Page 65 of Wild Angel

There’s a spark in her eyes, but I’m not sure if it’s lust or anger. The mood lighting in here doesn’t help.

“Zip me open.”

She’s reluctant to obey until I grind her wrist bones together. Then her eyes widen and she stares intently at me as she fumbles with my fly.

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” she asks in that same casual tone. Like she’s just making idle conversation and doesn’t give a fuck if I answer her or not. “You making me do things I don’t want to?”

“You don’t want to suck my dick?” My mouth hitches up on one side. “You made it sound like that’s your thing. You love dicks, don’t you Angel? Even Vito’s.”

There’sthe anger. Her mouth tightens, and her jaw clenches. She rips down the last inch of my fly and shoves her hand inside my jeans, rummaging around until she has a good grip on my dick, and then hauls it out.

The pain is intense but fleeting. I can’t stop my jaw bunching, but I doubt she catches the flinch.

I grab her arm and drag her closer. She doesn’t start resisting until I grab the back of her head and try to shove it down into my lap.

Pushing back against my hand, she starts stroking my cock, her strong fingers gripping me painfully tight.

“Never heard of foreplay?” she asks. “You’d be amazed how much fun it is.”

“The fuck you think I was doing with my Beretta?”

A shudder rifles through her, and her eyelashes tremble at the mention of the muzzle I stuck up her pussy.

“Did it make you wet, being so powerless?” I hiss. “Were you scared?”

“You don’t scare me, you sick—”

I grab her throat. She tips her chin back, glaring at me over her nose like some aristocratic bitch who doesn’t like my scent.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she says.

Her fingers start working my cock again. She’s holding me too tight, pumping me too hard, but it’s as glorious as it is agonizing. Especially with her eyes pinning me where I sit, demanding answers from me.

My voice is a rusty growl. “What is?”

“That’s your calling card, isn’t it? You cut off people’s faces.”

I grit my teeth, but I don’t grab her hand to slow her furious pumps. Instead, I shove my hand between her leg.

Throat. Cunt.

Those are her weak points. It’s how I control her. Own her.

I invade her hot, wet core with three of my fingers. She swallows them greedily, her walls fisting around me, and then she opens her legs for me.

Her dress hitches up to her hips.

My fingers are slick with her arousal, my dick hot how she’s pumping me. I drag my fingers out of her pussy and smear that slickness over my cock.

She hesitates, but I force her hand to move up and down again, make her hold me even tighter.

“You once told me you only kill evil people,” I say. I shove my hand back between her legs, working her clit with my thumb while I stretch her pussy around my fingers. “Then why didn’t you kill me too?”

Her eyelids droop, but she still regards me with the same toxic glare as before.

“You weren’t the target.”

“I should be.” I draw a groan from her when I start thrusting my fingers in and out of her dripping slit. “Because Iama sick fuck. Iama monster.”

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