...He gripped her hips, and his mouth claimed the spot he’d just unveiled. She jerked as he French-kissed her pussy.
Lord, he had a long tongue.
Angel’s eyes rolled back in her head. She went blind as he stood, leading with his lips, so the kiss continued like a trail of liquid fire over her belly and breasts to her throat. She moaned as his teeth scraped her neck, and his chest hair scraped her nipples. Such a luscious, raw rasp. Torrid tingles drove straight into her core.
Heavy hands flattened on her back and swept southward, hard demand in the stroke—his callused palms like branding irons, marking her, blistering flesh. His fingers burrowed into the crease of her ass, tickled a tight opening, and she jerked again. Then the fingers explored inward to probe silky, wet folds. Her thighs quivered and internal pressure began to build.
Enough foreplay already.
She reached between his legs, felt her way down his thick shaft, grabbed a handful of taut balls, and squeezed. “Use it or lose it, mister.”
With a growl, he yanked her half off her feet, breaking her hold while tightening his. “Just remember, baby, you asked for it.”
“Yeah, I sure did. So get on with it.” She buried her hands in his hair and dragged his mouth to hers.
Somehow, they made it across the room to the king-sized bed and toppled, naked, onto its edge. Wrestling match lovemaking. Pillows went flying. Covers got jumbled. Torsos twisted and limbs twined as, together, they rolled to the center—sweating, panting, grunting, gasping. Animal sounds. Animal arousal. The musky scent of sex steamed the air.
Angel ended up on her stomach, her ass raised by a tangled clump of bedclothes and her legs spread wide. An open invitation, and he took it.
Fast and furious, his hard cock rammed into her cunt, stretching the walls of her passage, nailing her facedown to the mattress. She shuddered with the impact. All her nerve endings crackled. God, that was good. And it got only better. The Lean Mean Sex Machine was on a roll.
He slid out and slammed in again—and again—burned a hole in the bed, burned her, burned him. Hot, slick joining of flesh. Rampant force, flowing juices—creamy white lava sizzling down her thighs.
One heavy-duty, passion-powered male shoving her forward with every savage thrust. She fisted hands in the sheets, arched her spine, and braced against the assault, took his pounding and pushed it back on him with a wanton wiggling of hips.
“You’ve changed, baby.” His dick drove in deep, a carnal punctuation point to the statement. “No blushing virgin anymore, are you?”
It sounded almost like an accusation. Such a fine line sometimes between the heated emotions of anger and lust, and those words seemed a mixture of both.
But why was he angry? Because she exhibited sexual experience now, which told him she’d had other men since him? If so, he was jealous of shadows, because that’s all those other men were. Nice guys, most of them, but sorry substitutes for the one who’d first introduced her to erotic delights.
Should she tell him that?
Hell, no. His ego was already bigger than a bus. And this couldn’t be jealousy, anyway. Jealousy implied caring, and he didn’t care about her.
Pretty doubtful after a twenty-year silence.
More likely this slam-bam fucking was just her punishment for her own past silence. And she deserved it. At this point, wanted it.
All right, then. Let him punish her a lot more.
Do your worst, Romeo. Ravage me! Split me in two.
Except his worst was also his best...