Page 23 of Where Angels Fall

I stiffen under his gaze, my body frozen, and the corner of his mouth twitches, satisfaction curling there.

When he unfolds himself from the stool, he looks even more intimidating, his leather vest rustling as he stalks towards me. So tall and big, he eats up the space between us in just a few strides, while I feel everyone else watching in silence.

“Matty, make my angel a drink, please,” he demands quietly, his attention locked on me. “Boys… Our celebration is here.”

I gasp as his warm hand lands on the small of my back and leads me over to the bar where the man from before stands. The older one with kind eyes and a handsomely rugged face. Grey hairs pepper his temples and wrinkles line his eyes in a way that just weirdly adds to his looks.

My fingers are trembling when I reach for the drink he slides towards me, a wine, and he watches me silently, eyes flicking between me and Ash. Ash’s eyes are on me, waiting for me to sip it with an eager expression on his face, so I do. It’s the same, great-tasting wine from before, and I hum softly, taking a big sip to hopefully dull some of these nerves.

I take another and another. In a place like this, I don’t think there is a limit someone should drink.

Ash leans in, whispering into my ear, “Is my angel’s pussy still sore?”

My face heats as I choke on my drink, spluttering and trying to get air. My eyes shoot to the bartender who simply looks back with curiosity in his eyes. When I turn back to the man standing next to me, sipping his own dark-coloured drink, he eyes me with pure hunger, his tongue digging into the point of his canine tooth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, winking before taking another sip. I follow him, sipping my own. “Drink up, baby. It’s going to be a long night.”

Those ominous words have my eyes falling shut. What am I doing here? This is certifiably crazy.

Peeking over my shoulder, I see men in leather vests and jackets, tattoos and scars, watching us carefully. I see the two twins staring eerily. The tension grows too thick, forcing me to look back at the older man, deciding that he is the least harmless.

When Ash’s hand lifts, his long fingers sifting through my blonde hair, I jump, feeling immediately stupid at acting so skittish. I chose to come here. Between his finger and thumb, he rubs a lock of hair softly before leaning in close and smelling me deeply. His responding growl does things to my insides that I’d rather not focus on.

As we stand and drink silently at the bar, the group behind us slowly returns to their partying; conversations begin to resume and the sounds of glasses hitting wooden tables. But I still feel their attention focused on us. Ash pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, slipping one between his lips.

“Want one?” He mumbles around the smoke.

My nose screws up as I look at them, offering him a small shake of my head that makes him chuckle. As he lights up the smoke, I watch as he inhales deeply, smoke wafting into the air. My back is ramrod straight as I slowly, hesitantly finish my drink. I have a feeling that once it’s done, things will get real. In a way, I’m not sure I’m ready for. I guess it’s too late for that.

Warm fingers slide down my bare arm, so featherlight, you wouldn’t believe the leader of a gang could offer such touches. But he does. Goosebumps follow his touch, my head slanted slightly to watch his tattooed fingers run along my pale skin. He watches too, eyes focused on where our skin meets. His fingers are rough, calloused, and scarred compared to my unmarked skin. Not even a freckle in sight because of my lack of ever being allowed to leave my house.

“Did you like your drink, Angel?” He murmurs softly, and the question takes me off guard.

“I did,” I reply honestly, although it comes out as a croaked whisper. My throat feels thick, and my brain feels muddy. Being in this man’s presence isn’t good for my physical or emotional well - being; that much I know.

His thumb hooks under the stem of my wineglass, easing it from my grip and setting it aside like a decision he’s already made for me. I let him.

He eases closer to me, his body sneaking behind mine and pushing me into the bar. Planting his hands on either side of me and trapping me against the wood. My heart rate picks up again as his teeth nip at my ear, the man across the bench watching with a slight curve to his lips.

“What are you celebrating?” I choke out as Ash presses kisses against my neck. He freezes at my question, drawing back slightly.

The room quiets around us, like the club itself is waiting for his answer, and I get the strongest feeling that I’ve asked the wrong question. But then he leans back into me, and I feel the hardness of his cock pressing against my behind, and his breath on my neck.

“We are the Devils,” he replies against my skin, softly nipping at my neck. “We don’t need a reason to celebrate.”

His words slide over my skin, meaningless and heavy all at once. One of his large hands reaches around my waist, inked fingers hovering just over my chest.

I swallow hard. "But we are...”

“I know exactly where we are,” he cuts in quietly.

His thumb and forefingers catch the top button of my blouse. It pops free silently. My hands twitch, lifting to cover the slightest bit of cleavage that peeks out.

“We are going to play a little game...” Intent fills his words as he reaches for the next button, his knuckle brushing my skin.

“A game?” I echo distractedly, attention zeroed in on the way he works my buttons and how my heart slams against my chest. I’m worried it will give way, not being used to this racing feeling.

I feel his smile against my skin, and it causes a shiver to rack through me. “Yes. A game.”