Angel Avenue

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  Warrick shifts on top and growls in my ear, “My gorgeous woman.”

  I’m still shuddering as he enters me. I’m blinded, absolutely stolen from reality by him. This feels better than anything I have ever enjoyed before. His body is so snug, so perfectly meshed, inside mine. He lifts slightly to get deeper and I clutch his shoulders, my hips rising with his thrust. I cry out and pant, his hips stilted as I stretch around him, my body growing used to his.

  I wrap him up and he kisses me as he begins moving, our bodies rocking slowly, our minds left behind. He’s shaking and red, desperate to restrain himself. I taste myself on him and it’s so sensual, us sharing my arousal. His hands on my cheeks, his whiskers graze me as he brushes my lips and murmurs, “I love you.”

  It might be the orgasms, but I feel so emotional suddenly. I clutch his forearms and beg, “Don’t leave me, Warrick.”

  “I won’t,” he whispers, trailing kisses over my throat, my face. “You’re the most gorgeous, beautiful thing to ever happen to me.”

  Tiny tears leak from my eyes and I throw my head to the side, trying to hide them from him. He takes my cheek and pulls my eyes back to his. Our noses touching, he licks my tears and holds my gaze.

  “I’m here, I’m going nowhere,” he says, trying to tell me he’s strong enough for the both of us. I hope he is. With every sweep of him inside me, I feel the tightness and the heat growing, my cries becoming more rapid and eager.

  “Make me come, Rick, make me come with you.”

  I dig my nails in his buttocks and scratch them all the way up his back. He growls in response and pins my arms above my head, his hands laced through mine, our fingers tightening in unison. I push the soles of my feet against his buttocks because I want him so deep, so entirely consumed by me. I want every single piece of him. I pin him to me and he growls, circling, until I slacken my hold and let him rear back.

  “Jules, I love you,” he declares, needing to reaffirm it. I need to say it, too. Over and over again, so he knows how he makes me feel.

  “I love you.”

  He drives slowly, carefully, our eyes locked together, our noses touching. He is moulding me to him, filling me. I feel so womanly. I bite his shoulder, his earlobe and his lips, lick his neck and his chin. He grunts and breaks out in a fierce sweat. He gives me a deep kiss, our eyes shut and chests heaving together.

  He soon rips a tidal wave of pure, white heat throughout my body and I easily find a shattering, depleting orgasm. It’s akin to someone pouring an electric current up through my feet and out of my fingertips. I squeeze my eyes shut, tremble all over, throw my head back and lose my breath, juddering as my entire pelvis goes into spasm. I shake uncontrollably as Warrick whines in agony. The heat of him spills into me and I moan from my depths, throwing my arms around him as he gasps in my ear.

  “Oh god, Jules… I’m mad… you drive me mad with love.” He kisses me gently, his eyes full of love and worship. He’s almost choking on emotion when I haven’t got any words left. “You’re my kind of beautiful.”

  I tighten my arms on him, my legs. He’s wrapped in the whole of me, his body heavy with exhaustion and overwhelming love.

  “Warrick,” I manage in a strangled voice, my lip trembling, “don’t leave me.”

  He rolls over and pulls me with him so I’m lying on top. I burrow into his wild chest hair and our arms fasten around each other’s. His leg wraps over me and he pulls me so tight into his embrace, there’s no escaping. I don’t ever want to.

  “Let me show you what love is Julianne? Let me restore you? You’re my beautiful girl, my baby.”

  Damp kisses rain down on my scorching cheeks, my shoulders, my hands. He wraps my hair around his arms and licks away the tears falling down my cheeks.

  “My sweetheart. Nobody will ever hurt you again, not on my watch.”

  To save myself breaking down anymore, I choose passion instead, kissing him with all the might he’s given me – until we begin making love, all over again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jules

  When I open my eyes, I remember who I am, where I am and whom I am with. I just checked out for about an hour or so there while we were wrapped up in one another, eking out our lovemaking session.

