I’d almost convinced myself that getting involved with the mayor’s daughter was a really stupid idea and then I stepped into the park and saw her flying through the air on a swing. Her sack dress had ridden up revealing shapely legs. Her skin was pale and porcelain like, her head tipped back, and her hair flowed behind her with the swing’s motion. She looked so fucking free.
I’m so drawn to her that before I even know what I’m doing, I’m sitting on a bench just watching. I’m not even touching her but being this close to Angel makes me feel like I’ve done a couple of lines of coke. Who am I kidding? This girl makes me feel more alive than all the drugs I’ve ever tried.
Her swinging gradually slows, and she opens her eyes and sees me.
“Hi, Angel.”
She visibly swallows and nervously smiles at me. “Hi,” she whispers.
I stand from the bench and reach for her. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I lift her from the swing and place her on her feet in front of me. Reaching for her hands, I turn them over, so I can see the cuts. The blood has dried around the small wounds, but I can still see the remains of red blood beneath her fingernails. She must have done this to herself.
Pulling a sealed alcohol wipe from my pocket, I clean the cuts. With the blood cleaned away I can see three perfect nail marks on each palm. I take the tube of antiseptic ointment from my other pocket and gently rub the cream into each cut. Angel stands, silently watching me look after her. Her expression is unreadable, and I lean down and drop a kiss to each of her palms before I straighten and tuck her hair behind her ears.
“Why do you keep doing that?” She asks.
“Doing what?”
Her fingers bunch in her skirt and she agitatedly twists the fabric. When her eyes drop to the floor, I lift her chin, forcing her gaze up to mine. “Doing what, Angel?” I say again.
“Y- you keep, err… You keep moving my hair,” she finally stutters out.
Smiling, I dip my head and kiss the corner of her mouth. “I don’t like it when you hide, Angel. I want to see your face.”
She takes a step back and pulls in a deep breath. “Why do you keep calling me Angel?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Would you rather I call you Angelique?”
She shakes her head with disgust. “No. I hate my name,” she says, anger flashing in her expressive eyes.
There’s a thousand things I want to ask, but she looks like a scared rabbit and one wrong word could make her run from me. “Do you hate me calling you Angel, too?” I ask warily.
She shakes her head. “No, but no-one’s ever called me that before.”
“That’s good,” I say. “That means you’re only my Angel, nobody else’s.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow slightly. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but that’s ok for now.
“What do your parents call you?” I ask, taking a small step closer to her. Angel’s expression shutters at the mention of her parents and I silently curse myself for bringing them up.
“I should go,” she says.
My heart drops. I close the distance between us and pull her into my arms. “Don’t go yet.”
“What do you want from me, Daisy?”
Her beautiful, musical voice is small and full of insecurity, so I lift her up and carry her over to the bench. Sitting down, I place her in my lap and she instantly tries to get up, but I hold her still. “I don’t know what I want, Angel, but just know that I want to be near you. I know that you wake something up in me, something I haven’t felt in a really long time. Don’t go yet. I just want to sit here with you in my lap and talk to you. Please?”
Self-consciously she pulls down the hem of her dress and I brace myself for her rebuttal. Instead she twists her fingers together in her lap and offers me a small nod.
“Okay,” she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her.
I fight the urge to fist pump the air and quickly kiss the top of her head, tucking her hair behind her ears again so I can see her whole face.
Time passes as we sit on the bench in the abandoned park. She doesn’t try to move again, but her body is stiff in my lap. I wrap my arms around her and she slowly relaxes in my embrace. “How old are you?” I ask.
I pray to every god out there that she’s at least seventeen. I’d still be too old for her but at least she’d be legal. I hold my breath waiting for her to speak.
“Eighteen,” she says.
I physically relax.
“How old did you think I was?” She asks, amusement evident in her voice.
“I was praying for at least seventeen,” I say. She laughs and light flashes in her eyes.
“Can I kiss you again?” I ask.
She stills and seems to be thinking. “It’s only a kiss, Angel,” I say.
She nods, and I lean in and take her lips with mine. I kiss her gently to begin, sweet caresses and light touches. Angel lets out a small moan and I start to lose control; I push my tongue between her lips and dominate her mouth. I half expect her to push me off, but instead she fists her tiny hands into my hair and pulls me closer, her tongue dueling with mine.
Forcing my hands to stay on either side of her face, I cup her cheeks. I don’t want to send her running or frighten her by exploring her beautiful body, so I’ll go as slow as she needs me to.
She’s my Angel now and I plan to keep her.
Finally pulling away from her, I rest my forehead on hers, panting heavily. My cock is like steel and pressing against my jeans so hard it fucking hurts. But he definitely isn’t coming out to play today, so I pull in a deep breath and attempt to calm the fuck down.
Angel looks shell-shocked. Her lips are pink and swollen from our kisses and her eyes are wide and lust-filled. If I didn’t know how innocent she was, I’d think she wanted to jump me.
