In another few seconds, he’s gasping and moaning, rolling his hips, and stretching his neck out, coming with his whole fucking body. I can’t look away. He has me completely captivated.
I’m transfixed by every reaction, wanting more. His cock erupts, splashing cum up his chest with some even making it to his chin. I keep stroking, hoping I’m doing this right. Not having a road map on how to do this, except for what I like. If his body language is anything to go by, it’s working. He keeps going, coming a massive amount, which is pretty hot.
I like that I won.
I slow my hand, milking the last few drops.
He pries his eyes open, just looking at me.
I smile and change my grip on his wrist to lace our fingers together. “Was that okay?”
“It was more than okay.” He’s breathless.
“Can I get something to clean you off?”
He nods.
“You won’t leave?”
“No.”
“Promise?” I ask.
“I promise.”
I make myself get up. Otherwise, I won’t, too scared he won’t be here when I get back. I have to trust him. I know I can. He’s always had my back, but it’s fucking hard. I’ve never been able to rely on anyone but him. All the people who told me they would take care of me were fucking liars, even his sister. The world is filled with self-serving assholes. But never Angel.
I pull my sweats back on and go to the bathroom, letting the water heat up, trying to keep my anxiety in check. He apologized for the distance. I trust him. I don’t need to rush back. So I let the water heat up, grounding myself.
I return with a warm washcloth, and he hasn’t moved an inch. He looks half dead and blissed out. My chest is a little less tight. I wipe him up, then my hand, then toss the cloth toward my hamper. I find his pants and toss them at him before climbing back into bed.
“Still okay?” I ask after he pulls on his sweats.
“Yes,” he says through a yawn.
“Can I cuddle you?” I ask before acting, not wanting to drive him away again.
“Yes.” He’s hesitant, so I go slow and just put my arm around him.
I just hope he’s still here in the morning.
I can’t handle losing him.
TWENTY-ONE
WOLFE
“You always come with me for Christmas. You know how bad it will look if you don’t?” Archangel sits on my bed, and it almost feels like it used to.
We haven’t repeated what happened the other night, but at least he’s not avoiding me.
“I figured you wouldn’t want me to come. Won’t it just cause issues?” But that’s only half the reason.
My mom has called me twice more, but I don’t really want to tell him. Every missed call fills me with dread, even though I haven’t even fucking spoken to her since I moved in with Archangel.
What can she possibly want?
“It’s going to cause more if you don’t,” Archangel says carefully, and I get it. His sister is a lot on her best days.
