Page 9 of Fallen Angel

“But are you watching my every move?” she says, reaching down to stroke his cock.

She loves Alec’s body, everything about it—from his legs to his cock to the hollow between his collarbone that she likes to kiss. But maybe her favorite part—the part that she didn’t notice until their first official date—is his hands. They’re large but elegant, with beautiful, tapered fingers like those of a sculptor or piano player. And when he’s enthusiastic about something he gestures with them broadly. When they first met, she would just watch his hands, shamefully imagining how they would feel on her breasts or between her legs.

Now those hands wind in her hair as she pulls down his boxers and takes the tip of his cock into her mouth.

“Turn around … let me eat your pussy while you do that,” he says. She smiles. She loves that he can be so direct with her, that he can talk dirty. When they first got together it shocked her. Now she wonders how she could ever be satisfied without it.

Mallory switches her position so that her legs are on either side of his face, her pussy poised above his lips. Now that she has access to his cock from a different angle, she focuses on the tip, running her tongue around the rim before taking his entire length into her mouth. She sucks firmly, her tongue circling the tip with one hand firmly on his wet shaft, working it up and down in tandem with her mouth. She tastes the first bud of semen. And between her legs, his tongue laps at her cunt while his finger massages her clit.

As she gets more and more aroused, it becomes difficult to concentrate on working his cock. She tries to focus, but when he starts circling the rim of her asshole with his thumb, she gives up. He gently presses his thumb into her ass, his mouth sucking on her clit like a pomegranate seed. A low moan escapes from her.

He holds her by the hips, his tongue moving from her clit to the center of her pussy, his tongue pressing deep inside her, fucking her, while his thumb works in and out of her ass. She doesn’t want to come like this—apart from him, while he plays her like an instrument. She pulls away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I want you inside me,” she says, moving to climb on top of him. But instead of letting her mount him, he moves on top of her. She slips her arms around him, kissing his neck, running her lips along the rough stubble of his chin. He brushes her swollen outer lips with his cock, and she feels a delicious surge of anticipation. But instead of entering her, he keeps his cock outside, rubbing against her until she’s in a frenzy. She grabs his ass, pulling him to her as hard as she can.

“Alec …”

“What?” he says, kissing her temple.

“I want you,” she murmurs, wondering if she will get away with only saying that much. Sometimes he makes her beg for it; as much as she loves sex, she hates articulating what she wants. And really, when it comes to pleasing her, he never needs her to say a word—he knows her body almost better than she does.

“I want you, too,” he says. And then, so quickly it’s startling, he thrusts his hard cock inside her. She gasps, adjusting her hips so he doesn’t go quite so deep. His mouth moves down to her breasts, biting her nipple. She doesn’t know why she likes it rough sometimes, but with Alec she has learned the intricate relationship between pleasure and pain.

He slides in and out slowly, and she resists the urge to tell him to stop moving, to just stay inside her. Then his movements quicken and shorten to hard thrusts, and she knows he’s close to coming. He presses his finger inside her ass, and her pussy convulses in waves.

“Oh my god,” she says, clutching his back. His thrusts grow harder, animalistic in their intensity, and then he cries out. Her pussy clenches against his cock over and over, the ripples of pleasure overtaking her.

When he pulls out, her pussy still throbs, as if reluctant to let go of the orgasm. Breathless, they lie side by side, and he pulls her close so she can rest her head in the crook of his arm. She looks at his profile, his flushed cheeks and strong nose, and marvels at his beauty. There was an adage that before sex, men aren’t thinking clearly, and after sex, women aren’t thinking clearly. She wonders if it’s true, because in that moment, all she can think is that she’s madly in love. And always will be.

Chapter Seven

Violet washes off some of her body glitter and changes into jeans and a simple black tank top, taking her time, delighting in the knowledge that she’s keeping movie star Jarod Marks waiting.

When she emerges from the Blue Angel she immediately spots the Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows. The driver, a beefy guy with a crew cut, gets out and opens the rear door for her. She slides in beside Jarod.

“Hey,” Jarod says. He’s vaping and offers her a hit.

“No, thanks. So where are we going?”

“I’m meeting some buddies at the Slit.”

The Slit is an edgier scene than the Blue Angel, complete with velvet rope at the front door, bouncers, and a dress code. It calls itself burlesque, but really it’s a high-end sex club. Some of the acts are borderline misogynist: girls sticking knives in their pussies or getting tied up and whipped by guys calling them whores.

“I’ll pass,” she says, pretending to reach for the door. She has no patience for sitting in an audience while other women are the center of attention.

“You don’t wanna go?” He looks genuinely baffled.

“No,” she says. “I don’t.”

Jarod cocks his handsome, famous head to one side, striking a pose that has the ability to launch a film franchise.

“But if you’re in the mood for another show tonight, I can suggest a better one. Very exclusive. Very, very exclusive.”

They exchange a look. It takes a minute, but Jarod’s million-dollar brown eyes narrow with understanding.

“Back to the Rivington,” he tells the driver.