Page 33 of Angel

“Dude, I haven’t slept. I’m wired as fuck.” He starts laughing, and I hear a woman’s voice in the background. For a grown-ass man, the same age as me at thirty-four, you’d think he would have his fucking shit together.

“Mouse, what the fuck are you on right now?” I grip the phone tighter, ready to break it in half. This is exactly why I don’t want this loser fuck in my club anymore. Shit is getting out of hand. Again.

“Just a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Mostly cocaine, some X. Venom, my man, I feel amazing right now. Floating on fucking cloud nine.”

The blood boils in my veins as I suck in my bottom lip. “You better not be dealing again. We got enough shit to worry about; we don’t need the feds on our asses.” We’ve been down this road before. Mouse got caught for possession, spent some time in the slammer. We don’t need the heat catching any of us with drugs, especially right now. That means both using and dealing.

“Venom, my brother, it’s fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“You get your fucking head on straight, get me?” I’m losing patience with him. The irritation spews from my voice.

I hear more women in the background. “Yeah, hey, brother, I gots to go. See you later and remember: bring your girl tonight.”

I lazily shut my eyes and roll them back, tucking my cell into the pocket of my sweats. He’s testing my willpower.

Inside, the scent of peaches still lingers. I inhale the sweetness before pulling off my sweat-soaked shirt and heading for the shower. I stop in front of the guest bedroom, nudging the door open. On top of the bed are the clothes I gave her to wear, nicely folded. And on top of those… a note.

Look into buying new sheets. These felt like sandpaper, and next time, turn your fucking air conditioner off. It was ice cold in here. But I bet you’re used to it, because I’m pretty sure that’s what your heart is made of. Ice.

I can’t stop the grin from forming on my face, and a laugh escapes me. But it’s quick to fade, because for some reason, those words coming from her sting more than I expected. But she’s right. My heart is made of ice.

I can’t wait until this little shindig is over and done with, so she can get out of my life and we can part ways. We better find Scorpion fast. Or maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll tell us where the fuck he’s at.

I toss the note in the trash, slamming the door shut behind me.

I start the shower and stare down at my feet as the hot water pours over my body. I can’t even remember the last time I fucked a woman. Or had a woman’s mouth around my dick. It does twitch, with the slightest thought of Angel. Her stunning face, her tits, her waist. With each new vision in my mind, my dick comes alive. The way her ass looks in those tight little jeans she always wears.

I cradle my hard cock in my palm and stroke. Slow. Gentle at first. I think about her porcelain skin and how angelically it glows. I bet it’s smooth as silk… About what she must taste like if I were to lick her up and down, taste her pretty cunt. I start stroking faster, imagining her naked tits bouncing as she rides me. Her head tilting back as I run my hands over her perfect body. I fantasize about her in nothing but those high-heeled biker boots, the ones she likes to strut around in.

I keep stroking.

Faster.

Harder.

The sensation, the pleasure, intensifies. What I wouldn’t give to have her pussy for one night. That’s all, one night only. Or her pouty, full lips around my dick. Her body, in nothing but that fucking towel. Her naked tits staring at me.

I rub more and more until my cock pulsates in my hand, each sensitive nerve ending electrifying. Her face flashes once more before I release with the best orgasm I’ve had in a long while. The white creamy juices drip from my hand and onto the shower floor, washing away what will always be just a fantasy. Water pours over my head, ridding me of the last bit of evidence of my sick made-up illusion. The faucet squeaks as I turn it off, and the remaining droplets hit the tile with a splat.

I get out and throw on my sweats and a new t-shirt. I have some downtime before I need to go back to the club, so I’m going to try to enjoy it.

I make my usual breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, a protein shake, and a glass of orange juice. As I reach forward, grabbing a fork, I glance through the window above my kitchen sink, out to where there’s nothing but woods.

Peace and quiet.

No one to bother me.

I sit down and stab my eggs, breathing in, soaking up the comfortable silence, and relaxing before I have to go back through the gates of hell. Yeah, this is nice. This is what I want. So then… why does it suddenly feel like something is missing? Like someone is missing?

Banging at my door pulls me out of whatever calming paradise I was in. I pause, my hand midair as I hold my fork an inch away from my mouth, my deliciously cooked scrambled eggs teasing me under my nose.

Jesus Christ. I toss my fork onto my plate and shove my chair back along my hardwood. Crossing the five feet of space needed to make it to my front door, I whip it open, practically sending it flying off the hinges.

“Oh, what the fuck?” There goes my nice, quiet, relaxing morning. She’s like a fly buzzing by your head—the kind that won’t go the fuck away.

“Well, isn’t someone his usual asshole self this morning?” There she is, in all her angel glory, standing on the threshold in a tight-as-sin shirt. One that makes her tits pop up and her waist curve in all the right places. Her hair is pulled up, flowing down her back, and her casual jeans make her every bit as fuckable. But I’ve come to realize the only way to make that possible is to gag her, quieting that pretty little mouth of hers. And I’m not that fucked up.

She struts past me and a groan of annoyance escapes under my breath. I wave my hand with sarcasm. “Please, come in.”

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