Page 79 of Angel

Angel’s eyes roam over my body, twin lasers that heat me up. My nipples stand at attention, goose bumps prickle my skin. My cock grows painfully hard in its metal confines, and my toes curl as desire courses through me.

With the weight of his gaze on me, I dance. My body moves through the choreographed movements, but my mind is focused on the man sitting mere feet away. On the way his lips part and his breathing quickens. On the way he shifts to the edge of his seat like he’s about to bound onto the stage and grab me. I dance, using every ounce of seduction I possess to accentuate each position, to make him want me as much as I want him. And fuck, do I want him.

The song ends with me on my knees, body folded backward so my shoulders are on the floor and my dragon cock is standing straight up in the air. Slowly, I straighten, rising up onto my knees. Angel’s half out of his seat and he’s gripping the edge of the table like that’s the only thing keeping him from rushing the stage.

“Cut! Okay, let’s move things around for the next bit,” Sebastian calls out, but I’m not paying attention. My entire focus is on Angel, on how he’s practically vibrating with need.

Without thinking, I move toward him, crawling on my hands and knees across the stage. His chest expands with a quick inhale, then stills, like he’s holding his breath. His eyes are wide and unblinking, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

“Goddamn it, Rhys, you need to wait for me to call action!”

At the edge of the stage, I spin around and slip down onto the floor. The soles of my platform heels hit the hard surface with a quiet thud, and I push away from the stage. I saunter toward Angel. He gulps. I stop a foot away from him, and his gaze travels up my body, inch by inch, stomach, chest, neck, chin, nose, eyes.

Our gazes collide, knocking the air right out of my lungs. Fuck. The heat in those dark brown eyes, the barely contained fire, the raging want. I’ve never felt so powerful before, so strong and so invincible. I feel like I could take down a building with my hands. I feel like I could fly.

I lift one foot and set it on Angel’s chest. He immediately slides into his seat until he’s pressed against the back of his chair.

“Haven’t I seen you before?” I ask, voice way huskier than I intended.

Angel nods.

“You’re that contractor, aren’t you? You worked on my kitchen and I paid you with a blowjob.”

He nods again.

Putting more pressure on his chest with my foot, I lean forward an inch. “Back for more?”

Angel drops his gaze from my face down to my shoe. When he looks back up again, his eyes are hazy with lust. “Y-yes. P-please.”

They’re just lines that Sebastian made up for us. Words that Angel’s agreed to say for the camera. He doesn’t necessarily mean them, but they still echo through me, shaking my foundation.

Fuck.

I drag my foot down the front of Angel’s body, then nudge his thighs farther apart so I can step on the edge of his seat, pressing against the bulge in his jeans.

“Did you miss my hole? Did you miss how hot and tight it was? I bet you haven’t fucked a hole like that before, have you?”

Angel’s lips part and he blinks those thick long lashes like he’s fighting to stay conscious. I lean in, putting more pressure on his erection with the front of my boot. He shudders, hands gripping the edge of his seat as his hips buck against my boot. A quiet whine escapes his throat.

Does he… is he… from my boot?

I increase the pressure and Angel gasps as another shudder—harder this time—rushes through him, making him jerk and convulse. His head falls back. His eyes squeeze tightly shut. His hips tilt so he’s grinding on my boot.

Jesus motherfucking Christ. He’s getting turned on by my pole-dancing boots. Insanely tall platforms with spiky heels. This pair is black with dozens of straps across the top of my feet, leaving my red-tipped toes peeking through. The straps continue up my ankles and calves, stopping just below my knees. Aside from the dragon-cock sleeve, they’re the only thing I’m wearing.

And if this is how Angel reacts to them, I’ll wear them every fucking day for the rest of my life.

“Hold there for a sec,” Sebastian directs, stepping in close with his camera to capture my boot against Angel’s crotch.

I keep my gaze trained on Angel’s face, on the expression of pure, unadulterated lust. I don’t need the reminder that we’re not alone here, that this moment, this discovery, is being captured for thousands of fans to witness. I want to pretend it’s just the two of us, exploring Angel’s apparent boot fetish.

My dick swells painfully against the dragon sleeve. Why is that so hot? Sweet, innocent Angel—who’s so wholesome he doesn’t understand eggplant and peach emojis—apparently gets turned on by sexy boots. Jesus, that’s so kinky and unexpected that my balls tingle at the thought.

I wonder if he’d want to lick my boot.

Jesus. No. I can’t let my mind wander in that direction or I’m going to come prematurely and entirely hands-free. Any boot-licking will have to wait until after the cameras are off.

“Got it. Keep going,” Sebastian says, backing away to give us room to work.

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