  His lips swipe across my chest and I moan, feeling him twitching inside me still, my muscles still gently throbbing around him. My arms are wrapped around his head, bundles of his hair in my grasp. His arms are locked around the back of me, his hands stroking my shoulders. We’re both still panting like hell. We just tried a few more positions and ended up finishing in this one, the Lotus. My legs are wrapped around his back, locked at the ankles. I don’t ever want to let him go.

  “Uh, fuck, Jules. You’re going to kill me.” He continues holding me tight, licking my breasts. I throw my head back and groan. He just gave me multiple orgasms. I don’t know how this happened but I’ve fallen in love with a man who sees me in a way nobody else ever has.

  “You don’t swear. Or fuck. What have I done to you?” I laugh a dirty laugh and he takes my buttocks in his hands, gently pulling me off him. I whine and complain but sense he needs relief from my grip.

  We lie back and when he’s caught his breath, I feel him kissing my arms. I throw my hands above my head and lazily enjoy his worship of me, a perpetual smile on my face.

  “Bloody hell, this body, it’s the fault of this body,” he groans, kissing me wildly, up and down my arms and across my shoulders, my throat, my hands, my stomach. A little peck to my breast makes me flinch and gasp, my nerves hypersensitive. He strokes my legs, my hips, kisses all the way down to my toes – and I let him. He’s already done this a thousand times in the space of just an hour but he can kiss me as much as he likes, I’m in love with his kiss. I’m floating on a cloud, bathing in his love.

  He comes back up in the direction of my head and fists my hair in his hands, breathing it in, wrapping it around his hands and arms, tugging me closer. He pulls me on my side and into his embrace, my hair a web cocooning us as he wraps himself all around me.

  Into his neck, I say, “How old is your son?”

  “Ten, eleven next year.”

  “You married young?”

  “Hmm. We were both twenty-two. We were going to wait a few years before trying for a baby, but Joe was unexpected. She got pregnant only a year after we wed.”

  I have my preconceptions about his first marriage, like he was too young, etcetera, etcetera, but he’ll elaborate one of these days I’m sure. I don’t know the half of it but I wonder if there was more to it than the undercover work he did.

  “I want to meet him,” I tell Warrick.

  “Yeah?” he says with so much light in his eyes, I am almost blinded.

  “Yes, I do. I want to be part of your life.”

  “What shall I tell him?”

  “Say I’m a really good friend, which I am.”

  “Not girlfriend?” he chuckles, adding under his breath, “or love machine?”

  “Not yet. This is better, for him, don’t you think? To get used to me as a person first, before anything else?”

  “He’s my son Jules,” Warrick says, stroking my cheek, “he’s not daft.”

  He groans kisses into my throat and I warn him, “Down boy.”

  “Stop being so beautiful, then.”

  “You staying?”

  “Yeah,” his deep voice rumbles, “for as long as you’ll have me.”

  “You won’t be having me for much longer, not unless you feed me.”

  So after we get washed and dressed, we venture outside the flat and head to a cosy, candlelit Moroccan eatery, where we sit side by side, hold hands, cuddle and kiss.

  He tells me about his son, such joy in his eyes as he does. He tells me his father is special to him, tells me they got so much closer after his mum died. I feel jealous of the family he has. I have nobody, not a soul. I feel lonely in those moments Rick shares his other loves with me and I feel desperate to pull him in eve
n closer, to make sure he doesn’t find reason to leave me. He means everything to me, I suddenly realise.

  We don’t race home, we savour the walk back, rambling across the park before my house, together. Against trees, we kiss and whisper sweet words. Under streetlamps, we gaze at each other’s phosphorescent reflections.

  When we do get home, we take each other’s clothes off and begin to make love for a third time.

  He is sat up with his legs crossed and mine are encircling his back. I love this position, so does he. Unlike before though, there’s no urgency and we’re not battling it out to reach orgasm, we’re just making love. He buries himself in my breasts and we find a gorgeous rhythm, letting ourselves go, no rush. We rock back and forth and I hold my hands buried so deep in his shaggy curls.

