You forgot to sign the forms for the video.”

I roll my eyes and drop my head back at Sebastian’s love for paperwork. In all my years in the industry, I’ve never had to sign more waivers and consent forms than I have with Sebastian. “I’ve already signed those forms a million times.”

“But not for this video.” He taps the screen a couple times and holds out the tablet for me. “You really should read it before you sign.”

I pin Sebastian with an annoyed look. “Have you made any changes to them?”

“No.”

“Then I’ve already read them.” I swipe my finger randomly across the screen and hit the save button. “There. Signed.”

Sebastian sighs again. “Are you sure?—”

The door opens and I spin around at the sound. My heart is racing, trying to beat its way out of my chest, and I hold my breath as I wait to see who comes through.

The nightclub is dark, backlighting the person stepping through the door. His face is cast in shadow, but I don’t need to see his face to know it’s Angel. I can feel him in the marrow of my bones, in the very depths of my soul.

My feet move of their own accord, catapulting me across the room and into Angel’s embrace. He catches me with a small oomph and I latch onto him, arms tight around his body, face burrowed into the crook of his neck.

Neither of us speak. We just hold on, soaking in each other’s presence after too many days apart. The press of his body against mine, the rasp of his beard against my skin, the scent of him. I want these things all the time. Not every two weeks. Not even every few days. I want Angel by my side every morning when I wake up and every night when I fall asleep.

When my heart stops racing and I can finally draw in a slow, steady breath, I pull back to peek up at Angel.

“Hey,” I say, feeling a little sheepish about how I tackled him.

“Hey.” His cheeks bunch with a smile.

They’re rosy from the chilly fall weather outside, and when I pull him down for a kiss, his lips are cool and a little chapped. But they feel so good, that perfect softness molding to mine.

A throat clears next to us, but I ignore Sebastian. Can’t he see we’re busy? Apparently not, because he starts speaking, and Angel—way too polite—breaks the kiss and turns to him.

“We’re on a tight timeline today, since we only have the club for a few hours.” Sebastian waves us toward the stage where he and Christian are all set to go. “Rhys, you want to change into your costume?”

I sigh, loud and annoyed. I haven’t had nearly enough of Angel yet. I don’t want to let him go. But Sebastian gives me a look that says he wasn’t really asking.

“Be right back, teddy bear.” I lean up and plant a quick kiss on Angel’s cheek before sprinting to the dressing room backstage.

It takes me one minute flat to strip down to nothing, then another couple minutes to lube up the metal dragon and slide it onto my semi-hard cock. A quick application of shimmering body spray and one last check of my hair and makeup, and I’m good to go.

Angel’s sitting by the stage when I get back out there, on a chair next to a small table that holds a glass of apple juice that’s been frothed up to look like beer. His gaze lifts when I step through the stage door and it locks onto mine. The rest of the nightclub falls away—Sebastian and Christian, the lights and cameras, even the bar along the far wall and the sound booth in the corner.

All that exists in this space is me and Angel.

Somewhere in the background, the opening strains of “Dragon” by Miriam Bryant filter through my awareness, and I tug on the belt holding my dressing gown in place. I let the fabric fall to the floor and step up to the pole.

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