Chapter 22 Charlie
Suriel’s panting above me, switched from angel to feral beast. His beard’s wet from my pussy, my clit’s throbbing and I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want him.
It’s stupid, mindless, insane, but I can’t resist. That angelic glint in his eyes makes the lust more obvious.
His muscles tense and contract under my touch and his hair is a mess from my fingers; he looks like sex itself.
He looks as ruined and ragged as I feel constantly.
From stoic perfection to lost in emotions that escape control constantly.
His humanity just makes him hotter and makes me crave him more.
“Let me cum,” I beg.
He grins, a vicious, wicked smile, then buries his face between my legs again, bringing me all the way to the edge without letting me fall over. When I get close, he twists the rosary around my throat until I can’t breathe or get a single word out.
He growls as he looks at me, then he lets my ass fall to the floor and leans forward. He licks up my belly, then bites my breast hard. A whine makes it through the chokehold he has on me, then he thrusts his fingers inside me.
“You haven’t earned it, Charlie. And you’re going to. You’re going to repent. You’ll tell me everything I want to hear. You’re going to beg for my cock.”
I grab at the rosary and he chuckles. “Now you want to pray? Praying for an orgasm instead of praying for salvation?”
I nearly sob as he brings me to the edge with his fingers. When he presses his thumb against my clit – already tortured by his tongue, my back arches and I grind against his fingers needily. I don’t have space for shame.
Just want.
I scream in my head as I try to hide how close I am.
I don’t succeed. The second I’m teetering on the edge, Suriel’s fingers slip out of me, leaving me utterly empty and wanting. Then he slaps my pussy hard. It nearly pushes me over the edge, but the pain grounds me.
He releases my throat and shakes his head. “You’re so fucking naughty. Trying to cum without permission. Can’t follow a single rule.”
“I’ll be good. So good. Please, please!” I beg. “Whatever you want. God’s great.”
He snorts and bites my bottom lip ferally, shaking his head slightly as he grinds his cock against my pussy, teasing me by almost filling me, then drawing back. “Lying is worse.”
“I’ll obey you! Just you. My angel. My Suriel,” I whine.
“Let’s test that,” he says, then fills me with every single, thick inch.
I swear the base of his cock where his halo is vibrates inside me as he groans.
He presses his forehead to mine and slowly starts tightening the rosary around my throat.
“You get to breathe when you cum for me. Consider that your permission, blasphemous girl.”
I whine, then he draws back, slowly, one fucking inch at a time while tightening the rosary around my throat until I can’t breathe. My mouth opens wide, trying to suck in air and he kisses me, licking across my tongue and groaning as he slams back into me, making my pussy convulse.
“You have three minutes top, Charlie. I’m not promising to stop if you lose consciousness. I want you. You’ve been begging for me. I’m going to show you how angels fuck,” he snarls against my lips before kissing my almost limp mouth.
My eyes roll back.
His pace is violent, unforgiving, too intense for me to stand. His free hand slides down between my legs and he rubs my clit. “You’re going to cum for me and keep cumming. Until I give you permission to stop. Until I fill you with all the holiness you’ve been missing.”
My hips lift, bucking against him, trying to claim more of him.
He pounds into me harder and faster, spanking me when I don’t give him what he wants, constantly calling me naughty, teasing me about behaving, asking if I really hate God when I’ve been so eager to fuck an angel.
It should upset me, should make it harder to cum, but that feral glint to his eyes, the animalistic way he’s fucking me, like I’m all he can focus on, makes me insane.
“That’s it. I feel it, Charlie. I know you want to finish. You’re aching for it, so, have it. You’ve earned it. Cum for me. Then you get to breathe,” he purrs.
I let out a breathless whine as my eyes close and my pussy spasms around his cock. I cum apart for him, nearly blacking out as I gush all over his cock. The second I start my orgasm, the rosary around my throat is gone. I think I feel it, but all I can focus on is Suriel.
He doesn’t stop fucking me, he doesn’t stop touching me, now pinching my nipple and tugging towards him until I arch off the floor for him. He licks into my mouth until I answer him, wrapping my arms around him, willing to give him everything.
“More, please. Please. Fuck me until you cum. I want it. I can take it,” I beg, gripping his biceps. “Suriel! My angel!”
“Mine,” he growls. “You’re meant to be mine. Get used to it, get addicted to me. My dick, my moans, me.”
“YES!” I scream, lifting my hips to fuck him harder.
Instead, he pushes down on my lower belly, holding me in place and bringing me almost to the edge again. My toes curl, but I wrap my legs around him. He keeps talking, a mix of degradation and praise that I love.
I nod, not caring what he’s talking about.
All that matters is how perfectly he fills me, stretches me around him, the way he fucks me across the floor, like he’s lost in a rut, unable to stop, unable to find any sanity at all.
I love the rhythm, how he doesn’t hold back, the way I feel the muscles in his thighs, his belly, and his back tense as he pounds into me on repeat.
When my mouth opens to beg him to fuck me harder or to shut up, he shoves the rosary into my mouth. Then he puts his hand over my mouth and adjusts the way he’s fucking me, getting into a squat so he can pound impossibly deeper into me. I’ve never had anyone so intense.
