Page 29 of Angel

Reality jolts me back to life and I stop. What am I doing? This is wrong. So wrong. I step out of the shower and the door to the bathroom swings open. “What the hell are you doing!?” I hurry and snatch the towel, clinging it to the front of my body. “It’s a tad rude to barge in like that.”

“My house. My rules.”

I frantically wrap the material around my torso and tuck in the corner, right above my cleavage. I don’t miss the way he glances at me—sending electric currents zapping throughout my body and only stopping when the charge lands between my thighs. He sets a bag down on the counter.

“What’s that for?” I ask, right before he pulls out a bandage and antibiotic cream.

“For your face.”

I think I stop breathing, but more so when he starts stalking toward me. I back up slowly, until I’m halted by the shower glass, and he makes it over to me with just two strides. I don’t even have time to run as he snatches my waist with both of his strong hands, lifts me, and sets me on the cold countertop.

Why am I not scared? I should be fucking terrified, but I stare at him, unable to tear my eyes away. He doesn’t look at me, just keeps pulling things out of the small bag. He steps between my legs and they part for him. Either on purpose, or subconsciously… I’m not sure which. But there is absolutely no denying my draw to him right now, the need to be fulfilled, and I’m begging to be touched.

His shirt stretches over his broad chest, and I get a better view of his chiseled body without his cut on. The beautiful art inked all over him is a masterpiece. I bite my lip, trailing my eyes from top to bottom. I wish I could see what’s underneath the thin material. To touch, feel every muscle, trace every tattoo with my fingers, starting with the ones wrapping around his muscular arms. Swirls of ink peek out the top of his Harley shirt, which reminds me of the one I sleep in.

His breath tickles my ear as he leans forward, and I swear I move closer. “You look hungry, Angel. I think I can fix that.”

I suck in a breath as one of his rough, but gentle hands ever so slowly slides up my bare thigh and under the towel. The other grabs my waist, propping me up. I part my legs more, welcoming him with flashing lights. A moan escapes when he cups my drenched sex, and my body trembles with unbelievable pleasure. He grabs the nape of my neck, pulling me forward. “You’re fucking soaked for me, Angel, and I’m going to make you scream my name, wishing my cock would slide inside that wet cunt of yours.”

Even though he’s holding me to him, it doesn’t stop my body from arching forward as if it’s yelling for him to touch me more. I try to gain friction between his hand and my pussy. “Please…” I say in one shallow breath, before I lose control. He plunges one, then two fingers inside my entrance, and I scream. “Venom!”

“That’s right, baby girl. Scream my name. I love the sound of poison dripping from your mouth. I want to feel your juices come all over my fingers,” he whispers as he presses his soft lips to my neck. He lets me go, only to use his free hand to massage my clit, while plunging his fingers deeper. In and out. I’m coming undone, and I can’t stop it… Oh, God, I don’t want him to stop…

“Please, I want more. I need more!”

“Peach.” His deep, husky voice whips me out of my mind-blowing fantasy. “I’m not sure where you went just now, but I’m seconds away from tearing that towel off you if you keep making those little moaning noises.”

“W-what?” I stare into his heated, lust-filled eyes. Did I… did I just imagine that? Oh, God.

He doesn’t say anything as I swallow the embarrassing lump that’s formed in the back of my throat. I’m suddenly hot. Flushed. He pauses in front of me, just above the cut on my cheek, holding a damp four-by-four gauze. I flinch when he reaches for me, my heart fluttering. It never stopped. He clears his throat, leaning back to give me space. “I’m just going to clean it.”

I catch my breath, then slowly nod. My body’s still on fire. With my face parallel to his chest, I can smell his woodsy scent. I inhale it once more, trying to suck it all in, while the heat from his body oozes into mine. He glances down as he lightly dabs my cheek, and I look up at him. He seems so tall, so much bigger than I am. And his eyes—in this very moment—are kind. Not evil.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask him softly. Why is he doing this?

He finishes cleaning my battered flesh and then unwraps a bandage, gently pressing it to my cheek. “Because, despite who I am, it tears up my insides to see you walk around like that.”

I suck in another breath. There’s no hiding my shock. It’s written all over my face. “Um, well… thank you.” I touch the bandage, while Venom stares at me before stepping back.

“Don’t thank me. Just don’t go getting yourself hurt again.” He walks out, but yells from the hallway, “I left you clothes.”

I clench a fist around my towel and inhale, slowly releasing the air from the depths of my lungs. What just happened, and why am I craving more?

It felt so real.

The clothes he laid out are his: a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt I know I’ll be swimming in. But it beats putting my wet ones back on. The fabric of his shirt surrounds my body, and it feels oddly comforting. It smells like him, and again I breathe it in. I don’t bother putting on the sweatpants; his t-shirt covers enough, stopping at my knees.

After about ten minutes of finishing up in the guest room, I make my way downstairs, which is quiet. I tiptoe further into his living room, and there, on the couch, I see him spread out on his back. An arm propped behind his head, creating a bulge of bicep muscle, while the other is resting perfectly across his stomach like it’s staged. His chest slowly rises and falls with each shallow breath.

He’s so peaceful.

His hair is disheveled, the mess of tendrils on top swept aside and out of place. His short, yet thick facial hair complements the same dark brown shade. But why do I fight the urge to run my hands through those strands? No, Angel, you don’t want to do that. You’re acting crazy. So crazy you imagined him pleasuring you in the bathroom. A twinge of desire—of insatiable need—hits me again. And I want so desperately to rub myself along his length.

I roll my eyes and ignore the strange fantasy as I head upstairs and back to the guest bedroom, not so much as batting an eyelash in the direction of his room this time.

I crept out of Venom’s house before he woke up the next morning. I didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness. Me, in his t-shirt. Us, traipsing around like a couple, eating breakfast together at the table, drinking his coffee. Not that I honestly believed it would happen, but I didn’t stick around to find out.

Before heading inside my club, I carefully tear the bandage off my cheek. It’s too strange, him being kind like that. I shake off the memory—of both my wet fantasy and him tending to my wound—and dab on some concealer to cover up the mark. At least it looks a little better, better from the tender, loving care Venom applied to it last night. I just hope it’s enough that no one will notice. I apply a rose-colored lipstick to try to hide my split lip and straighten my shirt, tugging on my leather jacket.

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