Page 112 of Angels Are Falling

“Fuck.” It was his turn to hiss. He was watching himself, feeding his cock inside my asshole one inch at a time. “You’re tight,” he groaned.

My eyes unintentionally returned to the bathroom door, hoping his voice didn’t carry.

Perhaps it was the distraction, or I was distracted by the fear of getting caught, but the pain started to subside. His fingers on my clit sped up and my heavy-lidded eyes rolled to the back of my head. With one final move, he plunged forward until he was all the way in. I nearly screamed, but instead, bit into my arm.

“That’s it, Princess. You did it. Good girl.” His panting and praises had my head spinning.

“Fuck,” I grunted, already feeling spent.

I felt faint from the pain but the relentless fingers on my dripping wet clit and the slightly ajar door somehow distracted me from it.

His fingers sped up.

“That… that feels good,” I breathed hoarsely.

His breaths sounded equally labored as his cock throbbed inside me. The veins in his neck protruded as he fought for control, while somehow managing to keep up the assault on my clit.

He pulled back, and I nearly caved when he thrust into me again. Opening the bottle, he smeared more oil on his dick when he pulled out next. This time, when he thrust forward, the tight muscles and the sensitive nerve bundle made me moan in pleasure instead of pain.

He picked up the pace at the sound. He started fucking me like an animal, forgetting the slow pace he had initially set.

It was too much, the fingers on my clit, my ass both burning while the nerves also sang in pleasure. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I knew this would be the most intense experience of my life.

“Fuck. I am close.” He struggled to speak, as his pelvis smacked against my ass mercilessly.

He didn’t hold back, slamming into me in an all-consuming manner.

“Fuck, Princess,” he growled, his eyes glowing with manic lust.

My blood heated at the feral look on his face. I couldn’t breathe, no matter how much I tried. A silent scream climbed up my throat but refused to let out.

I convulsed violently with an orgasm so strong I didn’t think it was possible. I vaguely felt him pull out to smear his cum over my ass and thighs. He kept at it until I was completely covered in him and at long last, his body gave out, depleted and he blanketed over me.

Once more, I glanced at the bathroom door. This time, instead of feeling horrified over what we had done, I was merely relieved that I was back exactly where I belonged.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

STEFAN

I woke to an empty bed. The sheets were cold. Amelie had been gone for hours. I lay there doing the worst arithmetic of my life. How many hours it took a bed to go this cold, and whether she’d stayed awake beside me, listening for my breathing to change so she could leave.

I decided, lying alone on my staged side of the house, that there was only one solution to my dilemma—effort. I’d been absent. I’d been gone for weeks. Of course, things were strange. You couldn’t vanish for weeks and walk back into the center of a family as if you’d only stepped out for milk. They’d moved on. The math of it was so plain and so brutal. You leave a space empty long enough, and something grows into it. Something had grown into mine. Every hour, my family was moving farther away from me, and I could no longer afford to wallow in my pain. Instead, I’d do what my mother used to do when we needed reminding that we were a family who loved each other.

I’d cook.

It used to work when we were broke and running on love. I had no idea if it worked in reverse. My mother used to say you could tell a loved house by the smell of its kitchen.

I sidled out of my bed and into the kitchen, cracking eggs while Dan was juicing oranges beside me. A tower of pancakes for Bella, eggs two ways because the twins could never agree on scrambled or sunny-side up, fresh juice, the cinnamon rolls for Amelie that took two rises and I’d timed so they’d come out of the oven warm.

“Are we celebrating anything special?” Dan asked, sliding the second tray into the oven. He was confused by my sudden culinary interest after being away for so long.

“It’s our first family meal since I got back.” I was arranging strawberries by size like it mattered. Like anyone would notice. “Everything has to be perfect.”

“It will be,” he said in the tone of a man who didn’t have much at stake.

I set the long table in the bright room. Food, family, and noise. The kind of morning you remembered. The kind Amelie loved.