Page 129 of Beautifully Wounded

“Angel,” I rasp into her mouth, not wanting to break the kiss to talk to her. “Does it happen when I kiss you?”

“Does what happen?” she asks into my mouth.

“The ache. Do you still ache when I kiss you?” I nibble at her lips this time, revelling in how she seems to lean closer, chasing my lips.

“Yes,” she breathes, and I take a chance.

Easing my hand from her cheek, I graze my fingers down the column of her neck to her chest, noticing how her breath hitches, yet her tits seem to press out further as if seeking my touch.

Deepening the kiss again, my fingers find the hard peak of her nipple straining through the fabric, and when I circle it, her moan is loud, her body sinking into my touch.

My cock is as hard as fucking stone. I want to feel her hands on me. I want to sink into her heat, but I also want to keep wringing out those sweet little moans that keep falling from her mouth and into mine as our tongues dance.

Fuck, she’s a good kisser. I can tell she’s hungry for this by the way her tongue strokes mine, and by the fever in her nips as I pinch her nipple gently through the fabric.

Needing to see how far she’s willing to go, I release her nipple and start to glide my digits further south, but the moment I do that, she gasps and shoves away, her chest rising and falling as her lashes flutter and it’s obvious by her panicked expression that she’s working to control her emotions.

She looks fucking beautiful. So fucking innocent and pure that I know I shouldn’t fucking taint her, yet all I want to do it stain her with my brand of evil.

“We don’t have to do anything more than that.” I assure her even as my cock jerks like it’s trying to slap me but can’t, due to being restrained by my fucking jeans. “But will you let me help you with your ache some time?” I ask. “When you’re ready?”

For a long beat, her caramel gaze bores into mine, like she’s trying to penetrate my cold black soul.

“I’m not sure I can do anything more.” She admits in a hushed tone, her gaze dropping to the ugly green carpet between us.

“I don’t have to touch you,” I tell her, my words forcing her gaze to meet mine again as she frowns.

“I don’t understand.”

I know she doesn’t, which is why I should be walking away. She’s too good for me. Too innocent. But fuck, I feel like I’ve been woken up from a three-year sleep, and she’s all I can see.

“You will understand. But right now, I should go out there and help Smitty with the men.”

“Oh… yes, of course.” She glances towards the door and then back to me. “Can I help?”

“Sure. If you’d like.” I grin, happy that she wants to help my family.

“Yes.” She nods. “It’s the least I can do. I feel like the only reason the police were here was to look for me, which means your men got hurt, and the Doxies had to do…” She shakes her head, anger contorting her expression. “Well, anyway, they all got hurt because of me.”

I’m not going to agree with her, even though she’s right, but I don’t want her blaming herself.

In fact, I get a really fucking bad feeling that the cops, who are clearly not on our payroll, and the security breach and deaths at the warehouse are linked. And if that’s the case, we’ve got a really big fucking problem.

“You didn’t make those cops behave the way they did, Angel.” I point out, moving to where I dropped my tee and slipping it back on. “Those fuckers are the worst kind of cop, and their behaviour isn’t on anyone but them.”

When I face Abbey, I can tell she doesn’t believe me, so instead of arguing it out, I gesture to the door.

Together, we venture out into the courtyard where the injured men are being patched up.

Despite the angry glares shot Abbey’s way by a couple of the Doxies, she moves past me quickly to a commotion where Nola and Darla are arguing over a whining Brody, while JD snaps at them all to shut up.

Following Abbey, I see Brody’s leg is bleeding profusely, a huge gash on his thigh the cause of his wailing.

Abbey maneuvers past everyone, and when Nola notices her examining Brody’s wound, she falls quiet, her arguing with Darla ceasing.

“Can you move your toes?” Abbey asks Brody, who stops whining like a little bitch, his green gaze locking onto my Angel as he nods and proceeds to wiggle his toes.

“What are you doing?” Darla snaps.

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