“Get the rosary all wet for me. You love slandering the church, now taste it, feel it on your tongue,” he says before kissing the back of his hand.
His eyes travel the length of me and focus on where he’s pounding into me while the rosary threatens to choke me.
He groans. “So fucking good. You’re meant to take me, to enjoy my halo. ”
I nod against his hand, then cum again, gushing all over his cock and nearly squeezing him out. He just thrusts harder into me. Whining around the rosary makes him lick up my throat. He stills, leaving me shaking under him.
His cock keeps vibrating, twitching, warming me from the inside out.
Suriel’s flushed face, glistening with sweat, lifts to fill my vision. “Keep that in your mouth, or we stop.”
I nod quickly, desperately.
He adjusts me in his arms as he sits down. He puts me between his legs, then whispers in my ear. “Plant your feet on the ground and open your mouth.”
Looking back at him, I obey, sticking out my tongue. He leans forward and bites the beads from my tongue, pulling them out of my mouth, so I see how wet the cross on the end of the rosary is.
He makes a pleased sound and rubs my thighs, his hand squeezing the back of my knee. His free hand grabs the rosary from between his teeth, then he kisses me. “See what a good girl you can be with incentive?”
“I like being good for you,” I breathe.
“Oh, I know you do. And you do it so well. Taking your punishment and worship like you’re meant to,” he growls.
Then he wraps his arms under my thighs, his hands gripping the back of my head, so I’m folded over. I whimper, but he fills me again, this time with the rosary around his cock.
He groans. “Squeeze your pussy, Charlie. Let me feel the beads move over my cock while I fill you with divinity,” he orders
He starts an insane pace that makes my nodding feel slow. He’s so intense, so much more than the gentle, reverent man I expected. And I just want more, especially with the addition of the rosary, the balls rolling between us, making him feel thicker.
It feels so fucking good.
It’s weird, but perfect.
Wrong, raw, us.
A wingless angel and a blasphemous bitch finally coming together.
This position gives him all the power as he uses his arms to guide me and thrusts into me as he pleases. It’s rough, wild, so intense, then I let my head fall back to nibble and lick his throat.
“Play with your tits. Show me how good you feel. Scream it.”
“I believe in you!” I yell. “Angel, please, please!” I milk my breasts for him, letting him watch as he increases the pace, fucking me even harder again and again, driving me past the point of sanity. “I believe in angels! Fuck me!”
“You break me, ruin me, destroy me. You don’t get to make any more demands,” he growls before biting my ear so hard I’m sure I’ll bleed. “You choose to be mine instead.”
His cock keeps throbbing inside me, vibrating, burning, always more intense around his ‘halo’ and I can’t get enough. Languages I’ve never heard pour from his throat until I’m sure he’s blessing me, damning me, or something in between.
When I cum again, squirting all over him, I expect the orgasm to end, but it just keeps growing. I sob for him, beg him to forgive me, to punish me, to reward me, to absolve me.
If this is an angel.
Really an angel.
Then I’m happy to believe.
To believe in Suriel being divine, in angelic intervention, and anything else he wants to feed me.
He growls something and I try to look at him, but can’t because of the way he has me folded. One of his hands awkwardly grabs my chin and turns my head in that direction.
“SURIEL!” I scream. “I serve you. I obey. I believe! PLEASE!”
The only way I can get out of this oversensitive nightmare of ecstasy is to get him to cum. I know it. I believe it. I feel it.
He laughs, something dark and wicked. “What do you want, greedy girl?”
“I want to make you cum!” I yell.
I reach down and try to stroke his dick as it fills me. It breaks him. He bites the back of my throat savagely as he grinds deep inside me, nearly forcing me forward and onto my knees as he groans and hot spurts of cum pulse inside me.
He goes limp under me, dropping me on top of him, so I still feel him buried inside me. My pussy keeps spasming around him, trying to take everything he’s offered and some. A little moan teases the back of my throat as I slowly sit up and lift myself off him.
“And that’s you without wings, holy shit …”
He shudders and I realize exactly how hot he is. Turning, I find him pale, sweating, eyes unfocused and glassy. “I’ll do better next time,” he mumbles. “I won’t fall again. I don’t need … Please, I need my wings. I need my wings. I won’t sin again. Won’t.”
“Hey,” I whisper.
“It’s not worth the pain. It’s-”
He lets out a scream that reverberates through me and starts clawing his back. He scratches the wounds open, ripping through my stitches like they’re nothing, while his shoulder bleeds a mix of black and red blood. I grab his wrists and he starts to shove me. Then his eyes open wide and fall on me.
“Charlie,” he pants, seeing me but not. “I wasn’t too late.
I wasn’t. You’re not supposed to be cold.
You’re warm. Fiery, chaos. Such beautiful wings.
Don’t tell God. I just want you a little longer.
I’m not ready. You’re too … too unexpected.
I’m sorry. I need more. More time. More than days.
Just us. No … please, no.” His eyes roll back and I notice black creeping along the veins around his bite.
Fuck.
“Suriel!” I yell, trying to grab his hands as he thrashes.
When he starts ripping at his back again, I force whiskey down his throat. He calls it hellfire, but I keep going, then give him some heavy strength Tylenol that knocks him out.
So much for a fun night.
It’s back to work for me.