Chapter 50
The light clinking of dishes roused me sometime later. I stretched, opening my eyes, surprised to find the apartment brightened as the curtains were pulled open, though a set of blinds kept the daylight minimal. Angel moved around with a grace I admired.
How long had I slept?
I reached for my phone, expecting it to be midday Saturday, but it was almost five p.m. on Sunday. I sat up.
Angel paused in the kitchen, glancing my way.
“I slept a whole day?” I scrolled through my messages, having missed a bunch from Grandpa and Ivan—and Wade, Bobby, Victor, and Kerry. Since when had I become so popular?
“You needed the rest,” Angel said, returning to his task. My stomach growled loud enough to wake the dead. “And I’m working on getting food ready for that.”
I put my hand over my stomach. “Down boy,” I lectured my gut.
“It’s been rumbling for a while,” Angel said. “I already talked to Ivan, and your grandpa. Xavier gave them my number when you didn’t answer. But I turned off the sound because you needed the rest.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be.” He crossed the room with a plate and a glass of milk, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, all those delicious tattoos on display. He stretched over me to put the glass on the side table, and the scent of sugar hit me.
“Holy shit, you made me cake,” I said.
“I promised I would. How’s your head?”
“A little fuzzy, but not pounding. Should we be having cake for dinner?”
“The best thing about being an adult is that we decide,” he said, and sliced a bite of cake off onto a fork and held it out to me. “I have no idea what your favorite cake is.”
“All cake. Any cake,” I promised.
The slice looked like something chocolate with white icing, and maybe caramel? I opened my mouth and let him set it on my tongue; a burst of sugar sweetness, and chocolate caramel flavor made me hum in approval.
“Better than sex cake, or whatever it’s called,” Angel said.
The sticky sweetness was intense, with a layer of fudge added to the caramel.
“Tiana’s recipe, not mine.” He took a bite for himself.
“Usually, it’s a little too sweet for me, but after a lot of shifting, it really helps clear out the fog.
I’ve got some steaks keeping warm in the oven, but after you’ve used as much magic as you have over the past week, I want your blood sugar to balance. ”
“Oh? Maybe I should get one of those monitors if my magic is going to mess with it.”
He tapped the side of his nose. “I can tell.”
“Yeah? Do I smell strange?”
“You smell dehydrated, with low blood sugar and iron.”
“Thus, the cake and steak?”
“Yes,” he agreed as he fed me bites, sharing the slice with me as I sipped the milk between mouthfuls.
“Cake is good,” I assured him. “Though I’m not certain it’s better than sex.
” Maybe better than some sex, but would it be better than sex with Angel?
I recalled our moment in the changing room at the community center and our brief interlude in the shower.
No, definitely not better than sex with Angel.
“Yeah?” he asked, swiping the last of the fudge caramel mix off the plate with his finger. He held the digit to my lips, smearing the sweetness across them.
I sighed, sinking into the sensation as need rose through me. He leaned in, capturing my mouth with his, tongue tracing my lips and darting inside to share the sugary flavor. I groaned into his mouth, cock hard and body desperate.
His lips left mine with a reluctant groan, the warmth of his breath lingering between us like an unspoken plea. “I should let you rest,” he murmured, though the roughness in his voice betrayed his desire to stay. His body leaned into mine, unwilling to sever the contact.
And I wasn’t ready to let him go.
I took the plate from him and set it aside, my fingers finding the heated skin at the back of his neck, tangling in the strands of his hair.
He shuddered at my touch, a low sound escaping him as I pulled him back in with a hunger that left no room for doubt.
Our lips crashed together, harder this time, teeth clashing, breath mingling in sharp, desperate gasps.
The kiss burned with need, his hands gripping my waist like I might vanish if he loosened his hold. Every brush of his tongue against mine sent sparks skittering down my spine, my pulse roaring in my ears until I could hear nothing else.
When we finally broke apart—minutes, or maybe hours later—the air between us was charged and magical. His chest heaved against mine, his lips glistening, ruined. His eyes were blown wide with want, pools of desire gazing at me with a longing I never thought to find aimed at me.
What had I said about falling for him?
Too late, already gone.
