Page 27 of As Angels Sin

“I told you,” Crue snarls, “You’re mine, Fiametta. This hair?” A much softer pull follows the question. “Mine.”

“Your mouth-watering tits?” Finally releasing his grip on my hair, he slings a hand over my shoulder and grabs one of my breasts. He locks the nipple between the V of two fingers and squeezes tightly to emphasize his point. “Mine.”

Keeping me in this precarious position, Crue pulls me back until I’m stuck against his body. He falls silent again as his hand slides over my panties and the tip of his middle finger brushes against the hood of my clitoris.

“Your pussy?” He makes a first slow rotation with his finger, allowing his tongue to slither out of his mouth to touch my earlobe. The overwhelming intensity of this whole ordeal makes my legs buckle and my heart rate spikes to the point of breathlessness. “Mine. All mine. Not when you want it to be, but always. Forever. Mine.”

“Yours,” I say, weakly.

“Good girl.”

Oh God, why is his wicked acknowledgement so fucking hot? I couldn’t stop this if I wanted to. My body has given itself over freely to Crue.

He moves both hands away from their places of pleasure, and sits them onto my hips, using them to pull my ass tighter against his cock. He rocks his hips, and the enormous denim-covered slab of meat starts thrusting against me through the material.

Heat pulses throughout me with every motion. We haven’t even gotten naked, and I find myself on the verge of my first orgasm. It’s as if he’s some kind of magic man who can make me cum by gently brushing his hands across my skin. Then again, if anyone can, it is Crue.

Without warning, and mid-thrust, Crue tightens his grip on my hips and uses it to hoist me into the air. My heart sinks, the same way it does when I jump too high on a trampoline. But before I have a chance to yelp, he’s spinning me around to face him.

My flat palm immediately shoots to his face, and I cup his cheek. Even in complete darkness, I find my way to him without fault, just as he has done with me. Everything is precise. No fumbles or mistakes hamper our progress. How? It must be divine intervention.

I kiss him and he kisses me back. And as the primal urge for more takes control of Crue again, his grip tightens until his fingers squeeze the feeling out of my legs.

He lowers me onto my knees, but his hands move away from my hips and creep under my shirt. His fingertips graze my silky, soft skin while he hoists my shirt higher and higher, until it’s over my head.

My turn.

I start with his jacket, sliding one shoulder off at a time. It falls to the floor without much effort, and I make my way to his shirt. But Crue’s overeagerness to do what he came here for, has him ripping it over his head before I get the chance.

“Take them off for me,” Crue tugs at my panties, after the clanging of his belt buckle coming undone signals, he has removed his jeans.

I do as I’m told, and navigate my panties down my thighs until they come to a stop at my knees against the bed. Moving awkwardly to get them past the threshold, I’m glad the lights aren’t on for Crue to see my fumbling.

His clothes rustle again while he frees himself from them completely. I know he’s done when I hear them fall to the floor with a thud.

I reach out and my fingertips brush against the solid muscles of his chest. Stroking his skin softly, I feel the smooth, hard bumps of the scars that are scattered across his front. They must be able to tell so many stories. Stories about years of violence, neatly wrapped in the form of discolored skin.

Crue halts my exploration, by grabbing my ass with both his palms and pulling me into him again. He squeezes hard and pulls them apart, and the sensation makes my body tremble.

I wonder what has him acting this feral? Did something happen, or did he do something to spur on this beastly expression? But those thoughts are short-lived as our mouths lock again, this time with Crue’s tongue bashing through the wall of my lips. Much like our tongues, Crue wrestles me downward,onto my back. He perches himself between my legs, and I get my first brush of his cock against my legs.

His hand slips between our bodies, and he uses it to perch his swollen head against my clit. With our mouths still making a love of their own, Crue moves his hips and glides his length through my folds, bracing his tip at my entrance.

Garbled sounds roll out of me and into him, while my eyes roll to the back of my head. Every inch of him feels amazing. Always has, and always will.

I expect him to speak, then. Another fiery one liner to spur my mood on even harder, but it doesn’t come. Instead, after a few loud breaths against my lips, Crue drives his hips forward, filling me with every glorious inch he has on offer.

I squeak out a noise, wanting nothing more than to howl at the sudden pleasure he thrust into me, but we both have to stay quiet. Anyone could pass my door and hear what’s going on. Funny as it would be for them to see me and Crue in the throes of ecstasy, I don’t think Father would get the joke.

I throw my arms over his shoulders and pull him tightly against me. Crue’s in a world of his own, letting me do whatever I want to his top half, while his focus remains below. He’s not messing around or wasting time tonight. He’s taking what he wants and all I can do is give it to him. And give it, I do, matching his thrusts with enthusiastic movements of my own.

“Mine,” he says out of nowhere, grabbing both my ankles and lifting my legs up to his chest. In this new position, it feels as if he’s penetrating even deeper than before. Something I didn’t think was possible. It still surprises me that my body accepts him at all. Now, I can’t tell where his cock ends, and my body starts.

“All mine.” He pounds into me.

My legs start to shake as this wild sensation rips my first earth-shattering orgasm out of me. It hardly had time to form before he extracted it, and it seems another is already close behind.

“Do you hear me?” His hands return to my hips, and dig in for stability against his vicious thrusts.

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