Twenty-Six
ANGELO
“ T ouch me. Please, Angelo.”
Angelo couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped his lips. He’d been unraveling for days, his mind consumed by fleeting thoughts of her—how she’d finally be living under his roof, sharing his space, his world. The thought had ignited something dangerous inside him, a possessiveness that bordered on obsession.
And now, hearing her whisper his name, her tone drenched in that seductive plea, laced with desperation, pushed him to the brink.
It was that voice—soft, needy, and uniquely hers—that shattered his last thread of control.
He inhaled deeply, her scent of honey and lavender washing over him, intoxicating and unmistakable. It was her . Every fiber of his body responded, muscles taut, instincts sharp. He shut his eyes, fighting the urge to close the space between them.
But her brother was still downstairs.
He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, trying— needing —to regain control. If he didn’t calm himself, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And if he let go now, there would be no turning back.
“Give me one second.”
Angelo pushed off the ground, cursing under his breath as Allison let out a frustrated whimper. He hated leaving her like that—needy, desperate, and soaking wet for him. Well, no, that was a lie. He loved it. Loved knowing she was upstairs, naked and spread out, her body aching for him, waiting for his touch, begging him to—
I need to get it together or I’ll come in my pants.
He was dangerously close to losing control already, and if he didn’t hurry, he might embarrass himself before he even touched her again. He rushed downstairs, each step faster than the last, desperate to deal with her brother and get back to what he truly craved.
“John!” he called out, scanning the living room, the kitchen, anywhere the man might be lurking. Angelo’s gaze flickered from corner to corner, searching for the one obstacle keeping him from the woman he lov—
No. The woman I want, he corrected himself, swallowing down the intrusive thought. But it gnawed at him, taunting him from the back of his mind.
What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t supposed to be thinking this way. Love? That wasn’t even on the table, not for him. He knew love—but only the kind that was real, unconditional, the type you got from family. His dad, his sister, even his mom in her better moments. That kind of love had no agenda.
Then there was the other kind. The false, shallow affection he’d received from women in his past. Women who wanted his money, his name, his body. He’d seen through all of it, never giving more than was necessary, keeping his heart locked away. That was how he survived; by staying unattached.
But Allison…
The idea of her waiting for him at the end of a long day, smiling up at him with those bright jade eyes, the thought of coming home to her, of trusting her with his heart, of maybe even building a future together—a daughter ?
Damn it, Angelo, not now.
He couldn’t go down that road. Not when Allison Pink Lockwood was lying upstairs in his bed, waiting for him.
He found John in the kitchen, thank God. The man was meticulously stacking pink mugs, muttering something to himself as Angelo approached.
The sight made him pause. In the short time they’d been upstairs, John had apparently emptied nearly every box. Each one was now flattened and neatly stacked in the corner, like some twisted game of organizational Tetris.
What the hell?
“John,” Angelo called out, keeping his voice even, though his patience was razor-thin. He didn’t have time for small talk or whatever the hell this was. He needed to get back upstairs to her. Every second felt like a lifetime.
Johnathan glanced over, his expression flat, as if this wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world. He turned back to his cups, adjusting them as if they were fine china instead.
Fucking psychopath , Angelo thought, but bit his tongue.
He just needed to wrap this up, fast, before his sanity—or his self-control—snapped.
Only two boxes remained for him and Allison to deal with later. Under normal circumstances, Angelo might have felt guilty that Johnathan had done nearly all the work himself. But guilt was the furthest thing from his mind when the sexiest woman alive was upstairs, waiting for him to devour her.
Johnathan looked up at him, his face twisted in disgust as Angelo awkwardly cleared his throat, trying to discreetly shield his very obvious arousal.
“Don’t even bother, man,” Johnathan said, waving him off. “I don’t need the mental image of whatever the hell you’re about to do.” He shuddered, visibly disturbed, and Angelo couldn’t help but sympathize.
If the roles were reversed—if he’d walked in on one of his sister’s hookups back in her wilder days he’d feel the same. Hell, he had felt the same. Many times.
“Just let me finish putting these away,” Johnathan said, turning back to the last of the pink cups. “No need to show me out.”
Angelo nodded, still trying to shift his focus away from Allison and failing miserably. His pants were uncomfortably tight, his thoughts spiraling back to her over and over. She was upstairs, probably dripping and panting for him.
