When Angels Fall

by AJ Hampton

  “Eva,” he warned. “If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  She stepped closer, nudged her boots against his. Her gaze trailed up a chest nicely outlined in a snug black sweater until she met his eyes. “How am I looking at you?”

  “Hungrily.”

  He took her arm in a firm hold, dragged her against his side and threaded his way through the tables. She couldn’t see the expression on Peter’s face, but whatever it was had the patrons of Lost Isle looking anywhere except at them. She was grateful for the reprieve, grateful she didn’t have to see the judgment in their eyes. Her choice to leave the bar with a stranger wasn’t going to help her dig her way out of the isolated life she and Greg had lived.

  Peter grabbed her coat. Never breaking her gaze, he placed first one arm through a sleeve and then the other. Already he was taking the choices from her. One button at a time, he closed the heavy wool around her. She didn’t dare look away, didn’t question what she was about to do.

  No more questions. Only trust.

  Outside of the bar, alone in the swirling gusts of icy snow, they didn’t speak. Darkness closed around them and the wind bit at her cheeks. The wooden sign above the bar’s door thudded against the brick, the knock echoing through the empty town.

  Peter’s long-legged stride ate the half-mile distance between Lost Isle and the set of cabins at the end of Main Street as if it were nothing. When she started to straggle behind, Peter gripped her hand tighter.

  He stopped at the last cabin, pulled her close and backed her against the door. Even through her coat, the wood was arctic. God, could she really do this? Have sex with a man she’d known for less than two hours? Have sex with a man on the day she’d said goodbye to the only person she’d ever loved?

  Peter stepped forward, brought his erection against her, and all thoughts of death, of right and wrong, faded. “You aren’t chickening out on me, are you?” he asked.

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” she said.

  With cat-like speed, he took hold of her wrists and pinned both her arms above her head. She strained against him, silently begged for more.

  “Tonight you’re mine.”

  Peter didn’t ask for submission. He took. His kiss was bruising and rough, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His tongue swept inside of her mouth, claimed, demanded, and conquered. He tasted of whiskey and snow.

  He pulled back, a growl trembling in his chest, vibrating from him into her. He dug in his pocket, fished out an old-fashioned key. The door gave way behind her, and she stumbled back. Before she could fall, he steadied her in his arms and shoved the door closed.

  She expected Peter to rip off the jacket he’d just dressed her in. Instead, he took his time unhooking each button, only gracing her with the briefest of touches as he pushed the heavy material from her shoulders. Anticipation soared higher when the heat of his mouth found her chilled neck. He licked. Sucked and nibbled until her body clenched in response. She drew her fingers through his soft, silky hair.

  Slower than she could stand, he drew the zipper down on her dress as if he had all the time in the world to get her naked. He guided the material down her arms, waist, his fingers trailing hotly over her skin. Taking a single step back, Peter watched the dress drop to the ground. He drank in her bared body clad only in a black, see-through bra and matching silk panties.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked, and the heat in his eyes was combustible. “That is so much better than you described.”

  Peter lifted his hand, skimmed his knuckles between her breasts and down the quivering muscles in her stomach. He stopped at the top of her panties, ran a single finger back and forth under the band. Her sex clenched. His gaze flicked up, met hers. She wondered if it were possible for one’s heart to actually stop.

  A breathless moment passed where she wondered if he would press lower and cup her sex, or change directions and touch her breasts. He did neither. One-handed, he undid the clasp of her necklace and pulled the pearls from around her throat. The necklace landed on the floor. He stroked her bared throat, sent a shiver racing through her, before his hands fell to his sides.

  “On your knees,” he ordered.

  Eva blinked at him. “Wh...at?”

  He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her close. His voice was a fierce whisper against her ear. “I’m in control. Trust, remember? You do what I tell you to do, no hesitation. I want you on your knees.”

  She tried to pull away, couldn’t. He pressed down on her shoulder until she knelt before him. The cold carpet was rough against her knees and she reveled in the loss of control his domination brought.

