Page 20 of Pitiful Lies

But if I am being honest, he feels so good there.

And to my utter shame, I wish he did. I wish Angel owned my pussy.

If only he wanted me like that.

But he doesn’t.

Angel isn’t possessive about me like that.

He’s a born flirt, a womanizer. And he’s human, despite all evidence to the contrary.

I am talking about his size and stamina, of course.

He looks like a superhero, or rather a supervillain. Like if some mad scientist took Thor’s body and Loki’s dark good looks and combined them to make one super fly motherfucker.

But Angel is no hero. He’s not even a villain, though I am sure he does bad shit.

He’s just a man. And men who like pussy don’t generally turn it down when it’s offered.

That’s my fault. My mistake for giving away the milk and expecting him to buy the cow. Or whatever that fucking horribly sexist saying is.

Angel is just so much. He’s fucking gorgeous and his body is to die for.

Literally.

I have no doubt he could crush a human skull with those giant, frying pan sized hands of his.

Probably as easily as he can make me come with them.

His fingers slide deeper, like he’s testing my wetness, and this time I do moan.

Why does this feel so good?

Because its him. That’s why. And I am not strong enough to deny myself this bit of forbidden pleasure.

I spread my legs wider, allowing him better access. And like the serpent I know he is, the viper lying in wait for the right opportunity, he strikes.

Angel pounces with zero hesitation. His blunt-tipped fingers delve between my pussy lips, and this time I do moan. Loudly.

Fuck.

I mean, am I wrong to react to his touch? I don’t really think so.

Besides, it is not like there is a choice. I can’t help it. My response to him is automatic. Like my body is conditioned to submit to his.

He’s so damn sexy. His touch seems designed to turn me into a panting puddle of please do me now goo, even though he is still asleep and likely doesn’t quite know who he is touching.

Damn him.

I guess I was caught up in Anna and Maria’s amazing love stories and I thought for a second maybe I would have one too. But I’m not made for that.

I know who and what I am.

Angel and me, we don’t match.

I’m too short, too chubby, and I have a big mouth. I can imagine what kind of woman he usually dates, and I doubt it is someone with a size sixteen on good days ass.

To put it plainly, I am not everyone’s cup of tea.

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