“I need to go before my father realizes I’m not there,” she says breathlessly.
I nod, but my arms stay wrapped around her, holding her close while I breathe in her light, fruity scent. “Where’s your phone?” I ask.
Her cheeks tinge pink and she pushes against my hold and moves out of my lap. “I don’t have one,” she says quietly.
“You don’t have a phone?” I say, confused. “What, you don’t have it with you, or you don’t have one at all?” I ask.
I can’t take my eyes off her as I wait for her to reply. She looks too young and so fucking innocent. Her fingers twist together, and her head begins to drop.
“Angel,” I say. She doesn’t look at me. Jumping off the bench, I close the distance between us and cup her face, tilting her head back so I can look into her eyes. “Please don’t hide from me,” I whisper.
Her eyes slowly rise until our gazes lock. Relief fills me. Her eyes are filled with an emotion that I don’t immediately recognize. I don’t know if she’s horny, sad, or pissed off, but I’ll take anything over the lost, vacant look I’d seen at the wedding.
“You don’t have a phone,” I say, not asking anymore.
She slowly shakes her head.
It’s 2017, who doesn’t have a phone? The mayor’s a douchebag and a wealthy one at that, he can absolutely afford to get his daughter a cell phone.
“Why not?” I ask, then instantly wish I hadn’t.
“My father won’t let me have one,” she replies quickly, obviously embarrassed.
“When can I see you again?”
Angel shrugs. “I don’t know. My father would kill me if he found out I was here with you.”
The stirrings of anxiety claw at my chest. I need to see her again. Now I know she exists, that my Angel is out there, I need to be around her.
Leaning in, I steal a kiss from her perfect lips. “So don’t tell him you’re coming to see me. Tell him you’re going to a friend’s instead.”
Her eyes drop from mine. She pushes against my chest and takes a step away from me. “I can’t.”
Anger starts to bubble within me. “Why not?” I snarl.
Angel visibly shrinks at my fury. Her shoulders hunch and her head drops forward until her hair falls across her face, shielding her from me.
“Fuck,” I curse and step closer to her, wrapping my hand around her hip.
She flinches.
Clenching my free hand into a fist, I pull in a deep, calming breath. I fight to still the anger flowing through my body and force my muscles to relax. “Angel,” I say gently.
She doesn’t move a muscle. Her fingers are twisted together, but she’s frozen. Dropping to my haunches, I squat at her feet. “Angel, look at me please?” I beg and reach up to tuck her hair behind her ears. Her eyes are closed tightly, so I tentatively stroke her cheek with the pad of one of my fingers. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’ve never lifted my hand to a woman ever. It doesn’t matter if I’m angry or if I’m shouting. I would never hurt you. Ever”
Her eyes flutter open and our gazes lock again. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She doesn’t nod, but her chin lifts slightly. “I don’t have any friends.”
How could this beautiful woman have no friends? “How’s that possible?” I say.
Angel twists her lips into a wry smile. “We moved here when I was thirteen. I’ve been home schooled ever since.”
“Everyone needs friends, Angel,” I say.
“My father’s strict. He doesn’t let me go out very often,” she admits.
I inwardly curse, mayor douchebag just became mayor asshat. How could he keep my Angel hidden away? She’s eighteen and has no friends, no cell phone. She’s jumpy and scared. What the fuck is he doing to her?
“Does he know you’re out today?” I ask.
Angel shakes her head. “No, I snuck out,” she says with a small rebellious smile.
“You gonna be in trouble when he figures out you’re gone?” I ask.
The smile drops from her face. She steps back from me and starts to twist her fingers agitatedly together. “I need to go,” she gasps.
“Angel.” I grab her arm and pull her toward me. “Is he gonna hurt you?” I pray to God that she laughs, that she says no and assures me I’m jumping to conclusions, but instead her eyes drop to the floor again.
“No, of course not,” she says robotically, her entire body rigid in my arms.
Fuck.
I scream the word in my head because I don’t want to scare her again by shouting it out loud. I want to pull her on the back of my bike and run away with her; take her to the Sinners and tell them she’s mine. We protect what’s ours. But she’s so young and as much as I want to claim her and own her, I think I’d probably scare the shit out of her if I suggested it.
“Angel, if he’s hurting you, just tell me and I’ll protect you.” I try to keep the anger out of my voice and nearly succeed.
Angel pulls back her shoulders and lifts her head to look me right in the face. “I’m not your problem, Daisy. We just met. I don’t need you, or anyone else, to look after me because I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”
Her eyes are filled with anger and righteous indignation and I feel proud. It’s a ridiculous feeling because she’s right, we only just met, but I’m already thinking of her as my Angel and I love the attitude she’s throwing at me right now.
With a smirk I prowl toward her and pull her into my chest, lowering my head and kissing her thoroughly. When I pull away from her lips, I wait until she looks up at me. “You’re right, Angel. We only just met. But I like you and I want to get to know you better. I want you to be safe. So when can I see you again?”