Chapter Forty-Three
“I’m full.” Angel slumps into my side.
I can’t help smiling at how good this feels. Caring for him.
It’s odd. I’ve never seen myself taking care of anyone. If anything, I’ve always considered myself more hurt than comfort.
I trade in despair, not delight. But Angel brings out other desires.
I used to wonder… If I did finally get him someday, how long would it take to bleed him dry?
Surely, that was the plan, right? Drain him of every last drop of his luster, and when I was replete, strengthened by his life-force, I would discard the hollowed shell of what he once was.
It’s what I do, after all.
But the way it felt to finally get him back, after everything that led to it—thinking he was dead, and the misery I had to overcome for those two days, and then the rage at knowing he was under my nose for so long, rotting in the prison—told me this might not be as simple as I thought.
The moment he ambushed me in my bedroom and put a knife to my throat, I felt this wave of completion come over me.
It’s something I’ve only ever felt variations of a handful of times…
When I killed Ocho, and took over the cartel.
The first time I set foot in the mansion.
When I found Jonathan…
But when my little bird flew back into my life for what I knew would be the last time, it was the most potent sense of fulfillment. It’s as if I don’t need to take from him, because his just being here makes me feel whole. So might as well give.
It’s not even all about the sex. That is every bit as addicting as I always knew it would be, but it’s not all I want from him, which is fucking crazy.
I don’t think I want to use him up and leave him for dead, because then… there won’t be any of him left. And I don’t want him to go, ever. I don’t want this to end.
Who the hell am I when he’s around?
“But pajarito, I had something sweet made just for you,” I murmur, distracting myself by playing with his hair.
I can’t seem to stop. It’s just so soft, and it smells amazing.
Good God, I’m smitten. It’s highly alarming.
He rolls his head in my direction. “As in… dessert?” He licks his lip. “Or dessert?”
I press a kiss on his nose. “I like the way you think, carino.”
Hopping up, I bring our plates to the kitchen, and gather up the dessert, bringing everything into the den.
I thought it would be more comfortable, and honestly, more intimate, if we ate in the den, rather than in the kitchen.
My kitchen up here isn’t as big as the one downstairs, but it’s the perfect size for just me.
There’s a small eat-in area where I eat on occasion.
But more often than not, I eat in the den, which is like an adjoining living room of sorts.
This is where I opted to sit with Angel for our meal, prepared special by the chef and left warming in the oven. I didn’t want to be interrupted by anyone mulling around, and I’m more than capable of serving my own food.
More than anything, I just wanted to serve him. I must admit, it was thrilling. I’ve literally never done this before—dated, or physically fed someone a meal.
The only person who’s ever eaten here with me is Yari, and even that was just a few random working lunches or dinners. For the most part, I’m alone up here. Certainly no one has ever lounged around with me. And no one has ever come into my bedroom before.
I falter, considering whether Angel would want to… spend the night.
Up here… In my bed. With me.
Is that something he would want? Would I??
Could I even allow that? On the surface, it seems pretty stupid.
Sleeping next to someone is the ultimate act of intimacy, another thing I’ve never done. You have to trust that the person won’t try to kill you in your sleep.
Do I trust that Angel won’t? I mean, I’ve had him cuffed for this exact reason. I think…
He talks about killing me all the time… But then, he’s had several opportunities, and he hasn’t done it yet…
Falling asleep with him would leave me open, and vulnerable—in more ways than one. But specifically sleeping next to him gives him a perfect opportunity to kill me. Or worse… Leave. He could leave while I’m asleep.
What if he escapes??
I don’t think he would, because where would he go? He’s been here of his own accord for months. Still, it’s not really a risk I want to take.
Pushing those nagging thoughts away for now, I set down the tray of dessert on the table, and Angel is immediately perked up, eyes gleaming.
I chuckle. “Awfully eager for someone who claims to be stuffed to the brim.”
“I know, but that looks so good,” he whines, biting down on his plump lower lip while he leans in closer to examine the confection. “What is it? It smells like arequipe…”
I take a seat next to him, nice and close. “Oh, you’re good. I had something similar at this Peruvian place in the city that I love, so I had the chef recreate it. It’s a tres leches with brown butter arequipe cake and passionfruit buttercream.”
The face he’s making has me nearly toppling over.
“What are you doing to me…” He whimpers, wiggling in place.
“I don’t know how I knew it, but something just told me you were a sweet tooth,” I laugh. He pins me with a look that’s both sheepish and petulant. “You’re not too full, then?”
