I hear the buckle, a click, the fabric sliding; he rolls on a condom, quick and sure. He guides my hips, he aligns me.
I blink—almost sober for a millisecond.
“Are you ready for me?” his voice low and husky.
“Yes.” Twice. “Yes.”
I push myself down onto him.
The world flips over, and then it explodes in my chest. It’s too much, right, now. His hands grip my hips because otherwise I lose control entirely—and I can’t promise I’d mind.
“Jesus Christ,” I hear him grit out, his head falling back.
I lower myself slowly, taking all of him, inch by inch, until I’m seated on him and he is buried in me and my brain just stops thinking.
We stay there. One second.
Just breathing. That’s all.
Forehead against forehead. His lashes brush mine. My lips swollen from his kisses.
Then I move.
It’s over.
Goodbye, self-control.
I find the rhythm immediately—greedy, precise—I grind against him as if I’d been waiting for him all night and didn’t want to waste a single second.
Spoiler: yes, I was waiting for him all night.
The room fills with wet, obscene, wonderful sounds. My breath breaks into gasps. My breasts bounce against his face; he takes a nipple in his mouth again, and I melt onto him.
“…oh God, I—”
“Yes, Angel,” he murmurs against my skin. His hand slides between us again and rubs me exactly where I need it: tight circles, pressure and rhythm, without stopping.
I shatter.
There’s no other word.
My body contracts, then shakes; my wings spread wide, the feathers brushing his shoulders, throat, jaw. My moan breaks in his mouth when he kisses me, swallowing the sound.
I feel him—every pulse, every squeeze—and I drag him with me.
He thrusts into me, harder now, chasing me, holding me tight as if we should never let go. The sofa creaks.
He gives in with a moan that I will probably remember forever; his hands dig into my hips as if he could anchor us to this precise moment forever.
And we stay like that.
Breathing.
Shaking.
Alive.
I rest my head on his shoulder. My lips against his throat. I feel his heartbeat racing with mine. I run my hand along his back, over the curve, to the base of my wings.