Get it together, man, he thought, desperately searching for something to say, anything to salvage a shred of normalcy. It was kind of impressive, actually—he and Johnathan had only recently started to get along, and it felt good to have that connection. Someone who understood the pressure of running a business, someone with his own empire to manage. He didn’t want to ruin that.
But no words came, nothing appropriate or calm enough for the situation. So instead, he turned on his heel, making a mental note to thank Johnathan later in a way that didn’t involve words. A new watch, maybe. Swiss-made, engraved with his name, something classic and gold. That would smooth things over, right?
Now’s not the time for that.
As Angelo climbed the stairs, he forced his thoughts back to Allison, anticipation flooding his system. The tension was electric, tightening every nerve in his body as he got closer to her.
His woman. Probably writhing, soaked, impatient for him.
It wasn’t the time to dwell on morality or decorum. His brain scrambled for rationality, but the pull of her—her scent, her warmth, the memory of her body under his hands—drowned everything else out.
He reached the bedroom door, his pulse pounding in his ears as he steeled himself for what awaited him on the other side. The sight he was about to see. The taste of her on his lips.
Focus, Angelo, he reminded himself. This was exactly where he wanted to be.
He pushed the door open, ready to lose himself entirely.
Angelo dropped to his knees the moment he saw her.
Allison sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over her chest, legs casually crossed at the ankles, glaring at him with a fire that was unmistakable.
And, oh, she was naked.
Her breasts—full and swollen—rose and fell with her irritated breathing, the soft scoff that left her lips sending a jolt of tension through the air. Her thighs, thick and strong, hid what he wanted most, but his gaze lingered on the curve of her belly, more beautiful than ever.
“Oh, quit with the dramatics,” she said, rolling her eyes, her voice laced with impatience.
Angelo blinked, snapping out of the trance her body had cast over him. She was a vision, but he’d kept her waiting, and clearly, she wasn’t pleased.
Still, it took all his willpower to form a coherent response.
“You are magnificent,” he breathed, the awe in his voice genuine. He still couldn’t believe this woman— his woman—was baring herself to him, completely.
She blushed, despite the angry pinch in her brow. “Yeah, well, you were taking your sweet time. I had to take matters into my own hands.”
The idea of her touching herself, desperate for him, made his blood heat. But Angelo stayed on his knees, rooted to the spot by the door. “Oh, trust me, Allison,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “I’ll be taking my sweet time with you.”
That line struck her like a match to gasoline. The anger in her eyes flickered, replaced by something hotter, more primal. A blush bloomed on her chest, spreading down, down, until it disappeared between her perfect breasts.
He could almost feel them in his hands, the weight of them, the softness of her skin.
“It doesn’t matter,” she huffed, glancing away, though her bravado was weakening. “You won’t be doing anything with me today, Angelo.”
“Sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice low, deliberate. She heard him, he knew she did. “Tell me what I must do.”
Her entire demeanor shifted. That smug, knowing smile spread across her face. She’d been planning this, trapping him in her little game. And now she had him exactly where she wanted.
“Crawl to me.”
Angelo’s lips curved into a smirk. So, this was how she wanted to play.
“Gladly,” he replied, his voice dark with promise.
Allison’s confidence faltered for just a moment, her breath catching as he lowered himself to the floor, hands pressing into the ground. “You should know better,” he continued, his eyes locked on hers, “than to think I’d ever be too ashamed to crawl to my woman.”
And with that, he began, each movement slow and deliberate, the space between them shrinking as the tension grew thicker by the second.
Her face flushed as he moved closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. The fire in her eyes shifted, no longer just anger but something deeper, hotter.
“Stop calling me that,” she whispered, her gaze locked on him as he crawled towards her.
“That’s what you are, though, isn’t it?” His voice was laced with teasing now, though he felt the tension of their game wrapping around him like a noose. Every inch he crawled was agony, his heart pounding harder with each movement, his pants unbearably tight, threatening to rip at the seams.
