Page 50 of His Angel

He’s there straight away, his cologne surrounding me, his hands pushing mine out of the way and sweeping gently down over my skin, but there’s nothing there, just tatters of something between my fingers as my heart roars in my ears.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, attempting to focus my gaze on whatever the hell is in my hands, but I can’t see anything, the torch lost in my abject terror.

“Spiders web,” Nick replies quietly, picking something from my hair.

“Do not tell me there is a spider on my face, or in my hair.” A shiver ripples over me as he smooths it back into place, his gentle touch a balm I didn’t realise I needed.

His deliberate calmness is such a juxtaposition to the panic that still courses through my veins, my breaths coming out panted as I drop the spider's web from my fingers, attempting to get some semblance of control.

“I guess we wandered from the path,” I comment.

“Looks like it,” he agrees, his thumbs tracking back and forth against the back of my neck as I finally look up.

His white shirt stands out half a mile in the darkness, but the rest of him not so much. His square jawline, the darkness in his eyes, the way my body is pressed in against his.

“I wouldn’t change how I claimed my girl,” he says softly, and I still. “My girl was hot, and half-naked, and she wanted me almost as much as she feared me, at that moment. She was absolutely perfect.”

All the air is sucked completely from my lungs with his words, seeing the moment through his eyes rather than the fear that coursed through my veins, the same kind I’m tamping down right now.

“Thinking I wanted you is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” I ask, not nearly as strong as I hoped, the statement coming out breathy.

“If I could go back, push you up on that hood and lick the nectar from your wet pussy the same way I lapped those tears, I would,” he admits on a rumble.

The way my body reacts to the words, the voice, the rumble… it’s instantaneous. Heat floods my system as the adrenaline morphs into the exact thing his dirty words accuse me of. Lust. Wanting him.

I did want him.

I had him.

In these very woods, somewhere.

And now, I’m supposed to be walking away.

We had a truce, of sorts.

And it slides, that truce.

A pushing back and forth as tempting and delicious as he is.

“I bet, if I push that skirt up and dip my fingers along the seam of the thong I know you’re wearing, you’d be fucking soaked,” he rasps.

Goosebumps follow the path of his fingers as they trail a blaze down my chest, over my abdomen, and down my thigh. By the time he’s hitching my skirt up, I’m widening my legs in anticipation of his touch. My eyes close and my lips part as he holds me firmly in his grasp.

Any softness in the hold at the back of my neck disappears as his tongue lathes a path along my jaw, my already thunderous heartbeat giving me away as need curls low in my belly. His teeth nip gently at my earlobe and down the column of my neck to that sensitive spot where it meets my shoulder, and still, his fingers only dance up the inside of my thigh.

By the time they finally make it to where I need him so desperately, I’m practically ready to beg him for his touch, the need for more so overwhelming that it’s all I can think of. His dark chuckle hits me deep as he slides his fingers beneath the wet fabric, slipping up and down.

“Please,” I whimper, lost to the feeling, to his touch, to him.

“I don’t know how you even dare deny this when you so clearly want it.” His spikey words come out smooth and sweet before he pushes two thick fingers in deep.

My exhale is practically a sigh of relief as he fills that aching need, torturous inch by torturous inch, and when his thumb finds my clit, I’m practically grinding myself against him, but he works my body like I’m an instrument he knows all the keys for, a symphony I’m not prepared for at all as my orgasm curls and coils, wrapping tighter and tighter around me.

“That’s it, sugar,” he rasps. “That's what you need. I’ve got you.”

He sinks his teeth into my shoulder as I grind helplessly against him, the sting hurtling me over the edge as my orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave. Surge after surge wracks my body as he drags every last sensation he can until opening my eyes has reality creeping in once again.

My forehead is pressed up against his chest, one hand gripping the wrist between my legs, the other twisted in his shirt as he pulls his fingers from me, sliding them into his mouth and sucking my taste from them as he fixes my thong and dress with his other hand.

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