Chapter Five-Giselle
CHAPTER FIVE-GISELLE
M y eyelids flutter, but I am determined to eke out every second I can get of whatever magical slumber I somehow fell into last night.
Mmm. Feels good. Warm.
I sigh and stretch and that’s when I feel it, er , him.
Uh oh.
My eyes open, and I freeze in place. Behind me, or should I say coiled around me like the serpent he is, is Angel.
The man is like a giant anaconda.
So is his dick , a naughty voice whispers inside my head, and I bite my lip.
He has one arm beneath me, and it’s wrapped around my chest where he is holding onto my breast beneath my tank top.
My nipples are hard. Angel’s callused hand and rough arm feel so good pressed against them.
The need to moan is growing.
His other arm is snaked over my hip, past my soft belly, and his hand is buried inside my shorts.
This fucker is cupping my pussy in his sleep.
Truly, he is holding onto it. His fingers are positioned like my pussy is a freaking bowling ball.
That big hand of his is right over my sex, fingers right inside my wet, hot folds.
Like my vagina is his own personal property.
Like he fucking owns it.
I want to be angry.
I want to shove him away.
But if I am being honest, he feels so good there.
And to my utter shame, I wish he did. I wish Angel owned my pussy.
If only he wanted me like that.
But he doesn’t.
Angel isn’t possessive about me like that.
He’s a born flirt, a womanizer. And he’s human, despite all evidence to the contrary.
I am talking about his size and stamina, of course.
He looks like a superhero, or rather a supervillain. Like if some mad scientist took Thor’s body and Loki’s dark good looks and combined them to make one super fly motherfucker.
But Angel is no hero. He’s not even a villain, though I am sure he does bad shit.
He’s just a man. And men who like pussy don’t generally turn it down when it’s offered.
That’s my fault. My mistake for giving away the milk and expecting him to buy the cow. Or whatever that fucking horribly sexist saying is.
Angel is just so much. He’s fucking gorgeous and his body is to die for.
Literally.
I have no doubt he could crush a human skull with those giant, frying pan sized hands of his.
Probably as easily as he can make me come with them.
His fingers slide deeper, like he’s testing my wetness, and this time I do moan.
Why does this feel so good?
Because its him. That’s why. And I am not strong enough to deny myself this bit of forbidden pleasure.
I spread my legs wider, allowing him better access. And like the serpent I know he is, the viper lying in wait for the right opportunity, he strikes.
Angel pounces with zero hesitation. His blunt-tipped fingers delve between my pussy lips, and this time I do moan. Loudly.
Fuck.
I mean, am I wrong to react to his touch? I don’t really think so.
Besides, it is not like there is a choice. I can’t help it. My response to him is automatic. Like my body is conditioned to submit to his.
He’s so damn sexy. His touch seems designed to turn me into a panting puddle of please do me now goo, even though he is still asleep and likely doesn’t quite know who he is touching.
Damn him.
I guess I was caught up in Anna and Maria’s amazing love stories and I thought for a second maybe I would have one too. But I’m not made for that.
I know who and what I am.
Angel and me, we don’t match.
I’m too short, too chubby, and I have a big mouth. I can imagine what kind of woman he usually dates, and I doubt it is someone with a size sixteen on good days ass.
To put it plainly, I am not everyone’s cup of tea.
The admission kind of breaks my heart. But I don’t give in to that.
So, what if he looks like a Greek demigod come to life especially with that giant tattoo, the one that is supposed to protect you against the evil eye, inked across his throat?
It’s no reason for a girl to lose her mind or her free will. I’m human. I have needs. And if he wants to take care of them while we are on this nut job of a road trip, who am I to deny either of us?
Angel never made declarations or promises. And yeah, he hurt me, but that’s on me. I allowed it.
I can’t blame him for taking what I so freely offered. It’s my fault for not asking what it meant at the time.
The sex between us was good.
It can still be good , my inner slut says, but I squeeze my eyes shut, and whimper at the feel of him teasing along my slit, stopping when he reaches my hard little clit.
Fuck. Yeah. He’s good at this.
So good, I can’t even bring myself to look at another man, much less play with one of my adult toys. It just isn’t the same.
Yeah, I’m in a funk. I’ll get over it. I swear.
But right now, with his big dick pressing against me, one hand on my tit, and the other gliding between my slick folds, well, I’m only human, too.
I feel the hard bar of his cock pressed against my ass and I bite my lip to stop from moaning even if I can’t help but wiggle against it.
“Fuck, Koukla, you’re so goddamn wet. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” he rumbles against my ear, and I gasp as he pushes two thick digits into my sopping wet heat.
He doesn’t stop working those fingers in and out of my channel, and I can’t help it. I press back against his cock, wishing it was filling me instead of his hand.
But no. I can’t do that with him. Not without risking my heart.
“Tell me, Koukla, or I’ll stop,” he growls, and nips my neck with his teeth.
He’s pinching my nipple with his other hand, and he starts to pull away.
But I stop him.
Fuck, I’m so weak.
I grab onto the wrist of the hand between my legs and I hold him there.
“Tell me,” Angel demands mercilessly.
His voice is so deep and gravelly he sounds like a demon. And I fucking love it.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, literally, I am aware I should be shoving him away. I should yell or scream at him.
But the truth is, I’ve missed this. His body. His energy. The way he makes me feel.
He already knows I am turned on. My arousal is soaking my shorts and dripping down his hand.
What have I got to lose?
“I w-want you to make me come. Please, Angel,” I beg.
“That’s my Good Girl,” he growls.
Then he starts to move his hand.
And I see stars.