Allison shook her head furiously, a stubborn defiance flashing across her face. He nearly scolded her for it but held back. “I belong to no one,” she insisted.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Allison,” he said as he reached the bed, his hands gripping the mattress. He climbed onto it, continuing his slow crawl toward her, eyes never leaving hers. “You belong to me. Your smiles and your tears. That brilliant, dark, twisted mind of yours, the one you get lost in for hours. Your obsession with pastel pink, every damn thing in your life touched by it. That crazy, beautiful laugh that lights up my day every time I hear it. Your sass, your anger, and yeah, even your daddy issues.”
She actually laughed at that, the sound soft but genuine, and it warmed him more than he could have anticipated. He smiled, closing the last bit of distance between them.
“I want all of it,” he whispered, his voice dropping as he reached her. “And I want it all to be mine .”
By the time he finished speaking, he was close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her nose scrunched adorably, her eyes misty with emotion, her expression soft despite the fire simmering beneath it all.
“Kiss me,” she breathed.
Angelo didn’t need to be told twice.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her in, his lips crashing against hers with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long. The effect was immediate—she moaned into his mouth, her hands rising to grip his shirt as his free hand snaked around her waist. He wanted to touch every inch of her, to map her skin with his hands, but he held himself back. He had promised to take his time.
The kiss was anything but gentle. It wasn’t soft, slow, or sweet. No, it was wild, desperate—like two forces of nature colliding in the middle of a storm.
It was the crash of waves against cliffs, the flicker of flames burning too hot, too fast. It was two souls dancing in the chaos of their desire, losing themselves in each other.
It was ice and fire, sun and moon, a push and pull so magnetic it threatened to consume them both. Angelo lost himself in the intensity of it, in the feeling of her lips, her breath, her body pressed against his. She was everything. Everything he wanted, everything he needed.
Angelo deepened the kiss, his tongue finding hers in a familiar, passionate rhythm, a dance they hadn’t shared in far too long. His hand moved from her nape, sliding into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back. The sound that escaped her throat—raw and needy—was one he wanted to etch into his memory forever.
With her neck exposed, he left her mouth, kissing his way down, slow and deliberate. His hand drifted from her waist upward, sliding toward her breast, and the soft moan she let out shot straight through him, tightening the ache between his legs. He was painfully hard, every second testing his self-control.
His lips trailed lower, meeting his hand in the middle as he pressed hungry kisses around her breast, his mouth teasing the sensitive skin just shy of her nipple. He wanted to devour her, to consume every inch of her until she was his entirely.
“Angelo, please,” she whimpered, her voice strained with need. Her plea nearly shattered his restraint. He almost abandoned his careful plan right then and there. Almost .
Jesus. I won’t survive this.
Swallowing hard, he tried to gather his resolve. “Patience, pet,” he murmured between kisses. His hands moved to adjust the pillows beneath her, ensuring she was comfortable. “Just lie back for me.”
Allison didn’t hesitate. She scooted back, settling in the middle of the bed, her eyes dark with desire as she reached for him again, pulling his face toward hers.
Angelo paused for a moment, taking her in. She was breathtaking, laid out before him like a vision of pure temptation. Her baby bump stood proudly between them, a symbol of the life they had created together. Her thighs, soft and inviting, were slightly parted, and her long, thick hair fanned out around her like a dark halo, framing her flushed face in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly.
She wasn’t just a woman—she was a goddess. And he, her devoted worshiper. The thought struck him hard and deep, a conviction settling over him like never before. His sole purpose from now on would be to honor her, to give her everything she deserved, to worship her body, her mind, her soul.
It felt right—being there at her feet, ready to offer her every pleasure. Slowly, he let his hands slide up her legs, his touch reverent, his gaze never leaving her.
He would spend a lifetime worshiping at her altar.
“Please,” she begged, her voice breathless.
Fuck, this woman will be the death of me.
“You beg so pretty,” he whispered against her lips, and then he kissed her again, the words sending a fresh wave of heat through him.
He never wanted to stop—her taste, her touch, the way her body responded to him was addictive. But he knew they couldn’t linger in this moment forever. He’d promised her more, and now it was time to deliver.
Angelo kissed his way down her jaw, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her neck, before his lips traveled back to her breasts. He knew she was more sensitive now, her pregnancy heightening every touch. But nothing could have prepared him for the sound she made when he wrapped his mouth around her nipple, his other hand teasing the opposite one. She arched off the bed, her body trembling beneath him, one hand fisting the sheets while the other tangled in his hair.
