Page 39 of Angel

Mouse throws his shirt on the bed and unbuttons his jeans. After, he tugs me into his body, and I tilt my head to the side, letting him kiss my neck, my shoulder. It makes me ill, but my focus isn’t on him. It’s as if he doesn’t exist. I stare at Venom, who shrugs his leather off, then takes the bottom of his shirt, pulling it from his body in one swift motion, his muscles contracting with the movement.

And I swear to God my heart stops beating. His smooth, bare chest… His abs and arms… They make my body weak. A beautiful and maybe misunderstood man stands before me, while Mouse devours me with his tongue. I try to pretend it’s Venom consuming me. I pretend it’s him, who’s nibling on my skin. Biting me and gliding his tongue down my neck. It’s disgusting, but being here with Venom makes it more bearable. More comforting.

The mixture of shadows and light follows every ripple in Venom’s abdomen. With the slightest of movements, his tattoos dance over his solid body. I study them like works of art because, well, they are.

He’s beautiful.

Powerful.

Raw.

Mouse doesn’t excite me; he repulses me. Venom used to repulse me too, but now…

I’m staring at a man I shouldn’t be staring at. Not with such lust. Not when I’m supposed to despise him. Not when I’m supposed to be ignoring this feeling. But how can I ignore it? Him? When my body’s never been awakened like this before?

I want to know if it’s real.

“Looks to me like you’re wearing just a little too much clothing. How about we change that?” Mouse leans in, about to shove his tongue down my throat, but I playfully push him away.

I have to pry my eyes from the man who is making me wet with need, who sends desire running through me. “I have rules. This is my show, got it?”

Mouse raises his hands. “Your show, princess.”

“And no pet names.” I reach behind my back and unzip my dress, pulling it down and over my shoulders before letting it drop to the floor. The cold ripples through me, but vanishes when I look back at Venom. He’s sending flames into my body, returning the warmth where it was lacking. He rakes his eyes, those glowing emerald eyes, over my naked breasts and down to my barely covered pussy. I undressed for him. Only for him.

“Fuck, you are amazing. You’re so fucking hot.” Mouse grabs my breast, and I wince. It’s not gentle or sensual in any way. He starts sucking the tips of each, and I wince again from the sting of pain. Not even my clients are this rough.

I stare at Venom, whose jaw muscles tick, and he takes a step forward.

Stalking.

Hunting.

Slaying.

He shoves Mouse aside and spins me around so my back now rests against his chest. I wait with need and torturous longing. The burning sensation, from skin meeting skin, is enough to let a moan escape, and I roll my eyes back. Because he feels so good.

So safe.

My neurons erupt when he skims a single finger over my hip and up the side of my waist. I gasp for air, needing to breathe it back into my lungs. He’s taking the oxygen right out of me. His hot air tickles my neck, and I shudder with excitement and desire. Why is this man making me feel this way?

I don’t care why. I just want him to touch me more.

Please. I need it. I want it. Crave it. Like I’ve never craved another man before. Ever.

I can feel his hard length pressing into me from beneath his jeans. It’s arousing. Tempting. I want to explore it, and I want him inside me. But I also want to curse myself for having such thoughts.

Mouse steps forward, and I’m sandwiched between them as I’m pressed into Venom, my back flush along his chest, causing me to lose all control. I lay my head against him, and he leans forward, running his tattooed hand over my breast. And unlike Mouse’s touch, it’s soft and gentle.

Mouse starts rubbing his own cock while watching the undeniable connection, the chemistry Venom and I share. But I don’t focus on our onlooker. All I can feel is the solid, strong man behind me. With one hand placed on my stomach, securing me to him, he massages my breast with his other, playing with each hardened nipple in such an overwhelming way it makes me want to scream out in pleasure. No man has done that to me before.

I’ve never had someone make me feel so hot.

His warm breath brushes my ear, and I close my eyes. “You like that, my angel?”

Oh, Jesus, yes. I don’t even care that he called me his angel.

Our skin glides together as he spins me in his arms. My hands rest on his bare, smooth, tattooed chest. I can feel his strength under each palm. My head only reaching his chin, I’m able to admire the intricate details of his art, and I wonder what meaning lies behind each one. What’s his story? Can his skin tell me more than the man himself is willing to offer? Does the snake wrapping around his strong, defined arm hold his darkest secret?

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