Page 115 of Where Angels Fall

My fingers grip the hem of his pants, pulling them down slowly, while my eyes linger on his. The colour red lights up his black hair, forming a crimson halo over his looming form.

From down here, he looks larger than life. To me, he is.

His proud erection bobs in my face when I pull the fabric down far enough, pre-cum glistening on his tip. Soft dark hair curls at the base, and thick veins run up his cock, over my name inked on the base.

Angel.

Seeing it again gives me butterflies.

My fingertips run over the black ink, softly tracing the letters.

Looking up at him through my lashes, his throat bobs as he swallows another sip of his drink before setting it back on the bar. His grin is wicked, dimples popping in full force as he crosses his arms. The picture of casual.

My lips twist before they part, opening to suck on the fat tip of his cock, my tongue searching his slit for his taste. His eyes bore into mine, but before I can make him feel too good, I slide off him with a pop.

Those dark eyes narrow on me as I giggle. My head bows down, my tongue flattening against the soft flesh of his balls, before sucking one into my mouth. I’m toying with him. Playing with my food. And the way his muscles tense slightly brings me all the satisfaction in the world.

I go back to his cock, licking from base to tip, before sucking him back into my mouth. Now, I don’t go slow. I suck his length down my throat with everything I have, gagging around him as I fuck my own face on his dick, sucking and hollowing out my cheeks.

Tears stream down my face, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

He hisses through his teeth, his jaw falling open as he pants, pleasure glazing his eyes.

“Angel,” he breathes, finally uncrossing his arms. But he doesn’t touch me. He grips the bar behind him for dear life. “Fuck.”

My sight of him blurs through the tears as I add a hand, gripping the base of his cock. The sound is completely salacious, sucking and dribbling and gagging. I’m vaguely aware that I’m still covered in dozens of men’s cum, and it spurs me on.

Because I want his.

Ash’s head falls back, the column of his throat bobbing as his wild hair falls free off his face. Red light shrouds him as he curses to the heavens, coming completely undone.

For once, he looks wrecked. Completely unravelled. Nothing like the man who demands full control.

“Goddamnit baby,” he growls, but it’s strained now, his voice fractured. “You suck me so fucking good.”

I pull back just enough to make him look at me again. His eyes snap down, blown wide, pupils devouring that deep blue colour that I love so much. His chest rises hard and fast, his knuckles white from the grip he has on the bar behind him.

He’s falling apart.

So I smile a slow, knowing smile.

I drag my fingers up his stomach, nails grazing over muscle, over ink, feeling the tremor beneath his skin. He twitches at the slightest touch.

That does it.

His composure cracks.

A sound rips from him, half snarl, half groan, and suddenly he’s moving. His hand fists in my hair, anchoring his fingers tight.

My other hand slides up his chest, over his beating heart, which thrums wild and frantic. I press there gently. It’s racing.

“My Devil,” I whisper, for only him.

His head drops forward, breath sawing in and out of him in ragged puffs.

His fingers tighten in my hair, but there’s no viciousness in it now. Just need.

I continue to suck him, working him into the wreck is, until he growls.