Nothing polite or sweet. We are two fires meeting.
It’s a collision.
Her mouth opens under mine as if she’s been waiting for it all evening. Hot, wet, hungry. She tastes like champagne, strawberry gloss, and something that’s only hers. She makes a small sound in her throat—not a moan, more like a broken breath—and that sound races down my spine.
I put a hand on her waist. The lace is soft, but I feel the heat, the tension of her hips moving against me, slow, precise.
She knows perfectly well what she's doing.
She moves over me, exerting pressure exactly where I’m losing it, and my grip tightens.
“Fuck,” I murmur against her lips.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, pleased.
I grab her ass and pull her closer. She bites my lower lip, and I groan, because it’s filthy, it’s perfect. She does it again, probably just to hear me react.
“You like control, huh?” I whisper to her.
“Were you expecting a shy little angel from Heaven?”
God, she’s going to kill me.
“Hands up,” I tell her quietly.
Her eyes sparkle. She raises her arms without protesting.
I run my hands along her hips, slow. Over her waist, the point where it narrows. Over her ribs. The lace is so thin I feel all the heat, every curve. I’m not in a hurry. This isn’t a quick hookup. It's worship.
When my thumbs brush the edge of her breast, she inhales as if I’ve shocked her.
There it is.
I look her in the eyes.
I want to see her yield.
“Tell me if I need to stop,” I say low.
She stares at me. No hesitation. “Don’t.”
Fuck.
I slide my thumbs under the lace and free her.
Her breasts spill into my hands, perfect, and so, so soft. Her nipples are already tight, already flushed, and when I run my thumbs over them, she shivers and makes this small, breathless, helpless moan that makes my vision go hazy for a second.
“Fuck, Angel,” I groan.
She rocks against me, harder now, chasing the friction. Her head tilts back, her wings flare out with the movement, brushing my wrists and chest, feathers stroking my skin as if they were real. As if she were real.
I lean down and take one breast into my mouth.
She cries out.
Not loud, but desperate. The kind of sound that tells me exactly how close she already is. I suck slowly, with wet heat, tongue and pressure, and she clutches my hair as if she might fly away if she doesn't hold on.
Her hips buck as my fingers find her. She buries her face in my neck, her breath hot and fast, her hands clenching into fists in my hair as if she's holding on for dear life.
