Page 10 of Of Angels & Absolution

“First let’s get you out of these wet clothes so you don’t catch cold,” I say, peeling the torn garment off her and tossing it into a wastebasket in the corner. “Then we’ll warm you up.”

Slowly, I trace my knuckles down her taut tummy, stopping at her belly button. She wears her skirt low on her hips, so it’ll cover more of her legs, and I get a little lightheaded seeing the goosebumps sweeping over all that bare, ivory skin. It’s unclaimed land, just begging to be taken, bitten, bruised. I want to leave my mark on her, not to hurt her, but to know she’s wearing it under her clothes. To know she’s mine, and her body bears the mark of my claim as surely as mine wears the tattoos that show I belong to the Skulls.

I thumb her bellybutton, the soft swell of her lower belly, her skin cool and so soft it makes my mouth water and my fingers twitch to spread over it, to touch every untouched part of her that remains.

“You can do mine,” I say, taking her hand and raising it to my chest. “I know you want to. I’ve seen you looking. It’s okay to touch, lamb. I want you to.”

She shudders and draws an audible, shaky breath.

Encouraged, I press her fingertips to the top button on my shirt. “I’m all wet too,” I murmur, dropping my forehead to hers. “Just like you.”

Her eyes flutter closed, her rosy, pink lips parting in a gasp. Her finger curls, slipping between the buttons of my shirt. She hooks it around, then stops herself, hanging there like she’s clinging to me more than undressing me. I grab the front of my shirt and rip it open. Her eyes fly open, and she gasps as buttons click and roll across her floor. Before she can step back, I grab her hand again, pressing her cold palm to my hot skin.

Slowly, she raises her eyes to mine. I press her little hand harder against my muscled chest, letting her feel the fevered heat of my body when she’s near, the thunder of my heartbeat.Holding her gaze, I trace my thumb down her body again, hooking it into the top of her skirt. I bear down, pushing the waistband low enough that my thumb finds the swell of her mound, the soft curls of pubic hair inside her underwear.

I suck in a breath and drop to my knees, unable to hold myself back any longer. I grab her skirt in both hands and drag it down, her panties with it.

She cries out and grabs for me, but before she can push me away, I yank her hips forward. I bury my nose in her and inhale, a moan slipping from me unbidden when I fill my lungs with her delicious scent again.

“Angel,” she cries, gripping my head.

Ignoring her, I slide my tongue out, dipping it between her lips. I like that she’s not shaved, like the sensation of her soft hair against my lips. It’s sensual in a way I haven’t experienced, so raw and primal for such a buttoned-up girl. Somehow, it makes her seem both more innocent and more wild than the brazen girls with hairless bodies who expertly ride us the first chance they get, eager to add us to their lists of conquests. I’ve gotten bored of them, bored of the lack of variety. After a while, all the shaved, perfumed pussies taste the same.

Mercy is the first thing that’s been new in a long, long time. I love her purity, her untamed tangle of red hair, her natural taste and scent. I plunge my tongue into her slit, teasing her open until I reach her hot, wet center. She cries out, her thighs quaking. Without breaking the kiss, I lift her hips, holding them to my face while I pull her legs over my shoulders. I move across the room on my knees, crawling to her bed and laying her back on it, my mouth suctioned to her sweet, wet pussy. I suck her folds between my lips, caress them between my tongue and lip, then work the tip of my tongue into her opening.

“Please,” she gasps out, her hands fisting in her crochet blanket.

I spread her thighs wide and take one look at her delicate pink pussy before I feast. I drive my tongue into her opening, fucking her deep with it, listening to the sweet, unbidden moans and gasps and whimpers that fall from her lips as pure as dewdrops in the morning. I ravish her, eating and sucking, biting and fucking, moaning in pure, animal satisfaction.

I want to rise up and slam my cock home inside her, but I know she can’t take me yet. I’ve never fucked a virgin, and I never will. I don’t need to. I’m so big everyone feels tight to me. I usually don’t even want to, but Mercy is making me lose my mind.

Usually, I like to eat first, get girls warmed up, force an orgasm from them when they’re trying to wait, to save it for Saint or Heath’s dick. But they always cum on my tongue before they get to go on, to cum on their cocks. Then I can sit back and watch my brothers stretch them out and wreck their cunts. I’m the pinch hitter who comes back in at the end to take it back when the girls are all loose and spent and think they can’t go another minute. They always can, and dragging that last orgasm from their trembling bodies as they beg for relief is as sweet as making them lose control that first time.