  He grabbed the hem of his sweater and the tee shirt below, pulled until the fabric was over his head. The thick wool hit the floor and Eva stared up at him. Her mouth opened, closed. She could do nothing but admire. He was tall, lean and well muscled, from the definition in his chest to the rigid eight-pack of his abs. Dark hair colored the pale skin of his chest and ran down the center of his stomach before disappearing beneath his jeans. Those same jeans rode low on his hips and exposed the cut muscle narrowing his waist and leading to his groin.

  Peter pulled the cups of her bra under her breasts. Cold air tightened her nipples and arched her back as if she was instinctually trying to get closer to the man in front of her. He flicked first one nub, and then the other. Bolts of sensation travelled straight to her pussy. Her inner muscles clamped, desperate to be filled.

  “Undo my pants. I want your hot, sweet little mouth around my cock.”

  Trust. Her hands trembled as she worked the buttons fastening his jeans. The moment the denim parted, his cock sprang free. His erection was thick and long, the swollen head dark with his arousal. She wrapped her hand around him, measuring the girth with a forefinger and thumb that didn’t close around the base of his shaft. How would he ever fit inside of her?

  He gripped her hair, drew her face forward.

  “I didn’t tell you to play with it. Open your mouth and suck it.”

  Her pussy throbbed. She wondered if he knew how his authority spurred an unspoken fantasy. Opening her mouth, she curled her tongue around the smooth mushroom tip. She flicked the underside of his penis along the ultra-sensitive foreskin.

  He shuddered, thrusting forward in an involuntary jerk. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked him deep and began a quick rhythm to best bring him to his knees. In and out, each time she used her tongue to caress the most responsive part of him right under the head.

  His groan echoed through the room. “Fucking Christ, I knew you’d be good at this. Your mouth was made for sin.”

  Using the hand in her hair, he guided her head in a pace he liked. Normally she hated a man controlling her head during oral sex, but for some reason, with Peter, the action revved her up. He was taking control, making her submit. She moaned around him, cupped the heavy weight of his testicles.

  “That’s it,” he praised, stroking the back of her neck as if in reward.

  She looked up the line of his body and met his eyes. He stared down, his gaze riveted to the sight of his glistening cock moving in and out of her mouth. The naked lust in his eyes was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  “Play with your pussy.”

  Wavering only for a moment, her hand slid down her stomach, under the band of her flimsy panties. She sought out her clit, found it hard and swollen. Her breath stuttered, and when the rhythm of her mouth would have faltered, Peter kept pace. He thrust his hips against her lips and groaned.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  Her pussy was wet and dripping with arousal. She rubbed, the tips of her fingers teasing the slit of her sex each time she pressed the heel of her palm against her clit. A moan fought free, an involuntary reaction. She rubbed harder, the need for release burning in her quivering muscles. She was desperate to reach what was just out of her grasp.

  Peter reached down to clamp a nipple between his fingers.
He twisted. She cried out, the sound muffled around his cock. He did it again, and again, the sharp bites of pain bringing her into the first spasms of orgasm. Her moans escalated, each coming louder than the last.

  The heat of his hand against her breast vanished, her climax disappearing with it. He pulled her away from his cock, the fist in her hair keeping her on her knees, head tilted back. His eyes narrowed. “You sound awfully damn close to creaming all over your fingers. I did not give you permission to climax. You come when I tell you to come. Understand? Consider this your first lesson.”

  Her cheeks warmed and her body pulsed. Her arousal ratcheted, eclipsing every other worry. He’d promised oblivion if only she’d trust him. Whimpering, she rocked her hips against the hand between her thighs, tried to lean forward and suck his dick back into her mouth. He held her just out of reach.

  Taunting her, he wrapped his large hand around his shaft. Slick with her saliva, he stroked slowly, highlighting every glorious inch of him.

  “Do you understand?” he asked again.

  Her gaze darted from his glistening cock to his eyes. She licked her lips, nodded.

  “Good.”