The way he kissed me, the way his hands trembled against my skin, I couldn’t imagine ever letting him go. I needed him like my next breath, needed to trace every tattoo with my tongue, memorize the salt and heat of his skin until neither of us remembered where he ended and I began.
Bound. The word thrummed in my veins. Was this what it meant to be tied to a shifter?
“You’re thinking too much.” Angel’s voice dropped to a growl as he slid over me, knees caging my hips.
The blanket pooled around my waist, exposing the fact that I’d been put to bed in only my boxers, which were now damp with pre-come, straining with need.
His gaze darkened. “Do you want me to stop? You need food and rest.”
I arched under him, desperate for friction. “If you don’t touch me, I’m going to combust.”
A slow, sinful smile curled his lips. “Oh?” He leaned down, kissing the tip of my nose, then each cheek, teasing the corner of my lips. His breath was warm, his scent intoxicating. “I could blow you again—both your mind and your dick.”
A moan tore from my throat at the memory, but it wasn’t enough.
Not tonight. My magic thrummed beneath my skin; restless, aching, like it needed to fuse with his to recharge.
I needed him, not just his hands and his mouth, but all of him.
My magic, my body, my soul needed a connection to him, like I could plug our entire beings together, weave them into a single unit.
I grabbed his wrist, pressing his palm flat against my chest, right over my hammering heart.
“I want you,” I breathed, knowing he could feel how it raced.
“Every part of you. Can you… um, I don’t know if you’re into it, but…
” Fuck, what if he wasn’t? He’d said he was bi or pan or something, I couldn’t recall exactly, but not all guys fucked other guys, even if they were into them.
“Into what?”
“Fucking me?” I asked. “I mean, I could fuck you. I can go either way…” How could I describe what I needed?
Honestly, right that moment, I dreamt of him sliding into me; all that beauty of his, the heat, his magic, and his feral strength creating a connection that I’d only ever read about in romance novels.
His breath hitched, and he stared at me, his eyes flickering with something wild and primal. “If that’s what you want,” Angel agreed, his gaze meeting mine, tense but soft.
“In me?” I begged, needing to feel it, even if maybe he wouldn’t stay. I prayed he stayed. I was too far gone for him already.
He shoved off his boxer briefs, casting them to the side, and I struggled out of mine too. I wrapped my hand around his dick, as though pulled by a magnet, the heated, silky skin making my mouth water. Maybe I should have offered to suck him off. That sounded like a good idea, too.
“Please,” I begged, aching to feel him. I drew him closer, releasing his cock to feel the heat of his body against mine, chest to chest. His heartbeat, rapid and strong, matched the rhythm of my own desire.
His hard cock pressed against my belly, dripping pre-come over my stomach, and my ass twitched as if longing to feel him burrowing into me.
Angel lifted me, spreading my legs wide, kneeling between them.
His strong hands were on my ass as his lips found mine again and I closed my eyes, letting my tongue chase the last traces of cake flavoring his mouth.
Angel caressed my thighs, one hand kneading an ass cheek while his other teased my balls.
We both groaned as his finger tickled my rim, teasing.
“Fuck, yes,” I said. “Please.”
He leaned over and tugged open the top drawer of the bedside table, rifling only a second before dropping a pack of condoms beside us and opening the tube of lube.
I ached, cock throbbing for his touch. He warmed the slick between his hands and gave my dick a long, rough stroke that nearly made my eyes roll back in my head.
Angel’s mouth crashed into mine again, our lips sealing together like I could devour him whole and still be starving.
My breath came in ragged bursts between kisses, the air thick with the scent of him; sugar and sweat, the musk of desire.
It coiled in my lungs, dizzying, maddening, feeding the hunger that twisted deeper with every touch.
His lips left mine, trailing kisses down my jaw, my throat, the sharp edge of my collarbone.
Every kiss burned. Every nip of teeth sent sparks skittering under my skin.
His hand slid lower, cupping me with a possessive roughness that made my hips jerk.
Then, I felt the slow drag of a fingertip along my taint; teasing, circling, just shy of where I needed him most.
A shudder ripped through me, my fingers knotting in his hair.
“Angel,” I begged, as his lube-coated fingers teased me, stroked me, and refused to fill me.
The ache in my gut tightened, molten and relentless.
I was wound so tight I could barely breathe.
All I knew was his touch, his heat, and the desperate need for more.