He was obsessed with every sound she made, every gasp and moan, every breath that quickened under his touch. He lavished attention on her, alternating between sucking, nipping, licking, and kissing each hardened nipple, savoring her reactions. He could’ve stayed like that for hours, but her next plea tore through him, raw and desperate.
“Please, Angelo,” she moaned, her voice trembling. “Touch me.”
Her words broke him. His restraint, hanging by a thread, snapped.
He had no objections. It had been too long since he’d tasted her cunt and he needed to make up for lost time. He continued his descent, kissing his way down her baby bump—because he loved it more than anything else on her, apart from her eyes. When he finally reached her warm, dripping pussy he took a moment to admire it because it truly had been too long.
Five fucking months too long.
Allison cleared her throat, snapping him out of his embarrassing stupor.
She moved to close her legs, a look of discomfort on her face. “I know. It’s been harder to shave with the bump—”
“Oh, no,” Angelo growled, his voice low and commanding. “You do not get to do that to yourself.” His grip on her thigh tightened slightly, the warning clear. “You need to stop that right now, or this will turn into a much longer lunch than I planned.”
“Lunch?” she echoed, breathless. The tension in her expression softened a little, but he could still see the distant look in her eyes, as if she was retreating into that beautiful, chaotic mind of hers again.
A slow, knowing smirk crept across his lips. He let his hand slide higher up her thigh, the touch deliberate, a reminder of his control, and how she didn’t need to think—he’d take care of everything. “Yes, lunch,” he teased, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “But only if you behave.”
Angelo lowered his head, licking a long line from her entrance to her clit. Allison’s head fell back, arching off the bed and fisting the sheets.
He moaned at the taste of her, her juices warm and intoxicating on his tongue. She was drenched, her body craving him, and he found himself silently begging every star in the sky to let him do this every day for the rest of his life. Each time he moved, the vibrations made her shudder, a response he couldn’t get enough of. He repeated the action, this time focusing his tongue on her clit, and she responded with a moan that was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
“Oh, fuck,” Allison panted, her hips lifting off the bed as she tried to align herself with his mouth, her need unmistakable. He had no objections, every movement a testament to his devotion.
He was reluctantly forced to come up for air, only to keep indulging in the pleasure of his feast. He wasn’t about to let something as trivial as suffocation cut this moment short.
Although , that wouldn’t be a bad way to go—death by pussy.
He breathed her in.
“You smell so good,” he growled, his voice reaching a possessive and animalistic timber he’d never experienced before. “You taste even better.” He leaned in for another taste and hummed in satisfaction. “So sweet.” A lick along her slit. “So wet.” Another drag of his tongue from her slit all the way up to her clit. “So.” One more lick. “Fucking.” Another. “ Mine. ”
He had barely finished speaking before he dove back in. There was no time for idle chatter; his focus was on savoring this moment. Talking was for later—right now, it was all about eating.
He traced his name on her clit with his tongue, barely able to contain the grin spreading across his face at the thought of his name etched onto her body.
“A.” She moaned, her back arching with the sound.
“N.” She fisted the sheets so tightly it seemed like she might tear them.
“G.” Her thighs closed around his head, locking him in place.
“E.” His hand traveled up her body, settling on her breast, teasing her nipple with his fingertips.
“L.” She gasped, her body winding up.
“O.” And then, with a shuddering cry, she exploded in his mouth.
And it was fucking glorious.
Tremors wracked her body, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she rode the waves of her release. One hand shot up, tangling in his hair, fingers gripping tightly. She pulled hard—so hard that he would’ve gladly let her rip every strand from his scalp if it meant he could keep hearing those sounds from her lips.
“Angelo!” she screamed and his already hard dick grew even harder.
“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispered as he kissed her pussy, letting her ride out her high. “Make a mess of my sheets.”
He continued placing soft, feather-light kisses on her clit, chuckling at the way her body twitched in response to her hypersensitivity. Each tremor made his grin widen, but he didn’t stop. His hands stroked the insides of her thighs, trailing slowly down to her calves before gliding back up. He watched as her muscles tightened beneath his touch, her body still reacting to the aftershocks of her release, completely under his spell.