  Fingers between her lips, he pried her mouth open and thrust his penis back inside, giving her what she craved. His cock pulsed, testicles tightening in preparation. He was just as close as she’d been. Looking up at him, never breaking his gaze, she opened her throat and relaxed her muscles. She swallowed, taking him deep the way she liked it.

  He jerked back, cursed. His hand tightened in her hair, the pain a sweet, sweet pleasure. “Christ. Do that again.”

  She sucked him into the back of her throat and swallowed past the gag reflex. He trembled against her, held her still for just a moment before using his hand to pull her off. He repeated the motion three more times, thrusting deep, pulling back, before he wrapped his hand loosely around her throat.

  “Swallow,” was his only warning.

  Hot semen jetted into her mouth, splashing against her tongue, the back of her throat. She fought the initial urge to pull away. She took a breath through her nose, swallowed. He kept coming, his hips jerking in time to the explosions in her mouth. Each squirt was less than the one before, so she was able to flick her tongue over the underside of his cock. The entire time, Peter put pressure on her throat, felt her take each drop of his essence inside.

  He pulled out, cock still hard. She sat back, realized her fingers were buried in her pussy. The burning need to come had faded in the face of his climax. He pulled her up, drew her hand out from between her thighs. His tongue caressed her fingers, sucked them into the heat of his mouth. Every stroke sent her reaching upward again.

  “You taste like honey.”

  He walked them backwards, pressed his mouth against hers in a long, passionate kiss. His urgency faded, replaced with an intense passion. He stroked a hand from her shoulder to the small of her back, and the simple caress went beyond tender. This was her reward. Angling his head, he cupped her throat and deepened their kiss. His tongue parried with hers, a smooth, wet glide. When the mattress hit the backs of her knees he ripped their mouths apart and pushed her onto the bed.

  She scooted backward, toward the center where she assumed he’d want her. He clamped a hand around her ankle, pulled her in the opposite direction.

  “Not so fast,” he said.

  His grip tightened and it was the only the signal she needed to stay still. Her heart raced as she waited for her next direction. The hunger in his eyes was almost more than she could take. “We haven’t made it to the part where we get all the way into bed yet. I’m going to taste your pussy first. If you do as I say, I’ll let you come.”

  His grip loosened, shifted. Palms against her skin, he stroked his hands over her calves, ever so slowly brought them toward her trembling thighs. She propped herself up on her elbows, watched.

  He spread her thighs. A skipped heartbeat later, he dropped his gaze to her mound. As if savoring her, he drew in a deep breath, moaned. Arousal drenched her panties, made the silk cling to the folds of her sex.

  “You smell delicious and taste even better.” Inch by inch, his hands caressed a path of pure fire from her knees to her inner thighs, and then back.

  A long, torturous minute passed before he knelt in front of the bed. He drew her closer and settled himself comfortably between her splayed legs. In the darkness, something gleamed. Claws. She jumped, tried to scramble back as her survival instinct surged to the surface. She knew, better than most, how sharp leopard claws were.

  Faster than she thought possible, his hands clamped on her thighs and he held her immobile. Her chest tightened, and each breath she drew in was rich with his masculine scent.

  “Shush,” he soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Lips pressed against her outer thigh and, his gaze never leaving hers, he slid the back of his hand across her hip. He flipped his palm, lightly drew claws over fragile skin. Hard, sharp points scored the flesh, but didn’t penetrate. He didn’t draw blood. Goose bumps rose, and the only thing keeping her from bolting was the silent command in his gaze.

  He teased one claw upward, curving it beneath the side strap of her panties. Effortlessly, as though he exerted no pressure, the silk sliced apart. When he did the same to the other side, her hips lifted from the bed on instinct. She wanted more. Peter drew his lower lip between his teeth, never took his gaze off hers when he grabbed hold of her ruined panties and tossed them to the floor.

