Page 41 of Angel’s Claim

It's slow at first. His lips moving against mine like he's savoring it, like he's been thinking about this as much as I have and now that it's happening he wants to make it last.

His hand comes up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and he deepens the kiss. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him without thinking.

The kiss turns hot. Hungry. I press closer, my hands finding his shoulders, and he makes a low growling sound that sends shivers down my spine.

Then he's moving, picking me up with one arm like I weigh nothing, his muscles flexing as he turns and lays me down on the bed. I land on my back with a soft gasp, and he follows me down, bracing himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush me.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes, looking down at me.

My cheeks heat. "Angel…"

"You are." He leans down and kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense. "Been wanting to do this since I first saw you."

"You have?"

"Yeah." He kisses the corner of my mouth. "Been thinking about what you'd taste like." Another kiss, this one to my jaw. "What you'd sound like." His lips trail down to my neck, and I gasp. "What you'd feel like."

Oh God.

His mouth is on my throat now, kissing and sucking, and I arch into him without meaning to. My hands find his hair, threading through the short strands, and he makes that growling sound again.

"Can I take your clothes off?" he asks against my skin.

My brain short-circuits.

Is it too soon? Probably. We met yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago. I should say no. I should tell him we need to slow down, take our time, figure out what this is before we…

"Yes," I hear myself say.

Because this is the second-best decision I've ever made, right after running away from that wedding. This is what I ran toward. This moment. This man. This feeling of being wanted for exactly who I am instead of who someone wants me to be.

Angel sits back on his heels and reaches for the hem of my pink sweater. I lift my arms, and he pulls it off slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I'm wearing a plain white bra, nothing sexy, nothing special, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm wearing something from Victoria's Secret.

"Fucking gorgeous," he mutters.

My jeans come next. He unbuttons them slowly, slides the zipper down, and hooks his fingers in the waistband. I lift my hips, and he pulls them down my legs and tosses them aside.

Now I'm in just my bra and panties, plain cotton, unsexy as hell, and he's still fully dressed, looking down at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I won't."

He smiles and leans down to kiss me again. This time it's different. Slower. Deeper. Like he's memorizing the taste of me. His hands slide down my sides, and I shiver at the calluses on his palms. He cups my breasts through my bra, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasp into his mouth.

"You like that?" he murmurs.

"Yes."

He does it again, and I arch into his touch. Heat is pooling between my thighs now, and I'm already wet, already aching for more. Angel reaches behind me and unhooks my bra with one hand.

God, that's hot, and pulls it off.