Page 28 of Angel

TEN

Angel

The hallway upstairs feels like a long dark walk to the pits of hell. Yes, I caved, but it’s either freeze or welcome a nice hot shower. And I’m starting to think if he wanted to murder me, or sell me off, he would have done it by now.

The walls are bare. No pictures. No anything. No personality in his place. Although, it would be hard to match décor with the aesthetic of a vicious barbarian. I am pleasantly surprised, however, to see how nice it is. Despite the simplicity, it’s clean and pretty looking.

I peek in the rooms, one at a time. Why? Because my curiosity is stronger than my will. The first seems to be the guest bedroom. The one next to it is definitely Venom’s. I pause in contemplation before taking the steps that lead me inside.

The bedspread is black with matching sheets and pillow covers. There’s not much to this room either, except dresser drawers and a closet. As I inch inside, my heart beats faster because I know I shouldn’t be in here. But a scent takes over my ability to rationalize. A nice scent.

Venom’s scent.

It’s woodsy with a subtle hint of tobacco, but it’s not overpowering. His clothes are neatly folded and set aside, some draped across the back of the chair next to his bed. He’s surprisingly organized. The one and only thing to catch my eye is a lone picture propped against his dresser lamp; creases line the center like it’s been folded multiple times. It’s an older couple with a child, and there’s no denying who that boy is. The dark hair, the glowing emerald eyes… he wears a genuine smile, so free and happy. The two adults must be his parents.

I turn the photo over, but it’s blank except for the handwritten name Deacon with a dated year. Is Venom’s real name Deacon? When I flip it back over, I stare at his parents again. They match his energy with a smile—each offering a cheerful grin. It tugs at my heartstrings more than I expected it would. For such a happy child to turn into the man he is now, a vicious snake… But maybe there’s something I missed... his sadness.

I trace the picture with my finger, running the tip along his captured smile. “What happened to you?”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

My whole body jumps at the deep, beastly growl. I freeze where I stand, feeling like my heart just stopped cold. I don’t turn around—I’m too chicken to face the man—but I know he’s right behind me.

I can feel him.

Venom hovers at my back, his deep, enraged voice has me pinned to my spot. Lifeless. Unable to move even if I tried. It’s strange. For a moment, after the short-lived panic, the heat of his presence running up my spine lavishes my body with an air of comfort, relaxing me and warming me to my core. That’s not supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to feel like this. I don’t ever let my guard down with a man, unless he’s one of my brothers. Not like this. But if I’m so calm… then why is my heart beating so fast?

My breath catches when his chest grazes my back and sends a throbbing between my legs.

He stops, but only to lean forward more. A soft puff of air grazes the side of my neck, brushing against my ear, and I turn my head slightly, trying to see over my shoulder. Trying to soak in more of him.

I close my eyes as I breathe him in. Why is it ever so tempting to lean back? I have this urge to rest my head on his chest, but that would be absolutely absurd. Wouldn’t it? Reaching forward, he snatches the picture from my hands. That’s when I turn around, and for as tall as I am, I feel so small right now, standing this close to him.

“Don’t touch things that aren’t yours to be touched.” With his voice heightened, the sound booms like a thunderous roar. Now I know how Belle felt when the Beast went mad with rage. The photo is his wilting rose.

“S-sorry… I got lost.” Jesus, why is my own voice trembling?

“You got lost? Inside my bedroom? Unless my shower is next to my bed, I’d say you were just being nosey.” His eyes hold me captive, burning a hole through me. Heat rises in places I didn’t think were possible with any man, especially this one. “Now, go take your shower before I throw you on this bed and have my way with you, Angel.”

I swallow, because hearing my name and how he grits the singular word between his teeth, combined with the anticipation of him doing exactly what he threatened to do, excites me. And that’s scary. “You wouldn’t dare.” I’m not sure if that came out as a tease or a challenge. I’m too distracted.

He stares down at me, his jaw muscles twitching, and I wait for him to touch me, grab me, throw me on the bed, but his arms stay locked at his sides and he doesn’t so much as flinch. And I find myself a little disappointed.

“Don’t test me, peach.”

I’m suffocating, the room closing in around me. I let out a breath and shuffle past, brushing arms with him on the way out. I make a beeline for the bathroom, which can easily be seen from the hallway, and close the door. I let the frame hold up my weakened body, because all of a sudden, I’m dizzy. And my heart doesn’t want to slow down.

That was way too intimate.

I shouldn’t have been in his room without permission, but the picture with him and his parents leaves me oddly fascinated. Intrigued… Such a personal thing. Maybe he is human after all, one with feelings. But that’s a huge maybe. I need more than a picture to be fully convinced he’s a decent person. Letting me use his shower can be a point added though. It looks heavenly; it’s spacious with dark stone tile lining the walls of the enclosure.

I undress, laying my wet clothes across the top of the marble counter. My panties are damp, from both the rain… and something else. It’s odd, but it mesmerizes me beyond my understanding—beyond my control.

I step into the shower, letting the hot water melt me into a puddle of compliancy. I must be crazy to use his shower. I must be crazy for being here. But right now, in this very moment, I don’t care because it feels amazing. Today’s been exhausting, both mentally and physically. I just want the water to wash it all away. To drown the stress. Suffocate it until it ceases to exist.

The heat stings against my lacerated cheek. Normally I wouldn’t sit back and take it; no way would I let another man lay his hands on me like that, not without putting up a fight. But there was no use in challenging him. I wouldn’t win.

I rub the bodywash, which smells like him, all over me, and I feel a throb. An ache—one begging to be satisfied. I’m aroused by this man. But I ignore the shame and glide my hand down my wet, sleek body, touching myself. With his scent surrounding me, I begin rubbing, massaging. Imagining his hands all over me. His lips pressed against my neck.

---