Page 158 of Wicked Angel
After that video call, we’d ordered in lunch and had a long meeting with Yash. I thought it would be good if Yash and Angeline had a talk in person, but it turned out to be the best meeting I’d had with Yash in a long time—thanks to Angeline charming the ever-loving hell out of him. Both of them had fed off one another, getting so genuinely excited about my future career that it was actually inspiring to behold.
Apparently, having a professional chat with my manager got Angeline all charged up. As we drove home from the meeting she was oozing so much joy, even I could tell what she was feeling. She felt respected. Spoken to like a peer by Yash and me. And that made her feel confident.
Actually, it turned her on.
Why the hell didn’t I get Lamar to drive us? Serious mistake.
I had this thing about never driving in dangerous conditions. I didn’t even drive in the rain, and I didn’t do distracted driving.
So I was really trying not to get derailed by Angeline’s excitement.
When I didn’t respond to her, she said, “I’m aching for you,” in that soft, beautiful voice of hers, like sex in a cloud of cotton candy.
I gripped the wheel, trying to focus on the road and not on the beautiful woman throbbing heat at me from two feet away.
“My panties are wet.” When her words didn’t get the reaction she wanted, she went on. “Wouldn’t it be fun if you came in my mouth right now? Or my—”
“How about we turn up the music.”
She laughed. It was a soft, throaty laugh, and I could hear how horny she was. She picked up my phone and switched songs. On the way to Yash’s, she’d amused herself by invading my music collection, and now she put on DJ Khaled featuring Drake, “For Free.” I knew the song, thanks to Shayla.
“Really?”
“What?” she said innocently.
“I just don’t think a dude should tell you his music is ‘the best’ at the start of every single song he produces.”
“Uh, have you heard a single rap or hip-hop song in your life? That’s how they roll.”
“Uh-huh.” I was just glad for the topic change; I’d listen to whatever she wanted. All I listened to was heavy hip-hop, alt-rock, hard rock and dirty R&B. I liked soul, blood and sex in my music. But DJ Khaled and Drake annoyed me. “Let’s just say there’s confidence, and then there’s something else.”
“But this song is for you,” she said, extra innocently. “You shouldn’t have to do it for free. Last night on your patio? That was gooood.” When I glanced over at her, she was grinning at me, her cheeks flushed. She turned up the music, which sounded pretty boss on my sound system, and maybe it would at least keep her occupied.
Wrong.
Halfway through the song, she turned it back down and purred, “But wouldn’t it feel good? Coming in me right now?” She sounded drunk with lust, like she’d been thinking about it for way too long already.
Then she said a whole lot of alluring shit that made it almost impossible to see the road ahead of me. Stuff that involved a lot oflicking,bitingandsucking. I tried to ignore it, but it was fucking futile.
“I’m a little busy,” I told her. “You’ll have to wait.”
“But I’m begging for a come,” she teased.
“Yourcome. You’re supposed to beg for your come.”
“What if I want to beg for yours?”
I cleared my throat, trying to clear my head of the arousal that was clogging up the pathways to my brain. The ones I needed for driving.
Next time I drove anywhere with Angeline, Lamar was definitely taking the wheel.
“I like begging for your come.”
“I’m driving.”
“Let me suck on your cock.”
“Not happening.”