My fantasy is to find a girl who’s never fucked anyone else, so we can do it raw—all three of us and maybe the Master too. I want to watch them destroy her one after another, taking turns with her until she’s so full she can’t hold another drop, and their cum is oozing out of her stuffed, gaping cunt. Then I want to sink my cock into it. I love the thought of their cum soaking me, oozing out around my girth as I stretch a cunt to its furthest limit.

But that’s such a filthy fantasy I can’t even put Mercy into it. Maybe if we corrupt her thoroughly enough, she’ll let us run a train on her bareback, but when she moans, bringing me into the moment, the fresh taste of her virgin cunt drenching mytongue is the most erotic thing I can imagine. Her slit is slick and hot, and I drag my tongue up it sensually, then latch onto her swollen, red clit and suck. It pulses wildly, and she cries out. I suck harder, and she bucks, releasing the bed and tangling her fingers in my dark hair. She drags me in, rocking wildly, gasping and panting and lifting for me. I slide my tongue down with one slow stroke, stretch her open with both my thumbs, and sheathe my tongue deep inside her tight, throbbing cunt.

I feel her shatter, the moment of surrender. It’s my favorite moment, even better than my own climax. She stops grinding and goes still, her knees opening and closing slowly like butterfly wings on either side of my head, her pussy shimmering in waves along my tongue, her cum spreading over it in a thick, salty glaze.

I’m not entirely unselfish. I love going down. Nothing else in the world tastes quite like pussy, and no one tastes like Mercy. I don’t even have time to reach down and unzip. The moment she cries out in bliss, a throb jolts through me, and I cum before I know it’s happening. I let out a groan into her quivering cunt, and she whimpers and shudders under me, her thighs trembling uncontrollably.

Fuck. I just came in my pants like a teenage dirtbag who goes off the second a girl touches him. I wasn’t expecting that, didn’t know I was that close. I wasn’t paying attention to my own pleasure, only hers. I’ve never gotten there this fast, not even from fucking. Usually I can go all night, and I’m a little salty about the fact that I lost control and came so soon.

I shouldn’t be surprised, considering I wasn’t just eating out any girl. I can’t compare it to the usual. This is Mercy fucking Soules. I could keep sucking her sweet pussy all night. Just because it’s over for me, doesn’t mean it is for her. She’s so innocent, she doesn’t even know what that sound I made meant. I moan again, dragging my tongue through her center, collectingher release and swallowing it like the sweetest nectar. Then, over her half-hearted protests, I start again, pushing her over the edge a second time, then a third.

I can’t get enough. I want to do it all, but if I did more, she’d probably end up pregnant, and persuading anyone that she’s still a virgin might take a little more convincing in the information age than when our fierce queen Mother Mary was around. Not sure anyone today would believe she hadn’t given up that cat and just miraculously turned up bun-in-oven one day. But then, a few hundred million people still don’t see that Mary pulled one over on them, so maybe I’m giving humanity too much credit.

Giving credit where credit’s due, that chick pulled off history’s greatest con, and it’s still going. Most wives who step out on their man go with the whole “he was just over fixing the sink” excuse or get a divorce. They don’t gaslight their husband into agreeing, brainwash an entire population, convince the world they banged God, and their son is therefore also God, and create a whole-ass religion out of it. Gotta give Mama Mary the recognition she deserves.

Then again, maybe old Joe wasn’t so gullible. Maybe he hadn’t nailed her. Maybe like me, he just had strong swimmers in the family, and he finger-banged her with some cum for lube, and here we are. To the best of my knowledge, I haven’t caused an immaculate conception yet, but you can’t be too careful. My dad and my uncle both spawned five kids without even trying. Mom was even on birth control when two of us “Came knocking like Publisher’s Clearing House,” as she likes to tell people. And if Saint thought I fucked his sister without his permission, and then lied about it… Well, they’d hate me more than they hate Mercy for what she did.

I’m going to be in enough trouble as it is.

But since I’m already here, already in, I go for one more, dragging a last orgasm from Mercy before she’s sobbing and begging me to stop, saying her clit is so tender it hurts. Finally, I haul her up onto the bed, then lie down with her. I shove my pants off and toss them off the bed, then drag her leg over my hip. She’s still bloody, dirty and bruised, but her face is a flushed mess of tears for a different reason now.

I draw her chin up and kiss her quivering lip.

“You’ll get used to it,” I promise her. “Just let go and accept the pleasure next time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

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