His Brazen Angel Read online

  The tiny angel looks up and grins in return. “Something funny?” she asks.

  “Uh.” I clear my throat. “Not exactly. Just having a good time.”

  “Excellent.” The music changes to something slow, and she moves closer. Given how little room there already was, that’s really saying something. She reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck. “I think I need a box or something,” she says.

  I lean down to make it easier for her, awkwardly maneuvering to hold her in my arms without crushing her wings. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a movement, and when I look closer Curt Savannah—one of my ADP brothers, and frankly the biggest man-whore at Oak Ridge—is standing at the edge of the dance floor, glaring at me.

  What the fuck is his problem?

  The slow dance ends way too soon, and we head back to the speaker and reclaim our drinks. “You want a refill?” I ask.

  She peers into the cup. “I seem to have lost a lot of it earlier when I was slopping it around,” she says, giggling. “Hang on.” And she downs the rest of it in a couple of swallows, which is weirdly sexy. I mean, she’s adorable and cute and all that, but she also just pounded eight ounces of beer in about two seconds, and I’m not gonna lie: I like it. Not sure why, exactly, but I like it.

  I take both of our cups over to the nearest keg, get them refilled, and head back. We stand in silence for a minute, just sipping our drinks. I’m definitely ready for the break from dancing—I’m not the most graceful guy—but standing here beside the dance floor shouting at each other for the next however-long doesn’t really appeal. So I decide to take the bull by the horns, so to speak.

  “You want to step out where it’s not so noisy?” I ask.

  She nods. To my surprise, she looks a little shy. Which is honestly kind of sweet, and has my blood pressure spiking.

  I lead her out the terrace doors to a bench off to the side of the terrace, tucked up close to a tall hedge. A little privacy, but nothing too overbearing. We sit, and I take a long swallow of beer. It’s absolutely terrible, but it’s not like we were going to provide prime microbrew for who knows how many people—especially since we won’t know half of them. Pretty much anyone on Frat Row is invited to tonight’s party.

  And frankly, I think most of them showed up. It’s crowded inside, and I’m happy to be out in the fresh air.

  She takes a deep breath—which does amazing things for the neckline, such as it is, of her costume. I watch the rounded tops of her breasts swell and press against the fabric, and try to look like I’m not looking.

  “This is nice,“ she says. Her voice is soft; inside, she seemed bolder. Here, tucked out of the way on our little bench, I think she looks smaller. Unsure of herself.

  But that’s just me imagining things, I guess? Because no one who was unsure of herself would have shown up in this costume. There’s just no way.

  “Yeah, I like it,“ I say. “Sometimes I come out here to study. It doesn’t look at anything interesting“—I gesture at the brick side of the house in front of us, the hedge on the other two sides—“so it’s not exactly in hot demand. I like to walk around this part of the yard after a run, too.”

  “You run?”

  “Yeah, track, and also just to keep in some semblance of shape,” I say. “My friend Jake and I run most mornings.”

  “It ’ll be too chilly for that soon,“ she says.

  I notice, as she says it, that she’s got tiny, tiny goosepimples rising on her arms. “Oh crap, are you cold?“ I ask. I shift closer to her and wrap an arm around her, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  And the weirdest part is, it feels like it. She fits perfectly in the crook of my arm, her subtle curves nestled against my side like she was born to fit up against me. I’ve got a straight line of sight right down into her top, and the urge to reach my hand in and cup one of her perfect, firm—

  There goes my blood pressure again. I radio a stern warning down to my cock, which has decided to take a pronounced interest in the proceedings, and rub her upper arm with my hand.

  “Do you want me to get you a sweater or something?“

  “No,“ she says, and turns to look up at me. “I should probably have worn more clothes, though. I wanted to be …” Her eyes gleam in the dark. “Bold. Brazen.”

  “A brazen angel,” I murmur.

  “Something like that,” she says.

  “Let’s get you inside,” I say. “You’re cold.”

  “No, really, I’m fine. This is nice, just like this.“

  Her voice is low and throaty, completely different from how she sounded a minute ago. I’m getting whiplash with this girl.