Angel peeks at me, eyes dropping to my mouth. “Maybe just a little taste…”
“Good boy,” I whisper, and he shivers, biting down hard on his bottom lip.
Okay, then. That’s a reaction…
Swiping my finger into the frosting, I move it up to his mouth. And like the perfectly tempting creation he is, he keeps his eyes on mine as he licks it off. Slowly, swirling his tongue before sucking my fingertip between those pouted lips.
“That’s my good little sweet tooth,” I rumble, holding back despite the hearty thump in my balls that has me ready to attack him. Patience.
He sucks thoroughly enough to ensure he gets every drop of sugar before slurping off with a hum.
“So good,” he purrs.
“Want more?” I hum.
He nods slowly.
Scooping some cake onto the fork, I feed it to him.
It has to be the most satisfying thing ever.
Not only am I just giving him food to eat, but for the last hour I’ve been physically feeding it to him.
Forking delicate bites into his waiting mouth, watching his jaw move, and his throat dip.
Seeing that pink tongue swiping flavor from his lips.
I’ve been in fucking agony this whole time.
It’s the most intense foreplay I’ve ever played with, which you wouldn’t suspect something as simple as feeding to be. But it’s just so erotic.
“I need a drink,” I breathe, needing a distraction before I blow in my fucking pants.
Jumping up, I stride over to the bar, pouring myself some scotch.
Stepping back over to the couch, I tower over him where he sits. The way he looks gazing up at me, hands cuffed behind his back, is wickedly tempting. I take a slow sip of my scotch, and he parts his lips. The signal that he wants a taste.
“Would you like some, beautiful?”
“Please.” His voice is raspy with desire.
Tipping the glass to his lips, I give him some liquor, and he swallows it, then sucks his bottom lip. My fingers trail his jaw, just marveling for a moment.
“Can I have more?” He hums, sweetly.
I take a seat beside him. “Only if you take it slow. I don’t want you to end up snoring.” I smirk teasingly, and he returns it.
“Hmm… I dunno,” he purrs, leaning into my side, brushing his lips along my neck, by my ear. “You might like how easy I am when I’m drunk.”
In the blink of an eye, I’m blazing and buzzing. From his proximity, his hot fucking mouth and the smell of him, like flowers and sugar, and the way he’s so clearly insatiable for me.
Yet now there’s a different inferno inside me, of the wrathful variety. At mention of him being easy when he’s drunk, my mind swirls around what I saw…
In those videos. From the camera feed.
Jaw clenched tight, muscles stiff and unmoving, I’m one slight breath from exploding. Rampaging this island until blood flows like waves of the ocean.
Angel definitely senses my sudden shift in mood. He’s good like that.
This reaction is clearly legible to him, because he swallows and blinks over a widened nervous gaze.
“Diablo…” he whispers, a sparkly forest of regret in his doe eyes.
“Angel,” I breathe in return, unable to produce even the extra two syllables of his nickname.
That’s the level of urgency that dings suddenly, like a timer. And I lunge.
Grabbing him by the face, my mouth is on his so fast our teeth clash.
Before I can even process what’s happening, I’m pulling him onto my lap, devouring his lips, growling and groaning and sucking and biting.
He whimpers, and despite how hard and hungry I’m kissing him, he strokes my tongue with his; gentle, cherishing flicks that seem to subdue me.
Soothing. The way he’s kissing back, it’s like he’s pacifying me with his mouth.
Little bird, taming the snarling beast with lush kisses.
And now I’m melting beneath him, one hand in his hair, the other gliding down his frame, down his chest, over his heart to grip his waist. Touching every inch of him that belongs to me.
Only me.
Only. Fucking. Mine.
“Mine,” I trill to him, feral animal somehow domesticated by this sweet angel. “Mine mine only mine… you sweet maddening thing.”
“Uh-huh,” he pants, writhing on my lap. “Only yours, Diablo.”
“Promise,” I croak in a pleading growl hoarse with frustration. “Promise me, pajarito. Fucking swear it—”
“I promise,” he rushes. “I swear on every breath I take, I belong to you, Ivory.”
The lamenting sincerity in his tone slows me, and I break our kiss, mouths hovering. We’re both gasping for air, sharing heady breaths as I gaze up at him, and he down at me.
What is this…?
How is it possible to crave everything that someone is so damn much? So hard…
I feel like if he slit my throat right now, I would bleed him.
“You’re ruining me, little bird,” I confess.
And he hums, “Now you know how I’ve felt…”