  “This is where you belong, just like this,” he groans, “tell me you’re a dancer, tell me. You’re so slender, so strong.”

  “My mum,” I say biting back tears, “I think she taught me but I kind of blocked it out.”

  “Oh, Jules,” he says pulling me closer.

  He lifts his chin and I smother his mouth with a sloppy, generous kiss, which he seems to adore as it makes him grab my buttocks and begin bucking up into me.

  “You make me feel so safe,” I say with my head thrown back.

  “You’ve no idea of the depth of my feeling for you,” he replies, his eyes so intense, his manner so earnest.

  I take his shoulders and let him have me, his way. I’ve never done this so wildly, nor so tenderly before, but I trust him and I feel free.

  “Oh god, Jules,” he complains and tosses his head back, his eyes squeezed shut as he concentrates. I know he wants to come. I survey his body’s contours, all the leanness and rugged fur. His bare hips drive me wild and I’m wrapped right around them.

  His hands slide all over me as he drives deliberately, punishing my upper wall.

  “I love your body, Rick. Squeeze my breasts… oh… I’m going to come!”

  I only know his arms are here for me in the aftermath. I only know he’s got me and I’m sweaty and sticky but never have I ever felt so free to be me. I’m vulnerable, but so is he, and I love him more than life itself.

  I lie with my back against his chest, his arms wrapped around my breasts, his chin resting in my nook, his leg wrapped over both of mine so that he’s my makeshift bed for the night. I feel so blessed.

  “I’ve got you, baby.”

  I shiver with happiness and tell him, “This is the fault of that mustard jumper, I just couldn’t take my eyes off you in it.”

  He snickers into my neck and tells me in a raspy voice, “I love you.”

  “I love you.” I turn my head back and he gives me a sweet kiss, sighing when he pulls away. I float in his arms, into the calmest sleep of my life.

  When I wake in the morning, he’s gone but there is a note on my pillow: Gone to work. Breakfast is served. Ring you later. W x

  I lift my head to look at my bedside table. There’s a mug of tea wrapped in foil and a couple of crepes he must have made that morning, filled with hazelnut chocolate. I hide beneath my duvet and scream with happiness.

  ***

  He must be a positive agent of productivity because I spent today flying through all my backed up marking and lesson plans for next term and the one after. He called me at lunch and said he had to see me again tonight so I am waiting for him now, sat at the table anxiously.

  The buzzer goes and when it does, I leap up and let him in, leaving the door open. I stand and wait and when he comes through into the flat, we lurch at one another.

  I am out of breath when he pulls away and swings me around.

  “I missed you,” I tell him.

  “Are you wearing the perfume we got you?”

  “I am.”

  I am so hot for him it doesn’t bear thinking about how I want him to take me, over and over again. He pulls a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back and I melt. He tucks his hair behind his ears and I like the way he looks when he does that. He could pass for a model. He’s got a certain brooding look, like I’ve always thought, but it’s rough and unique. Warrick is not a classic Adonis but he’s so sexy. Now I know him carnally, I might even call him devastating.

  We eat dinner at the table and he tells me about his day. We discuss a night when it might be convenient for me to meet Joe and we decide, Tuesday the following week.

  Because I don’t have any marking and nothing is on television during the week, I suggest we turn in early and he’s carrying me to bed in no time. I am dying for him to be inside me. My pelvic floor is continually aching and I feel mad from morning till night without him.

  “Lie on the bed naked and touch yourself for me,” he asks, but I don’t know whether I can. I watch him frantically stripping and I do the same.

  As I lie on the bed and watch him start to stroke himself, I feel so turned on just watching him, I tentatively reach between my thighs.

  “Spread wide, Jules. My beauty. Let’s shave each other after we fuck.”

  I groan and touch my aching breast because it’s so heavy and painful. “Rick, why didn’t you tell me the first day?”

  “Tell you what?” he says chuckling.

  “That you loved me? That you were a horny beast?”

  “I didn’t know you loved me… I didn’t know.”

  “I’m so in love with you,” I tell him.

  He must see how wet I am and he climbs over me and asks, “How would you like me?”