  And then she reaches up and cups her hand around the back of my neck, pulling my face down to hers. “Are you going to kiss me?“ she asks, her lips a whisper against mine. “I’ve been waiting for ages.“

  Oh, Jesus.

  I press my lips to hers, and when they part to let me in, I groan and slide my tongue against hers. Her teeth nip at my bottom lip, and I groan again and pull her closer. She’s half beside me and half in my lap, one hand keeping her balance against my chest, the other holding her beer off to the side so we don’t both end up wearing it. I set my beer down on the ground beside me, not caring at all if it tips over or if I never get to finish it.

  Right now I don’t care about anything except getting as close to this angel as possible.

  I catch her beautiful, heart-shaped face in my hands and kiss her again, hard, then rest my forehead against hers. “What’s your name?“ I say. “I want to do things to you that are fucking obscene, and I don’t even know your name.“

  “It’s Alyssa,“ she breathes. “And I want you to do those things.“

  “I will.“ I catch her tongue for a moment with my teeth. “And when I make you scream my name,“ I tell her, “it’s Devlin.“

  Holy shit, who is even saying these things? I run track and teach Shakespeare; I don’t talk dirty and cocky to girls I just met.

  But oh, God, look at her.

  “Devlin,“ she says, and she looks up at me through her lashes as she licks her lips, “take me somewhere we can be alone.“

  So I do. I pull her inside and upstairs, stopping to kiss her on every step. We’re both breathless, literally panting, when we reach the top of the stairs.

  I turn her to the left and stand behind her, my hands on her waist. Her shoulders are sparkling; her hair tumbling around them in sable waves. I lean down and scrape my teeth along the side of her neck.

  “It’s that way,“ I tell her, and point down the hall. “But you have to be sure. You’ve been drinking—“

  She steps back, and her ass brushes against my throbbing cock. Leaning against my chest, so that her wings are crushed between us, she tips her head back and looks up at me, upside down. She lifts her arms and curls her fingers at the collar of my sweater. I can see straight down her top again, but this time it gapes away from her torso, and I can see her perfect pink nipples, pebbled and hard. Her pulse beats frantically in the hollow of her throat.

  “I’m sure,“ she says. “I’ve never been more sure.“ She pulls me down, and I bend over her awkwardly, kissing her upside down, half-holding her up, plunging my other hand—finally—in to cup her sexy little tit. I brush my thumb over that hard, hard nipple and she gasps against my mouth and then, like we’re in a movie—a porn movie, let’s be clear—she says, “I need you inside me.“

  Oh, sweet Jesus. I pull her upright again and take her hand, pressing it against my fly. The bulge underneath is throbbing, throbbing, and I hold her hand there, looking into her eyes. “You want that inside you?“ I say, barely able to breathe.

  “God, yes,“ she moans, squeezing my cock through my pants.

  “Then,“ I say, pushing her ahead of me down the hallway, “that’s what you’re going to get.“

  Devlin

  We crash through the door at the very end of the hall, spilling into my bedroom and tumbling onto my narrow
bed. Her hair spills across the pillow under her head as she pulls me down to kiss her again.

  I bury my hands in that soft, soft hair and devour her mouth, taking and taking until she’s breathless. Until I’m breathless. She moans against my lips and arches her body up to press to mine; I’m as hard as I’ve ever been—harder. Aching for her.

  As if she can sense it, she skims a small, slim-fingered hand down to brush across the front of my button-fly. My breath catches in my throat and I think I might explode if she doesn’t keep going.

  She does. Her fingers work quickly at the buttons until my jeans gape open, and then her hand slips inside. It’s kind of a tight fit, but she manages to wrap her fingers around my cock and stroke. Gently, gently, then firmer, gripping harder.

  I feel my balls contract almost painfully, and I plunge my tongue into her mouth, memorizing the taste and feel of her, searing them onto my brain. My cock throbs in her grip, my tongue sweeps her mouth. Her hand leaves my cock and travels around to grip my ass, pulling me tight to her as she arches up again, flattening the length of her body against mine.