She finally released her grip on his hair, and Angelo had to fight the urge to grab her hand and place it right back where it belonged. His sanity was hanging by a thread. As her hands dropped to the bed, she began to push herself up, trying to scoot back. But before she could get far, Angelo’s arms wrapped around her thighs, his hold firm and possessive, locking her in place.
“We have some things to talk about,” Angelo said, his voice steady even though his thoughts were a mess. He needed this woman like he needed his next breath, but first, he had to clear the air.
Probably could have picked a better time for it, though.
Allison’s face turned cold, her body tensing. The shift hit him hard, and it took only a second for him to realize what this looked like to her.
Clearly, it was too late to take it back.
“I understand you—”
“Sweet girl—”
“This wasn’t what you wanted—”
What is she even talking about?
“Allison, stop talking,” Angelo interrupted, trying to stay calm but feeling himself teeter on the edge. If she kept going, he might lose it.
“I know you regret this, and I’m sorry—”
“Allison!” His voice rose before he could stop it. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he couldn’t believe she thought he regretted what had just happened.
She stiffened, pulling away from him, and he cursed his own impulsiveness. She wasn’t hearing him, wasn’t seeing the truth of how he felt. As she tried to move again, he tightened his grip on her thighs. He couldn’t let her walk off like this. Not after everything.
“Let me just—”
“Angelo, please.” Her voice was distant, colder than he’d ever heard it. “There’s no need to explain. I get it,” she added, trying once more to move out of his hold, but he wasn’t letting her go.
“Allison Pink Lockwood!”
His tone shifted this time, calmer, but firm enough to let her know he wasn’t angry at her—just frustrated beyond belief. He needed her to stop tearing herself down.
Or I might actually tie her to this bed until she gets it through her head. I’ve got plenty of ties.
“You’re full-naming me? Seriously?” Allison scoffed, pulling the covers over herself and looking anywhere but at him.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully, pet.” The dark, low tone of his voice finally caught her attention.
He released her, though it bothered him to do so, but he could tell she was starting to feel uncomfortable. He hated that. He hated how his own words had brought them here.
She rolled her eyes, still giving him attitude. “Fine. Get on with it, I want a shower.”
Angelo couldn’t help but chuckle. Her sass never failed to amuse him, and he secretly hoped it would show up more often.
“Now is really not the time to test me,” he muttered under his breath, catching the slight hitch in her breathing. Then, louder, “I know you think I regret what happened, especially after how I reacted. But I don’t. I couldn’t regret a single moment with you, Allison.” His voice softened for a second before turning firm again. “In fact, I’d gladly keep you in this bed all day, but that’s not what we need right now. When the time is right, though… trust me, I’ll make sure it lasts. But first, we need to settle some things. You got that, sweet girl?”
Allison’s annoyance, whether genuine or not, seemed to fade as he finished speaking. She nodded, taking a deep breath before finally, finally , meeting his gaze.
He might not know the full extent of his feelings yet, but he was sure about one thing—he loved her eyes. They were the most captivating shade of green, darkening when she was angry and softening with happiness. He could read her emotions like an open book just by looking into them.
“There is not a single universe in which I would regret what just happened, Allison. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.”
“Despite my weight?” she asked, her voice small, as if she was afraid her appearance might somehow bother him.
Angelo didn’t hesitate. “Your figure is part of what makes you beautiful.”
A faint blush crept across her cheeks, and he took it as his cue to keep going.
“Your large thighs make me want to bury my face between them, like I just did. Your soft waist feels perfect when I hold it, and your beautiful breasts feel like they belong in my hands. I become a walking, talking erection whenever I think of you, much less see you. You drive me crazy, Allison. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
His beautiful woman was stunned into silence. The blush that had started on her cheeks spread all the way down to her chest, and Angelo couldn’t help but admire how his words had affected her. Her response—the way her breath hitched, the way she tried to hide her face—only confirmed what he already knew. She needed to hear this, to know how deeply he meant it.
“And that’s the truth,” he added, his voice softer now but no less sincere. “You’re stunning, Allison, exactly as you are.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she gave him a look that spoke volumes—a mix of disbelief and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he meant every word.
Allison’s eyes went to his attention seeking member, and a small breathy sound left her. “Thank you.”
“Good girl. Now get your sexy ass up. We’re having a shower.”