Chapter 34
Garrett
Watching Angela light up as she feeds a pair of stray kittens unlocks emotions I’m not prepared for. Emotions I never wanted to experience again. And being in her house, surrounded by her style, her personality, it feels so intimate, makes this so real, I can’t deal with the implications.
I don’t want to deal with the implications.
I have forty-eight hours to close a deal I should have finalized days ago.
Giving into whatever this is between Angela and me, it’s a distraction from what really matters.
Doing my job. By focusing on intimacy, on the glimmer of feelings I promised to avoid for the rest of my life, I’m letting myself down.
So, I shift things back to the physical, where everything makes sense. Where there’s touch and sensation and all you have to do when you want it to stop is walk the fuck away. These other feelings, they linger. They torture. They twist and turn into something ugly and I just…
I can’t.
Angela lifts her face, smiling into mine, and I slide my fingers through that silken hair before pressing my lips to hers. She tastes sweet and feels like sin. My dick throbs with want.
“What was it you told me this morning?” She slides her hands up my arms, around my shoulders, then trails a finger along the back of my neck. “You jerked off, thinking about me on my knees?”
Her voice is low, sensual. It obliterates any thoughts about emotions or things I don’t want to process and it’s just her. That’s all I see. All I know.
Her.
My Angel.
I run my hands down her back and cup her ass, pushing her hips to mine. “You did a lot more than get on your knees.”
“Why don’t you describe it to me.” Angela kisses the corner of my mouth, slips her fingers into my hair. “I’ll make your dreams come true.”
“Red lips,” I murmur. “Red heels. The skirt you wore to our first meeting.”
Her eyes light up and she steps out of my arms. “The living room is in there. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be back in a minute.”
She strolls away, disappearing down a hallway, leaving me to burn in her wake.
I step into her living room, taking in the pictures, the dark blue wall with a painting done in whites and golds.
Large shelves frame a television, with knickknacks and flowers artfully accompanying an array of books.
All of this, this is her. The colors. The warmth.
The comfort. The fact that I feel immediately welcome here is a flashing neon sign I can’t ignore.
We’re good together in more than one way. Our connection goes beyond sex, and I can’t continue to lie to myself about it. Like it or not, Angela means something to me.
She’s good for me.
And that’s some scary shit.
The click of heels catches my attention and I turn to find her lingering in the doorway.
A black skirt clings to her hips. Sky high heels make her legs look so fucking delicious, I want to skip the foreplay and get straight to the main event.
To turn her around, bend her over, and spread her legs wide.
I want her begging for more as my hips crash against her ass and I tighten my grip on her hair.
Angela leans against the wall, a lazy finger tracing her bottom lip. Her breasts spill out of a white button down, so tight the buttons strain to keep it together. Her hair is pulled up off her neck and her lips…
…those fucking lips…
…are painted a vibrant red.
“Fuck, Angel.”
Her eyes travel the length of my body, gleaming with want. With heat. With…Jesus I don’t even know anymore.
She pushes off the wall, hips swaying as she advances. “Now what?” Her hands are on my chest. Her gaze, wide and trusting, locked on mine.
“Kneel.”
That’s all I have. One word. One fucking word.
And damn if she doesn’t comply.
With a sultry smile, she lowers herself to the ground in front of me, her delicate fingers working my belt, the light clink of the metal filling the quiet space. Then the button. The zipper.
Her hands reaching for my cock.
Stroking. A brush of her thumb over the tip and I shudder with desire.
Those red lips, open for me, wrapping around my dick and fuck…I watch, one hand in her hair, guiding her. Faster. Deeper. I hit the back of her throat. Again. Again.
She pulls back, panting, those blue eyes locked on mine. Mouth open. Tongue out. Begging for more.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” I reach for her hair, my fist in those red locks, and press past her lips again. Desperate. Needy.
This is everything I wanted.
She is everything I wanted.
And I need more than her mouth. I need all of her. I pull back, a string of spittle drooping between us.
My Angel looks worried.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not a damn thing.” I reach for her, helping her off the floor. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
My lips crash into hers. My hands knead those perfect tits, her shirt an unwelcome barrier. I tear the thing open and dip my head to her breasts, her gasp lighting me on fire as buttons scatter across the floor.
“Shit, Garrett…” My Angel stares up at me.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
And then she’s tugging at my shirt and me at her skirt, stripping each other bare in the middle of this room that feels so much like home. She moves to kick off her heels and I pull back, shaking my head, licking my lips, panting like a fucking dog.
“Leave them.”
Her eyes light up with a crooked smile and she beckons me forward.
And that’s the last coherent thought I have for a while.