Chapter 1: His Angel: Chapter 1

She’s…angelic.

I never got the weight of that word until this moment, staring down at her sprawled across the bed like some divine offering.

My angel.

My holy fucking creature, breathing, existing, pulsing with life just for me.

Irrevocably mine.

No one else gets to touch this sacred thing. No one else gets to even dream of her. She’s my religion now, and I’m her goddamn disciple, ready to worship at her feet.

She’s out cold, drugged, her body limp and heavy from the shit I slipped into her system. It was the only way. Her adrenaline was a wildfire, threatening to fuck up everything I’d planned to get her here safely. I couldn’t risk her fighting, couldn’t risk her running. Not when I’ve just clawed her back to me.

The steady rise and fall of her chest, the faint twitch of her fingers—it’s hypnotic, a rhythm that hooks into my soul and pulls. I’m consumed, lost in the living, breathing masterpiece that’s become my entire world. Nothing else exists outside this room, outside her.

The scissors gleam in my hand, cold and sharp, and I ease them between her breasts, the blades kissing the silk of that cursed wedding dress.

It’s a punch to the gut seeing her draped in white…for him. That piece of shit, Anthony Paladino. The motherfucker who tried to piss on what’s mine like a fucking dog.

It’s acid in my blood, searing me from the inside out, a venom I can’t shake. But then I slice—slowly, deliberately, the fabric parting under the steel—and a sick, twisted satisfaction floods me. Each cut’s a purge, ripping him away from her, shredding every trace of his claim.

The dress is stained with his blood, dark and crusted, and fuck. I might keep it. Frame it like a trophy, a reminder of what happens to anyone who dares touch what’s mine.

Her skin peeks through as I peel the silk apart, and Christ, she’s a vision. Her soft and perfect tits spill free. Pale swells rise with each shallow breath, nipples tightening in the cool air, pink and begging for my mouth.

I’m rock-hard, cock straining against my jeans, adrenaline still wild in my blood, and goddammit, I want to fuck her. I want to ram my dick inside her tight, perfect body while I sink my teeth into her skin and draw blood. Just the thought makes me groan, and I lift my shirt to look at the faint scar on my abdomen. It’s the cut that sucked her virgin blood into my system. The cut that made her a part of me.

Fuck, I want to do it again. It’s the only way I can get her inside me, a part of me that no one can ever take away.

Obsession knocks at my skull, and I pinch my eyes shut. I can still feel it, the agony, the madness, the psychotic chaos of thinking about her being with him. It was weeks I spent in hell, aching for her while they hid her from me. It was a kind of torture that hollowed me out, filled me with a rage that slit the throats of many while I searched for her. Blood stains my hands, seeping into my soul, but I only regret not killing more. For her.

But now she’s finally here. With me. And he can no longer get close to her.

Something primal licks up my spine as I trace a finger along the edge of one breast, feeling the velvet of her flesh under my touch. She’s warm, alive, and so soft, I don’t ever want to stop touching her. Feeling her. Consuming her.

A moan slips from her lips—low, breathy, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard—and it hits me like a shot of liquor straight to the veins. She’s out, lost in whatever haze I’ve put her in, but her body knows me, responds to me even now.

I smirk, cutting more of the dress away, the scissors snipping through the fabric with a soft rasp, exposing her inch by inch. My fingers follow, trailing down the slope of her chest, circling the heavy weight of her tit before I cup it fully, squeezing just enough to feel her yield.

“Perfect,” I mutter, voice rough as gravel, my thumb brushing over her nipple, watching it pebble under the graze. “Fucking made for me, troublemaker. Only me.”

I lean in, breathing her scent, and the familiar notes of grapefruit and jasmine hit me hard. A growl rumbles from my throat as I drag my tongue across the peak, tasting the salt of her, savoring the way her body arches ever so slightly, even in her drugged sleep.

My cock jerks, aching to bury itself somewhere—anywhere—in her, but I hold back, savoring this slow unraveling.

The dress falls away in tatters, pooling around her hips, and I slide my hand lower, tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her curves. She’s a goddamn altar, and I’m here to defile it.

My fingers catch the hem of what’s left, tugging it down with her panties, and there she is.

Bare. Vulnerable. All mine.

Her pussy glistens between her thighs like an invitation. She’s wet—Jesus, she’s soaked—and I groan as I brush my knuckles along her slit, feeling her slick heat.

“Even like this, you want me.” Parting her with a slow swipe of my thumb, I watch as her pussy-lips spread, pink and swollen, ripe for the taking. It’s an ache I can’t describe. A deeply-rooted throe that’s only soothed when I’m inside her, feeling her body take me, wrap around me, sucking me in deeper and desperately squeezing for a pleasure only I can give her.

Another soft moan rolls from her lips, and I can’t resist sliding a finger inside her, feeling her walls flutter. So warm. So tight. And so fucking perfect.

This woman is silk and fire, clenching like she’s pulling me in, and I pump once, twice, curling just right to draw out that sound again—that gorgeous, broken whimper that makes my cock leak.

Leaning closer, I brush my lips along her jaw as I work her, the scent of her arousal thick in the air, mingling with the musk of her skin, driving me further into madness.

