Page 21 of Glitter

Seeing those lips pursed in disgust—an expression I didn’t want to associate with the thought of his mouth and my dick together—snapped me out of my lustful momentary daydreaming.

It took a few more moments than it should have for my brain to catch on to—“Is this… Where is this? What’s this an address for?” I asked, raising and motioning with my phone.

“It’s no big deal, okay,” he repeated, sighing and rolling his eyes. “It’s just… It’s my address, boo. I figured…since it’s way, way too full here tonight, we could go to my place instead.”

I opened my mouth to immediately agree, because…fuck. Yes. I’d love to go to his place. See where he lived. Find out more about my angel.

But before I was able to say anything, he cut me off again. “It’s no. Big. Deal,” he said, again, stressing the words, as if he thought I wouldn’t believe him. “Okay?”

This time, he seemed to be waiting for me to say something, to acknowledge what he’s said, so I nodded my understanding as I replied, “Yes. Okay. No big deal. I get it.”

“Right. So… Go to this address,” he told me, “…and I’ll meet you there.” Then he hurriedly added, “Donotgo to the main house. See the ‘B’ there on the address? That means I’m in the small studio rentalbehindthe house at this address. Do. Not. Go to the big house, okay, boo? You’ll just bother my landlords and nobody wants that.” His voice dropped, almost too low for me to hear, as he seemed to repeat to himself, “Fuck, nobody wants that. Not now. Not ever.”

The horror in his voice and the way he shuddered made me ridiculously curious about his landlords, whoever they were. But I had the feeling that if I pried, even the smallest amount, he would snatch my phone back and find a way to erase the address he’d entered into it somehow, then flee off into the night, taking his invitation with him.

Not wanting to risk that, I merely confirmed, “B, yep, got it. I won’t…I won’t go anywhere near the big house, just straight to your place.”

His eyes narrowed and his stare bored into my forehead, as if he could see right inside my head and read my sincerity straight from my brain. “Right. See that you do,” he muttered. Another moment of glaring passed, then his features evened back out to teasingly confident as he stated, “Off we go then. I’ll meet you there.”

I nodded, stepping aside so that he could scoot around me and exit the club before me.

One of the club bouncers held the door open for both of us, although I noticed his eyes lingered much longer on my angel than they did on me. Not that I could blame him. If I could, my own eyes would be glued to this pretty, glittery angel every second of the day that I could keep them open.

As we parted on the sidewalk in front of the club—me to head to where I was parked and him to wherever he had his car—he jokingly warned me, “Now don’t get lost, boo. Although…” He traced a single slender up the front of my shirt, then startlingly booped me on the nose with it. “If you should happen to take the slightly slower route to get there,” he said. “I might use that bit of extra time to change out of this into something pretty for you.”

Oh holy mother of fuck… As far as I was concerned, what he was already wearing was already over-the-top pretty. And sexy. So, so fucking sexy. That he was suggesting he’d greet me at his place in something even prettier…

Fuck. If it were capable of sound, I think my dick would’ve just whimpered.

Chapter 11

So, it turned out that my angel’s place was an adorable little cottage.

It was located behind an exquisitely kept-up, two-story Craftsman-style house and accessible by going down a narrow, winding, brick-paved path that branched off the side of the property’s only driveway. The cottage, while much smaller than the main house, and being only a single-story, had a lot of similar features and the same over-all paint scheme as the larger house it sat in the shadow of.

With his admonishment to not disturb the landlords that lived in the front house still ringing in my ears, I parked my car on the street, closed the door as quietly as I could, and crept-snuck down the driveway and to the path leading to his place.

My sneakers made a whispering whoosh sound against the bricks of the path, which blended into a gentle harmony with the gentle swoosh of the nighttime breeze and the soft, repetitive clicking and whirring of nocturnal insects.

My angel must’ve been watching for me, because I didn’t need to knock when I reached his door. It swung open on quiet hinges and revealed…

Gah. I might’ve swallowed my own tongue.

Backlit by golden lamplight, he was a vision. A seductive, impossible vision.

As promised, my angel had swapped his silver and black club attire for a sheer, black robe that whispered, soft as a cloud, over his slender frame, its hem flirting with somewhere around the middle of his long, toned thighs. The robe was only loosely belted, allowing a generous sliver of his narrow chest to show. And below the floppy loops of the belt’s tied bow… One thigh peeked out from between the two parted halves. A thigh hugged by a lacy band that topped a silky stocking, which was the same sheer black as his diaphanous robe.

And on his feet… My eyes slid down the long, slim line of his pretty legs to see that his narrow, elegant feet were adorned with toeless, backless, low-heeled, feathery slippers. Breaking with the all-black color scheme of the rest of his ensemble, the slippers were a sweet, pretty pink.

“Oh good, you didn’t get lost, boo.”

One part of my brain registered his words, but the rest of it was clamoring with lust, and disbelief, and need, and want, and… “Grrbllhunhh.” Completely unable to think in actual words, I was pretty happy with myself that I’d managed to make any sort of response, even if it was absolute gibberish.

What sort of lucky sign had I been born under that my angel seemed to be someone who appreciated and enjoyed the gibbering idiot I often morphed into?

A beautiful smile—an actual smile, not a smirk or wry grin or teasing lip curl, but an actual smile—stretched his pretty, glossy, pink lips as he commented, “Thank you, boo. That was exactly the impression I was going for with this outfit.”

One of his hands drifted to rest on the loosely knotted bow at his waist, fingers playing along the satiny ribbon, and my heart sped up thinking my angel was about to slip the ties free, untying the belt that was doing a poor imitation of preserving his modesty.

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