Page 75 of Angel

She gets up and goes to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth, then heads for the cheap alcohol favors the motel left, before digging through her small bag and pulling out a needle and thread. “You always carry those things with you?”

“Yup, ever since I was a kid.” Right… her father. So, that means I now have two motherfuckers to track down. She walks back over, kneels down in front of me. And goddamn, if my dick doesn’t twitch. “I’m gonna clean it really quick.” She looks up at me. “This may hurt.”

“I can handle it.” She inhales as she disinfects the wound. “Fuuuuckkk.” I grind my teeth and hiss through the pain.

“Thought you said you could handle it?” She smirks, and I manage to laugh. “You know, you look good when you smile. You should do it more often, Deacon.” My heart leaps and takes a nosedive to the pit of my stomach. I watch as she sterilizes the needle and starts puncturing my skin. I let out another hiss, but I keep my eyes on her.

“I only smile when you’re around,” I tell her. And she freezes mid-stitch, but only for a second, before she continues with a matching grin. “So, you gonna tell me how the fuck Galiente became your boss?”

“Let’s just say I was an idiot. At the wrong place, at the wrong time. I’ve been bound to him for many years—too many years. And are you going to tell me why I can see the wall through your arm?”

“He’s dead. Scorpion’s dead. And so is Mouse.” If telling her about killing my foster father didn’t scare her off, this will. For sure. Which is good. Because I plan on never seeing her again after this. We’ll go back to Ohio and part ways. I’ll find and kill her father, but not before hunting down Galiente and putting a bullet in his head.

“Good,” she says, pulling the thread through my skin, and I’m oblivious to the pain.

What? “Good?”

“They deserved it, right? They did terrible things to innocent people. Mouse was going to end up raping a woman one day, if he hadn’t already, and Scorpion was going to do a lot worse. So, yes, I’m glad they’re gone. And, yes, I’m glad you killed them.”

This woman is like no other. Anyone else would have run by now, got the fuck away from me. But not her—no. In another lifetime, maybe a fantasy, she would be perfect for me. A match made in fucking heaven. I, the king. And she, my queen. But we don’t live in a make-believe world and us—this—can’t happen.

“There, done. We’re gonna have to watch it for a while and make sure it doesn’t get infected, which it probably will. But at least this will stop the bleeding.” She goes to stand, but I grab her wrist. She glances at my hand before her eyes move to mine. I pull her down to me, and she takes it upon herself to straddle my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. I stare deeply into her eyes, finding her soul while she finds mine. I touch her jaw, then draw her to me using the nape of her neck, and crash her lips against my mouth.

Here we are. Two broken, beaten, and battered people. Not giving a shit, as we devour one another. My hands roam all over her, as she cups my face and inches her shoulders up and into me. With each kiss, movement, I feel her. And with every flick of her tongue, the moans intensify. The taste of copper hits my tastebuds, and I crave more of it. As if it’s the only way my thirst can be quenched. The only way I can continue living.

My hands travel under her torn shirt, feeling every inch of her silky skin. Her fingers dig into my flesh, and I finish ripping her shirt in two, tossing it off her body. She whimpers for me, and I nestle my face between her tits as she tilts her head back and grips a fistful of my hair.

She pushes me away, and what she does next electrifies every sense in my body. And I let loose. She drags her tongue from the dried-up blood on my neck all the way up until she nibbles on my earlobe. We need each other in a way we never have before. But this is a parting gesture for me. A goodbye. One last time with her. I want to remember how she tastes, how she feels, what it’s like to be fully entangled and consumed by an angel. I want to remember how her crimson blood tastes on my tongue.

“Fuck me,” I growl, and she takes me in her hand. She violently pulls my cut and shirt over my head, and pushes me backwards. In one quick motion, she has both boots off and my jeans tossed away. My cock jolts free, and she licks it. Sucks it. My eyes roll back with every flick of her tongue. “Fuckin’ Christ.” I tilt her head up. “I want you to ride me, now. Get on my dick, peach.”

Her eyes light up with a flaming desire. And she tears her sexy, second-skin jeans off her long, luscious legs. She climbs back on top of me and I jam my cock inside her. That’s right. Hard. Fast. Not soft. Soft is not what we both need or want right now. She hops up and down on my cock like it’s a fucking pogo stick, and I fist her tits in my hands. Each time her pussy bounces, in and out, pleasure shoots through me. I run my hands from her tits to her waist, helping her with my own pent-up aggression.

“Deacon! Your—fuck—it feels so fucking amazing.” More screams, and the sound drives me completely insane. I just want her to fuck me until I can get her out of my system. I need her to leave my body. I need to stop craving and wanting her. Forever.

She screams out my name again, and that’s when my dick starts pulsing. My orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, and my liquid spills inside her. With labored breaths, she collapses on my chest, sweaty and completely naked. We lie there for a good two minutes, before she asks me the question that rips my soul in two. “Why did that feel like it was our last time?” she whispers against my heart, and her hot breath teases my nipple before she dampens it with her tears.

I don’t say anything—we don’t say anything. We continue to lie motionless. Broken. Beaten. She knows this can’t happen. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to make sense of it. Because she knows that even two people who are completely perfect for each other can still be so, so very wrong together.

Angel

I lay there last night, in Venom’s arms, as he held me like he never wanted to let me go. So, why does it feel like I’ll never see him again? After everything, once we get back to Ohio, this will all be over. Then again, did it really even start?

I get it. Not feeling deserving. Is that what he thinks? Because it’s anything but true. I know he cares about me, feels more than he wants to admit. I watched him last night while he slept. He’s so peaceful when he sleeps. Calm and happy, with those small shallow breaths. And the way his chest slowly rises and falls…

I woke up in the middle of the night to check his arm, and the bruises looked worse. For both of us. And the throb in my skull was excruciating. His stitches were mediocre at best, and he’s almost guaranteed to get an infection. I’m no doctor; it was just something I learned quickly as a kid.

But now that it’s morning, I glance over at his side of the bed and it’s empty. He’s gone.

I know he wouldn’t leave without me. I hear his muffled voice outside, but I’m too tired to eavesdrop this time. I don’t know exactly what happened last night, but I’m glad Scorpion and Mouse are dead. Why was Mouse even there? I have no idea, and I didn’t ask because I was too busy trying to close up the bullet hole in his arm. One thing I do know for sure is that when we get back, I’m going after Victor myself. And I’m going to kill the bastard. No more running. No more hiding. I’m done.

The door opens, and I sit up, tugging the sheet around me.

“We need to leave and we need to leave now. We should have left last night.” His voice is cold, emotionless, and he can’t even look at me. He gets so close to letting me in, then he pulls away. He refuses to let himself feel anything. This is it though; this is where we part ways and never speak again. Fine, if this is what he wants, I’ll accept it. We weren’t fated to be together anyway. Not with all our baggage. I’m better off on my own. Always have been. “I called your President and told him everything.”

I jolt. Utter shock and complete rage vibrate through my bones. “You did what?” He stuffs his things in his bag, and I throw the sheet off, grab my jeans and t-shirt, and rush to clothe myself. “What do you mean? What’s everything?”

He stops, turns around, and for the first time this morning, he locks his eyes with mine. “Everything, Angel.”

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