  I lose what little control I have, wedging my knee between hers until her legs open up, sinking into the cradle of her thighs, pressing myself against her scantily clad crotch. I’m throbbing, aching, desperate, and if I don’t get these shorts off her, if I don’t bury my cock inside her pussy soon, I’m going to lose my shit.

  With shaking hands, I find the waistband of her shorts and start to peel them down. She lifts her ass up and lets me slide the shorts down her long, long legs, then carelessly kicks them aside. I slide my hands up the insides of her thighs, leading with my thumbs, pressing her legs apart so I can see her open up for me. In the dim light, the apex of her thighs is shadowed, the folds of her pussy only faintly visible. I reach out and stroke my thumb over her clit, and the feel of her, soft and damp against my thumb, has me breathing hard.

  I can smell her now, as I slide two fingers inside her, stroking inside her velvety softness, feeling her fluttering and clenching. That scent of vanilla is still everywhere, but under it I can smell her heat. I tip forward and flatten my tongue, dragging it along the entire length of her pussy, from her tight opening to her hard clit, then flick her clit with the tip of my tongue. She moans and I smile, laving her again with my tongue, licking her again where she’s most sensitive. I can feel her legs shaking, and I reach one hand under each thigh, pulling her closer so I can clamp my mouth over her, so I can suck on her clit.

  My cock is trapped between me and the bed, so I wiggle up onto my knees, crouched between her legs, sucking on her sweet pussy. I’m determined to get her off first, because I have a sneaking suspicion that once I’m inside her—God, she’s so tight!—I’m not going to last long. So I focus on that, on stroking her to peak with my tongue and now my fingers, licking and sucking and flicking, sliding two, then three fingers into her tight, wet pussy, letting her moans and sighs tell me when I’m getting it right.

  She presses her heels against the bed and tilts her hips up. Her hands flutter down and I feel her fingers tangle in my hair. “Please, Devlin,” she says. “Oh, God, please yes, right there, just like that, please.”

  I keep doing exactly what I’m doing—lapping her clit, stroking the walls of her pussy with my curled fingers—as her sighs get longer and deeper, as her moans get breathier and more high-pitched. Her fingers tighten in my hair, but it doesn’t hurt. And even if it did, I wouldn’t care. This gorgeous woman is about to come for me, and then I’m going to fuck her.

  I’m going to fuck her so hard.

  Finally she cries out, and I feel her clit pulsing against my tongue, her pussy spasming around my fingers. I slow down, move in time with the throbbing as it slows and recedes, until she’s lying still, breathing hard but limp on the bed underneath me. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and reach down to shove my jeans off. She doesn’t move, just watches me in silence as I fight my way out of them and drop them on the floor, followed by my boxers.

  My cock stands high and proud between us as I kneel between her legs again. I’m so hard it actually hurts a little, but I know it will all be fine once I’m balls-deep in this gift. This angel.

  She spreads her legs wide—so wide—and then hooks her heels against the backs of my knees. “You need to put that inside me,” she says, her voice high-pitched and breathy. She giggles, and there’s something about the sound of it—soft, girlish, almost innocent. Dare I say, angelic?

  But … honestly? She mostly sounds really drunk, and ... I don’t know. I think I might go mad if I stop now, but I also don’t fuck drunk girls. It’s not smart, and, more importantly, it’s not right.

  I groan and pull back. “I think we should—”

  “I think we should do exactly what we’re doing,” she says, trying to wrap her legs around me. The head of my cock actually presses against her—she’s hot and wet, and it would be so easy. I can have a condom on in probably 30 seconds, tops.

  But I very, very carefully don’t look at her breasts, at the smooth skin of her waist, the damp triangle of curls between her thighs. Because she’s slurring her words, dragging the vowels out too long, struggling with the consonants.

  Thinking back, I realize she sounded like that in the hallway too.

  She’s well and truly fucked up. Like, too fucked up.

  I take a deep breath. “You might not feel so certain of that tomorrow,” I say.

