Page 31 of Wicked Angel
I sighed. I was fucking tired, and self-loathing did not suit this girl. At all. “Angeline, you’re a lovely person.”
“You hate me.”
“That doesn’t mean you should hate yourself.” I was trying to make a joke, but clearly, now was not the time. It went straight over her head. I could tell when she just blinked at me.
Then her eyes widened. “I have to pee. Right now. Get out, get out!” she shouted, scrambling up.
I got the fuck out, shutting the door behind myself. I waited in Shayla’s room, turning on a light. After a minute, I heard the toilet flush and water ran for a while.
When it was silent again, I knocked on the door. “You okay?”
The door opened. Angeline stood there looking like a sweet disaster, her usually silky light-brown hair disheveled, her skin pale and her makeup smeared down her pretty face. She was playing with the hem of my shirt and her eyes looked blurry when they met mine. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.” Then she started to cry.
“It’s okay.” I ushered her gently out of the bathroom. “You didn’t shout.”
“You helped me,” she sobbed, falling into my chest. When she clung to me, I wrapped my arms around her carefully as she cried. “You’re my hero.”
Okay, we needed to nip this in the bud. She was not gonna love this, whatever she remembered of it, in the morning. As far as I could ever tell, Angeline couldn’t stand me. Maybe she’d wanted to fuck me, once upon a time, but that was neither here nor there. As for actually admiring anything about me, there was no way. And calling me her hero? She’d hate that, for sure.
“You’re like… my sexy guardian angel…”
Holy fuck.
“Let’s just get you to bed.” I tried to steer her around Shayla’s bed so I could get her to a guest room, but she sagged right onto the bed as soon as she saw it. There was no getting her back up unless I picked her up again. And since she was somewhat in my arms and had almost pulled me down onto the bed with her—on purpose or by accident, I wasn’t sure—and was now gushing, “You’re sooooo gorgeous… You have amazing eyes… I like the way you scowl at me…” I was thinking that was a bad idea.
I held on just long enough to drag her into place and arrange her head on a pillow before detangling myself from her arms. But she held onto my neck, her eyes meeting mine when she confessed, “I had a crush on you. For four years.”
My dick, which was now inconveniently hard again, throbbed at that look in her eyes. She’d never looked right into my eyes like that before, with that hungry look on her face.
She only ever gave me that look when she thought I wasn’t looking, and even that was years ago. Now, when I met her eyes, she always looked away. Or looked annoyed.
She was gripping the back of my neck with surprising strength, holding me to her, and I didn’t want to break away. I was not gonna kiss her or touch her or do anything. But something in me did not want to kill this moment, even though I knew I should. She was still looking into my eyes and this heated, raw-nerve feeling traveled down my spine and into my gut.
The vision of her pussy in her little lace panties flashed in my head, and I could easily imagine shoving myself into her. I could imagine kissing her. Again. Like I did that night. But this time, she’d be naked beneath me, her legs spread wide to take me…
“I’m gonna let go now,” I said, my voice rough and raspy. She was the one holding on to me, though. “And let you sleep. Okay?”
“Okay,” she breathed. But she was still holding on.
“You’re safe here.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t let go.
Her gaze dropped to my lips and that raw, hot feeling in my gut surged. Then she suddenly pressed her soft lips to mine. My breath caught in my throat as a sheet of lightning streaked through me, from my lips to my balls. My cock flexed.
So different from that other kiss…
That night, it was a warm, creeping shiver that swept through me, the thrill of kissing her and the dread of knowing it wouldn’t change a thing.
This kiss was… hotter. Maybe because she instigated it. Even though she was drunk, it felt like a promise.
But I wouldn’t hold her to it.
I wrenched away, breaking her hold. She flopped back on the pillow, gazing up at me. I could see the conflict in her eyes… like she couldn’t quite decide if she should be upset, or try that again, or if any of this was even real.
There were still tears on her cheeks. At least she’d stopped crying.
