He let my hair fall through his fingers. “Everyone thinks you’re this gothic platinum blond, but you’re really a redhead.”
I blinked at him. “Not really. Strawberry blond at most.”
“Mhmm,” he said as he pushed me back onto the mattress. “You don’t like being a ginger?”
“Bane of my childhood,” I said. “The teasing was endless. But really, I only lighten my hair a little.”
“And shave...” he said, gaze flicking to my crotch.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’ve had people complain.”
“About body hair?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I like hair, wherever it’s supposed to grow. Don’t do anything special for me.” He shoved my T-shirt up, gaze going hooded over the minimal treasure trail left. “That’s one of my favorites.”
I swallowed hard, fantasizing about his mouth on me.
“Do you want me to shave?” Angel asked, startling me out of a runaway imagination.
“What?”
“I’m not super hairy in general, but if you want me to shave, I will,” Angel offered.
“Angel, you are the hottest fucking man I’ve ever met. I don’t care what hair you do or don’t have.” Wait, that wasn’t right, because I loved his long hair. I loved running my fingers through it while he sucked me off or having it fall in my face when he glided inside me and kissed me breathless. “I love your long hair. Could we talk less and get more naked?”
He laughed and tugged me up to strip off my shirt and cast it aside, his own with it. I tugged at his sweatpants, needing him naked, skin to skin, his body over mine. The man was a delight of muscle, fine skin with delicately scrawled artwork dancing over it, and heat.
Angel traced his fingers down my chest as he stripped us bare, his hands running a possessive sweep over me as though reclaiming what the shadows tried to steal. I couldn’t stop my sighs and the sounds falling from my lips as his mouth followed his fingers, hot and demanding, kissing, nipping, sucking, and exploring my skin as though he could drink away any remnants of my worry.
I tugged the tie out of his hair, letting it fall and tickle my skin, and tangled my fingers into it, tugging hard enough to make him groan. He rewarded me by latching onto my nipple and nipping at it until I bucked against him, desperate for friction.
“Angel, fuck, please.”
He cupped my cock, then gave me a teasing tug.
“No,” I groaned.
He licked up my chest to nip my chin. “Yeah? What do you want, love?”
Again, he said that as if he meant it. But he couldn’t, could he? Not yet? I trembled, wanting to ask, but fearing the answer might not be what I wanted. He pulled the tube of lube out of the side table and squirted it into his palm, coating his fingers, the sound dirty and making me rock hard as I knew what was coming.
“Is this what you want?” Angel asked as he slid a finger in me, the digit going smooth and deep, hitting my prostate. I lost all sense of thought beyond needing him in me.
“Angel—” I’d beg if I had to.
“Say it again,” he said, his voice husky and filled with need. He added a second slicked finger and I choked on his name. I gripped his hair, forcing his lips to meet mine and swallow the demand. He gripped my hips, sliding me back on the bed, and spreading me wide, teasing my hole for a few seconds before sliding a pillow under my hips and adding a third finger.
“Fuck. Angel, fuck me, now,” I demanded, trying to keep my voice down. I squeezed his fingers, my ass desperate for something harder, longer, and hotter. “Please.”
He nipped my lower lip, then hooked my knees over his shoulder, added slick to his cock, and sank into me in one long, slow dive. I saw stars as he buried himself to my core, his hips not stopping until he was balls to ass, nestled as if we were meant to be joined this way. And maybe we were. I’d never trusted anyone enough to give up the condoms before, but we’d both tested and come up clean, and nothing rivaled the feeling of him, every hot, hard, veined inch of him, sliding into me.
“Slow?” he asked as he began a torturously relaxed retreat.
“No,” I whined.
He slammed back in, making me grumble an incoherent mash ofyesandmore. “That?”