  Her eyelids flutter. “I’m fine,” she says, but her voice is fading. She’s fading right in front of my eyes.

  Jesus, how much did she have to drink? And what if I hadn’t noticed? I’d be fucking her right now, and she’s literally passing out.

  “Sure you are,” I say, and retreat, despite every cell in my body screaming at me to move forward and drive my cock in her, all the way. She’d be hot, and tight—

  I fumble at the foot of the bed and pull up the comforter, putting it between us before I do something I’ll regret.

  She pushes at it, but she’s literally passing out, so she doesn’t accomplish much. “No…” she breathes. “I want…”

  And then she’s gone, blacked out soundly, naked and sparkling under a comforter I don’t even dare to adjust right now, because the sight of her might be too much. I ease away, standing up next to the bed on unsteady legs, furious and turned on and … actually, I’m pretty drunk too, now that I think about it.

  I sigh, and walk over to the closet, where I know there’s a spare pillow and a couple of blankets. Looks like I’m bunking rough tonight. But first …

  I toss the pillow and blankets on the floor, then wrap a towel around my waist and walk two doors down the hall to the bathroom. Under the pulsing shower head, I take my cock in my hand and stroke, pretending it’s Alyssa’s hand, pretending it’s her wet heat surrounding me. It only takes moments, then I’m groaning and spurting come onto the floor of the shower.

  It would have felt so good to bury myself in her. So good to come with her legs wrapped around me. But I have to be able to look at myself in the morning, don’t I?

  I wash up quickly, then head back to my room. Alyssa’s still passed out in the same position I left her. Feeling a bit more in control now, I straighten her out and get her properly under the covers, taking off the sexy, strappy shoes we didn’t bother with, and trying not to look too closely at anything that might get me going again.

  And when she’s settled and tucked in, I retreat to my makeshift pallet on the floor and eventually fall into a restless sleep.

  Alyssa

  My head is pounding. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton batting. I blink open my eyes and someone is shining a five-million-watt light directly into them. The light spears into my brain and I open my mouth to scream but what comes out instead is something like “Blergh.”

  The world rocks back and forth violently and I crack one eye open a sliver to see what the hell is bouncing me all over. Devlin is sitting on the very edge of the bed,
tense in a way that tells me he’s doing his best not to rest his weight on the mattress. Okay, so not so much “rocking back and forth violently” as “moved a tiny bit when he sat down.” Fine. Maybe it’s my inner ear.

  And okay, the light’s not actually five million watts of brain-spearing intensity; there’s a glow at the window that suggests fairly new daylight. Maybe I’m sick. Why is Devlin Cole taking care of me when I’m sick in bed?

  Wait, this isn’t my bed.

  I sit bolt upright and regret it immediately when someone starts banging a giant gong inside my head. “Oh, God,” I moan, and fall back onto the bed again.

  “Here,” Dev says quietly, and I open one eye again to see he’s holding out two brown pills. “Advil. I think it’s bad for your liver, but after last night I’m thinking you don’t concern yourself overmuch with your liver.”

  I hold out my hand, take the pills, and dry-swallow them without sitting up, thankful for the fact that Advil in particular is basically candy-coated. “Thank you,” I say, my voice cracked and gravelly.

  “I’ve got some water, too,” he says. “Sit up.”

  I sit up again, pulling the navy blue comforter against my chest—and realizing, as I do, that I don’t have a shirt on.

  I don’t have anything on.

  “Oh.” I say. “I, uh ... I’m naked.”

  Dev smiles, and it’s oddly sweet, considering I have no idea how I got to be naked or what might have happened after. His grassy green eyes seem much kinder than I would expect, waking up in his bed with no memory.

  “I know,” he says. “I would have tried to get you back into your clothes but they didn’t look like the sort of thing you’d want to sleep in?” He nods his head toward a pile of white on the floor—satin and sequins and feathers.

  Oh, sweet Jesus. The party. We were dancing. I had ... a lot to drink.

  “Did I—” This is mortifying. “Did we...”