  Like the giant feline he was, his claws retracted in a seamless transition. Human fingernails dug into her legs where he gripped her. He stared through the darkness at her swollen sex and inhaled deeply. Moisture glistened off her thighs, and as she watched Peter licked his lips in anticipation. A new flood of desire leaked from her core. A shiver trembled through her.

  “Gorgeous,” he murmured.

  He leaned forward and the breadth of his shoulders forced her thighs wider. Cupping the outsides of her thighs, he used his hold to spread her wider and expose her just that little bit more.

  Hot breath caressed her sensitive flesh. She drew in oxygen and tried to rein in her out-of-control heartbeat. Every heavy, pulsing throb between her legs drew her that much closer to climax.

  “Peter,” she moaned. “Please.”

  She closed her eyes, the sight of him so close to her pussy too much for her to bear. She fisted her hands into the soft, cool bedspread beneath her body. He licked her thigh, and the rough rasp of stubble from his chin scratched her tender flesh.

  “Please what?” His teeth gripped the spot he’d just licked. Silken hair feathered across her clit, and the contrasting sensation from his five o’clock shadow was heady. She moaned. The need to touch him overtook all caution and she caressed his nape, drew her nails up to scratch through his hair. Her grip changed. She grabbed a fistful, started to pull him toward her goal.

  One hand left her thigh, gripped her wrist and pulled her hand away. He looked up and amused pleasure curved his lips into a smirk. “Naughty girl,” he mumbled. “Do I need to tie you up already?”

  Tie her up. Was he serious? Her heart hammered at the thought of being completely helpless. She bit her lip to keep from begging him to restrain her, to give her the oblivion she needed.

  “Stop teasing,” she said. Her eyes felt heavy, and if she didn’t come soon she was going to spontaneously combust.

  “This is my game, my rules. I’m rather enjoying watching the cream leak from your hungry little slit. You’ve got such a pretty, pink pussy. Perfect. I can’t wait to stretch you with my cock, to make you scream.”

  His finger trailed through the line of moisture running from the bottom of her slit to her ass. She tightened, eyes widening when he rimmed her anus. He circled the rosette. “You ever been fucked in the ass?”

  Unable to form words, she shook her head. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t know if she wanted to.

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now you were begging for som
ething. What do you want, angel?” He blew a stream of air over her clit.

  She jerked at the hot, barely-there caress against her clit. He held her immobile, hips pressed firmly to the bed. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Too bad. Now, tell me.”

  “Taste me,” she said.

  “Oh, I’ve tasted.” For emphasis, he licked her thigh, flicked the tip of his tongue against the tender spot between her pussy and her anus.

  “Lick my pussy,” she gritted between her teeth, unable to stand the wait much longer.

  He chuckled, a sexy rumbling noise. Obviously he enjoyed torture. “That sounded an awful lot like an order.”

  When she would have tightened her thighs to alleviate the ache, he stopped her. She whimpered. Her head fell back to the bed as the frustration amped up her arousal to a level she hadn’t thought possible.

  “Repeat after me,” he said, each word a maddening caress. “Please, Peter, will you eat my cunt?”

  She stiffened at the c-word, lifted back onto her elbows and glared at him. Peter met her gaze. Amusement sparkled in his eyes like gems. He was laughing at her! Stubbornness warred with desire. She wanted him, oh God did she want him. But at what cost?

  Moistening her suddenly dry lower lip, she opened her mouth, “Please, Peter, will you...” She paused, licked her lip again. Nope. She couldn’t say it. There were some rules a girl just didn’t break, even if her potential lover was hotter than sin.

  She shook her head, and the gesture, as simple as it was, knocked some sense loose in her head. “I’m not saying…the c-word.”

  Peter laughed out loud. When he sobered, his gaze cut to the door, back to her. One of his eyebrows rose in silent question. Stay and say it, or go home. She hated ultimatums.

  Tilting her chin, she shrugged. The laughter twinkling in his eyes faded when she sat up, scooted off the bed. The cold carpet beneath her feet jarred. Without the heat of Peter’s touch, the lingering frost in the room gnawed.