“My angel,” I whisper, adding a second finger, stretching her, reveling in the wet, erotic sound of it. “Moan for me again, baby girl. Let me hear how much you’re mine.”

And she does. Jesus, she does. Soft, needy, a sound so sensual it damn near undoes me.

Everything about her is art, but her cunt’s a masterpiece, slick and glistening under my fingers. Fuck, I need to taste her.

A dark pang of desire thunders through my bones as I pull my hand free and bring it to my mouth, sucking her off my fingers, licking it all up. She’s sweet and sharp, a hit of pure Everly that lights up my blood, and I groan, my cock straining so hard it hurts.

But it’s not enough. I want her on my tongue until she’s all I can taste, until her essence is a part of me. What I feel for her isn’t something I can articulate, but there’s one word that comes close to describing it. Insanity.

It’s insane how much I love her, crave her, need her, obsess over her. And while her taste hits every nerve like it’s ecstasy, my addiction demands more.

I shift down the bed, spreading her thighs wider, exposing her fully. She’s gorgeous, pink and swollen, a wet little heaven I’ve claimed many times, but not nearly enough. Her drugged body doesn’t fight me, just yields, soft and pliant, and that’s its own kind of thrill, knowing she’s helpless, knowing she’s mine to take.

Hunger hits, and I lean down, dragging my tongue up her slit, groaning as I lap up every drop of her like she’s the cure that’s finally going to save me.

“Fuck,” I mutter against her, voice muffled as I dive deeper, flattening my tongue to taste all of her. She’s molten, silky, coating my mouth, and I could smother myself between her legs, die right here with heaven on my tongue.

That gentle moan comes again, soft, light, a sound so beautiful it’s etched into the marrow of my bones.

With the tip of my tongue, I lick around her clit, flicking it just to feel her hips jerk under me. She’s out cold, but her body’s alive, responding, and I’m drunk on it—how her soul, her body knows its master even with her mind lost in oblivion.

Wider, I spread her legs, gripping her thighs, nails biting into her soft flesh as I bury my face deeper, sucking her clit between my lips, teasing it with my teeth. Another moan spills out, louder this time, and it’s like she’s singing for me, her body humming with vibration. She’s an angel giving me everything without even knowing it.

My tongue plunges inside her, fucking her slow and deep, mimicking what my cock’s dying to do, and she’s so tight, so wet, it’s obscene, her arousal dripping down my throat. I suck at her wet entrance, wanting every drop, then lick up to her clit, loving the way her body quivers when I give her clit the attention it needs.

My dick’s throbbing, and I’m so close to coming in my pants just by tasting her, the need to fuck roiling deep and un-fucking-controllable.

I wrap an arm around her leg, pulling her thigh up against my cock, rocking against it, building a rhythm that’s both torture and divine. My knuckles turn white as I mar her flawless skin with my fingers, securing her in place as I grind against her. Even the slightest friction drives me mad with need. The rough fabric of my jeans rubbing against my cock and her soft skin underneath my fingertips is an exquisite punishment.

“Fuck, baby girl, you’re my sweet little ruin, aren’t you?” I murmur. “I’m gonna mark you with every filthy drop I’ve got and love you stupid for it.”

I pull back, panting, her taste still flooding my mouth, and shove my pants down with one hand, freeing myself. My cock springs out, thick and aching, precum beading at the tip, and I wrap my fist around it, stroking hard and fast as I stare down at her.

Her tits rise and fall, her nipples hard, thighs splayed open with her glistening pussy teasing me with the memory of what it feels like to slide into her. It’s enough to drive me insane, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to fuck her. But I have to come or I’ll fucking die.

I kneel between her legs, pumping myself, the slick sound of my hand mixing with the faint hitch of her breath.

“You’re killing me, baby girl,” I rasp, eyes locked on the wet mess I’ve made of her pussy.

My other hand slides up her thigh, smearing her arousal across her skin, marking her with herself, with me, and her moans echo in my head, that perfect sound driving me closer, and I jerk harder, imagining her awake, begging, taking every inch of me until she screams.

“Jesus Christ.” My balls tighten, and I angle myself, cock aimed at her pussy. My vision whites out as pleasure erupts, the first ribbon of cum spurting out of me and landing on her stomach, the rest splattering across her wet cunt, and it’s the best fucking thing I’ve seen all day.

Her. Covered in my cum. Completely at my mercy.

Groaning low, I stroke through the last of it, watching my cum drip down her open slit, mingling with the slick sheen of her own wetness. It’s filthy, primal, a claim no one can erase, and I fucking love it—love how she looks, marked and mine, even while she’s lost in her dreams.

Body collapsing forward, I brace myself over her, and I drag a finger through the mess on her stomach, scooping up my cum, and bite my lip as I ease my finger into her slick pussy, wanting—no, needing my cum inside her.

I touch her cheek, her skin warm and soft under my fingertips, my touch likely the first thing she’ll feel when she stirs. It has to be me. Always me. No one else can ever come this close.

I lower my lips to hers, a soft, claiming kiss that seals my vow to her unconscious form. This kiss is a promise, a covenant that binds her soul to mine with chains forged from obsession and madness.

When she wakes, she will remember whose air she breathes, whose name is etched into the corners of her mind.