If there’s something more mind-blowingly erotic than watching Lucas Ford sitting naked on a couch, passionately performing a song called “Angel” for me, after having just called me Angel, then I don’t know what it could be.

The song is the same one Lucas played behind the penthouse door earlier, and now that I’m able to understand the lyrics and watch Lucas’s glowing face as he sings it, I’m even more blown away by it. It’s utterly brilliant.

The song starts out as whimsical. Kind of funny, actually. Lucas muses about accommodating his angel’s rather large feathered wings as he makes love to her. He wonders if she’s really an angel, or more like a nymph. Nymphomaniac? And then the song takes a decidedly poignant turn. What starts out as Lucas’s sexual attraction to his angel turns into something much deeper. He realizes she’s maybe not just a vehicle for his pleasure, but perhaps something much more. Perhaps she was literally sent from heaven above to free him from his shackles. “Only you can free me, Angel,” he croons toward the end of the song. “Free me from myself. Free me from the bloodsuckers and their relentless pursuit of wealth. Angel, let me slide inside you, bring me back to life. Let me get inside you, baby, ’til I feel like I’m not dyin’. Oh, Angel, my sweet Angel, save me with your wings. I’ve died a thousand deaths to find you, now I’m born again.”

When Lucas finishes the song, he opens his eyes and levels me with burning eyes.

I clutch my heart. It feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. “That was amazing.”

“I swear it’s got to be the best song I’ve ever written,” Lucas says. “And, holy fuck, playing it turns me on.” He lifts his guitar to prove it—and I’m met with the delicious sight of his hard penis straining up toward his abs.

“Well, gosh, what a coincidence,” I say, grinning. “It just so happens hearing that song turns me on.” I motion with flourish to my crotch, referencing the invisible lady-boner straining up toward my belly, and we both chuckle. “Will the cocksuckers be happy with that song, you think?”

“They already told me they love it.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But guess what other thing they said about it?”

I sigh. “It’s not the leadoff single?”

“Yup. The cocksuckers want ‘Shattered Hearts’ two point oh—not a love song—and nothing else will do.”

“God, I hate them.”

Lucas laughs. “Welcome to my world.”

“What the heck did you do to those bastards to make them hate you so much? It had to be something horrible.”

“I stopped being their puppet. I told them I want to make the kind of music I want to make, record sales be damned, and then I went right ahead and wrote an album full of songs I loved.” He shakes his head. “And, unfortunately, the album bombed.”

I cringe, once again feeling guilty I didn’t buy Lucas’s third album when it came out.

“You want to hear something crazy?” Lucas says. “Those cocksuckers genuinely think I wanted that album to flop. That I wrote it as nothing but a giant ‘fuck you’ to them, and not from my heart.” He scoffs. “So now they hate me with a passion and they don’t care one little bit if I stay in artistic purgatory forever.”

“But can’t you sue them? I’m sure you could claim unfair business practices or breach of the implied covenant of good faith and fair dealing in your contract.”

Lucas chuckles. “Look at you, Little Miss Law Student! Ha! Even if you hate law school, I gotta say you’re still sexy as hell when you talk like a lawyer, baby.”

I smile shyly.

“Well, thanks for the legal advice, counselor,” Lucas says. “But after much consideration and consultation with my lawyers, I’ve come to the conclusion it makes more sense for my life as a whole to just write the fucking song they want and move on. They’re cocksuckers, after all, which means they’d fight me hard in court. And I’ve decided I don’t want to be tied up for years in an expensive legal battle when I could just write one last album and be done with it. I just want to make music, you know? That’s all I want to do. All I’ve ever wanted to do.”

My eyes lock onto his massive hard-on and, suddenly, I don’t want to talk about contracts and legal arguments anymore. I want to get fucked. Without saying another word, I slide to him and straddle his lap, and slowly lower myself onto him.

“Oh my fuck, you feel good,” he breathes as his hard-on burrows deep inside me. “How are you so damned wet? I haven’t even touched you.”

“It was the song,” I whisper, my forehead against his. I grab his cheeks and kiss him as I ride him. “That was the sexiest song I’ve ever heard.”

“It was about you,” he whispers. “That’s why it was sexy.”

He grabs my ass and begins leading my pelvis into rhythmic motion on top of him, his eyes fixed on mine, our foreheads pressed together, and all of a sudden a bolt of electricity like nothing I’ve ever felt before courses between us. I quicken the pace of my movement, sliding my clit against his shaft with each furious snap of my pelvis—and just like that, we’re both in a frenzy of pleasure.

“Angel,” he whispers. “Assassin. Ass-kicker. Whoever you are, you’re conquering me. You know that? You’re conquering me, baby.” He grabs my face the way I’m grabbing his and we kiss passionately as our bodies move in synchronicity.

I don’t know if he’s mocking me by saying I’m conquering him, but I must admit it’s turning me on to hear him say it, regardless. I press myself down on his hard-on and attack his mouth, suddenly determined to conquer him in earnest. By God, I’m going to get him to do the one thing he says he never does, the one gift he says he never bestows upon any woman. I’m going to make this man come inside me.

“I’m right on the edge,” I croak out, my body on the cusp of release. “Come with me,” I whisper urgently, grinding down hard onto him, pinning him inside me. “Come with me, Lucas.” I inhale sharply and stiffen as a toe-curling orgasm hits me, pressing myself down onto him with all my might, trapping him inside me, forcing him to trust me like no one else. Not three seconds later, Lucas growls, pushes me up forcibly off him…and comes all over my trembling thighs.