Page 5 of Even Angels fall
But I got nothing of that, and these daily showers are my only time to explore and try to piece together what makes me feel good and what makes my frustration and pent-up energy go away.
And believe it or not, I still have energy left after all the workout I do every day.
My hand reaches my clit, and I slowly rub the tiny bundle of nerves that sets me on fire every time.
I’ve tried penetrative sex, or at least what I can do on my own, but it does nothing to me. Maybe I’m doing it wrong and that’s why I’m dreading my wedding night, but on my own, the only thing that works is my fingers relentlessly rubbing my clit in tiny circles as I fondle my breast with my other hand.
I know there’s a risk someone could come in—I’m not authorized a lock on any of my doors—but it doesn’t stop me from rubbing and rubbing. My breath fogs the shower stall as a soundless moan escapes my lips.
I’m getting so fucking close.
I pinch my nipple and increase the rhythm of my fingers against my clit, the wet sound of them rubbing against my pussy mixing with the fall of the water from the shower.
Then I imaginehim.
Hair so blond it looks white, golden eyes, jaw like granite, and muscles stacked on muscles.
He’s not real.
My mind conjured him in my dreams one day, and ever since, it’s his face that comes to my mind each time my fingers bring me to my own little slice of heaven.
It’s all I need, seeing his face in my mind and imagining my fingers are his as I pinch my clit and stars burst behind my eyelids as another of my soundless moans rings in my head.
I open my eyes and look at my watch.
Shit, I’m going to be late.
The thought bursts through my bubble of bliss as I turn the tap off and grab for the towel I left right next to the stall.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Ariël is not going to be happy.
I rush through drying myself, making it difficult to put my black leggings on, my black sports bra, and the matching black henley that seems to be like a uniform to me.
My closet is full of them. All in black.
Everything that has been given to me since that fateful day eight years ago has been black.
Matching my wings.
And, I’m starting to believe, matching my soul.
I’m nothing but anger, and I have no idea where it comes from.
But it isn’t a question for today.
Today, I need to run to my etiquette lesson-slash-lunch.
Being only lunch would be a waste of time, am I wrong?
3
Angélique
When I finally arrive at theécuries—the stables—,I’m one minute late, and I couldn’t have chosen a worse day for that to happen.
Because sitting next to my tutor, Ariël, is the man who forced me into that relentless training years ago.