  I roll over and point my behind at him. “Deep, Rick.”

  He smoothes his hands over my buttocks and growls, “You’re my wench now, Jules.”

  “And you’re my man.”

  His warmth fills me and I hum with happiness. I cannot believe this is my Warrick, my friend and saviour, who is now boning me doggy style. The beauty of my power over him is exhilarating. He kisses the central line of my back and holds my hips firmly in his hands. He buries himself inside me and knows he has to be careful he doesn’t hurt me, so he keeps asking me if I’m alright.

  “Jules, I’m close,” he warns, “touch yourself for me.”

  “I’m close too!” I gasp and rub myself, no longer ashamed. I begin suffering the most powerful climax yet, liquid gushing from me. “Ah, god!” I throw my hand over my mouth because I want to shriek.

  “Let it go, Jules! Yes! Ufff!” he shouts and puffs indecipherable nonsense from his mouth.

  I can feel so much more with him taking me like this and I’m afraid. He must know it because he throws my hand out of the way to touch me. I instantly shake with his stroke against my nub.

  I gasp and hiss. I can hardly breathe when it hits me. I see spots in front of my eyes and it feels like the ground is shaking beneath me as I tremble through this overwhelming ache in my belly. This is another level of ecstasy. I throw myself back and he pulls me up against him, his arms around me. I let air rush into my lungs and I pant for a long time afterward, trying to catch my breath.

  Euphoria floods me once the ecstasy subsides and I hold my hands on his knees, my back against his body, sat between his legs. I listen to the sweeps of his hands over my skin, the quiet caresses and strokes of a man in love holding his woman.

  When I look up into his eyes, I see something new. He’s now my needy, desperate man and no longer the Warrick of old putting on the bravado of, I’ll help you because you’re a friend in need.

  “Kiss me, Warrick.”

  He leans down and I taste sweat and sweet desire on his lips.

  With my kisses I tell him I’ve got you now. I’ll not let him down. He strokes my cheek, his eyes swimming with happiness.

  “I love that I just did that to you.”

  He has the stupidest, most boyish grin plastering his face now. It’s annoying and lusty all at once.

  I shoot him an unimpressed grimace. “Oh, you think you’ve got all the power then now?”

  “Nope,” he says, “you’ve got me as your slave,
forever and ever.”

  “Yeah but, I know you only want me for my body.”

  “I could say the same, Julie.”

  “Ricky,” I fire back.

  He sniggers and pulls me up the bed with him so we can get under the covers. He strokes my hair as I rest on his chest and as I’m falling, he whispers, “I am going to love you so well, Julianne. My sex kitten.”

  I’m roused immediately and I bite his lip, purring and burrowing, seeking more of his love.

  When I look at the clock as we finally settle down to rest, it’s nearly three a.m.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jules

  I wake to discover my body aching all over, groaning as I stretch my legs in the tangled sheets. This three-times-a-night thing is using muscles I have never had to before. It’s 9.20a.m but he’s not in bed with me and I realise he has probably gone to work. I lift my head and look around and he’s there at my dressing table, in his boxers, his feet propped up on the table. I wonder how he can stand to sit there in only his underwear. It’s so chilly outside of the bed and I pull the covers up around myself.

  “What are you doing over there? Aren’t you at work today?”

  He looks up and grunts. He murmurs, “Late start today. I drew the short straw.”

  “Come back to bed,” I moan, like I am in pain he’s not with me.

  “Just thinking,” he says gently.

  From the look of him, he’s not had much sleep at all since we finished our session. I wonder if I have done something to upset him.

  “Was I snoring or something? Did I keep you up?”

  He glances at me only for a moment but in that moment I realise he’s a real, grown man. Not a boy. Warrick is a man. He’s comfortable in his naked skin and he’s worn yet masculine and all the more beautiful for it. Yes, he’s beautiful. Because he’s alive, in my life, and he’s a gorgeous man. I’m in love with him.

  “I got up to go to the bog in the night and something caught my eye. I have been reading them…”