On Christmas morning, I don’t greet the day with my face between Mia’s legs. There’s no Mia to greet at all. Just a handwritten note beside my pillow.

Merry Christmas!

Should be back around noon.

xoxoxo

The Avenging Angel

P.S. There are cranberry-orange muffins over at my place. My extra key is on the counter.

I get the feeling she left that message so I wouldn’t worry. But I don’t know what the hell it means. Does that mean she’s heading out to confront her father? Why wouldn’t she take me with her? I’d have held her through it if she needed me to. Or beat the shit out of him if necessary. And the ‘avenging’ part makes me real fucking uneasy. Maybe it’s the job putting the worry into my head, but if Chief Jackson called me right now to say that John Bennet had just been found dead with a knife in his chest, I wouldn’t be wholly surprised.

But if Mia has gone out to murder her father, she’s probably already had time to do it. I don’t have a clue when she left. Last night, I carried her to my bed and she was out within minutes, as if the emotional turmoil had sucked her dry. I was feeling pretty fucking drained myself. But I held her all night with my head racing and my chest aching, and it was around five in the morning before I finally slept.

Which must be why I didn’t wake up when she slipped out of bed. That could have been any time between five and eleven, which was when I began stirring. And the only good thing about sleeping that late is it gives me less time to go out of my goddamn mind.

I send her a text. The message never gets marked ‘delivered.’ As if her battery is dead again. Or she’s turned off her phone. Maybe because she doesn’t want anyone tracking her device.

If she killed her dad…fuck, I’ll help her cover it up. I’ll say I was screwing her all morning. And spent the entire night filling her up with my cum. Though I probably won’t need to say anything. After a jury hears what sort of man John Bennet is, she’ll be acquitted. God knows real murderers have been let go for flimsier reasons. And with the kind of lawyer she could afford, shit. Opinion will spin so far in her direction that the city will be throwing her a parade afterward.

And maybe if I tell Mia the kind of bullshit that goes on in my head when I don’t know where she is, she’ll never forget to charge her phone again. But that’s all part of hooking up with a cop.

So is this. After a shower, I drag on a T-shirt and jeans, then grab her key off the counter. I let myself into her apartment, find the muffins—and ‘just science’ my ass, this woman can bake—and wander my way into her bedroom. The leggings and sweatshirt she was wearing are in her hamper. So is a damp towel, but the tile in the shower is already completely dry. So she changed and bathed pretty damn early. Her long winter coat is gone—the classy trench, not the puffy one—and I’m pretty damn sure her tall black boots are gone, too.

So she dressed up before heading out real early on Christmas morning. Aside from the Bennet mansion, there’s not many places I can imagine her going to. At least no knives are missing from the block in her kitchen. Because she obviously had a purpose. But stabbing her dad wasn’t it.

I’m working on my third muffin and feeling a bit more at ease when I head back to my apartment at eleven forty-five. Around noon could be any time now. And it is.

My phone buzzes when I’m still in the hallway. A text from Mia.

Sorry! I turned off my phone. I’m almost there.

Thank fucking Christ. But she turned off her phone? Do you need an alibi?

How about Paul Espinoza?

The mayor? That could only be about one thing: John Bennet’s promise to ruin me.

How’d that go?

Easier to explain when I get there.

Which looks like it might be right about now. The elevator dings and opens, then for a moment I think my eyes are completely fucked, like maybe the bullet that grazed my skull finally started to mess up some shit in my brain. Then I realize who I’m seeing.

Your mom’s here.

Oh god. Run for your life. And don’t listen to anything she says.

Yeah, I’m not running. I tuck the phone into my back pocket.

Patricia Bennet is a few inches shorter and a bit thinner than Mia, but there’s no doubt where her daughter got her looks. God knows where Mia got her warmth, though. Her mother smiles when she sees me, a curve of lips so similar to Mia’s, but the pale blue of her eyes remains sheer ice. Her black hair is smoothed back into an elegant roll, and she wears a long coat in winter cream. Her black heels don’t show off her legs as much as they just scream class and ‘no one’s good enough to touch this shit.’ She carries a black leather handbag in a firm grip, and her hands are covered in kidskin gloves she same creamy color as her coat.

Her piercing gaze sizes me up as she comes down the hall, and there’s a moment—probably around the time when she realizes that I really am this damn big—when there’s the same flicker of unease in her eyes that I’ve seen flicker in other women’s. It’s the flicker that makes them veer over to the edge of the sidewalk, carrying their keys with the pointed ends sticking out between their fingers. A flicker that says my size isn’t a sexy turn-on, like it is for Mia. It’s just intimidating in a certain, terrifying way.

And I’ll use my size to deliberately intimidate a lot of people. But women? Especially if I’ve seen that flicker? Fuck no.

Not that Patricia veers anywhere. Instead her chin comes up a bit—and that smile never falters. Her voice is smooth as glass, without Mia’s rusty edge. “You must be Detective Matthews!”

“That’s me.” I gesture to Mia’s door. “I’m afraid your daughter isn’t home.”

And even though I have the key, there’s no damn way I’m letting her in there to lie in wait.

“That’s all right.” She reaches out a gloved hand. “It is you who I’ve come to see, detective. I’ve heard about you from my husband, of course.”

I grasp her surprisingly warm hand—there’s life beneath those soft kidskin gloves—and say dryly, “So it’s your turn to tag-team me, then?”

She probably doesn’t know a thing about wrestling but has no trouble parsing my meaning. Chuckling softly, she shakes her head, and reaches into her handbag for a square of thick white cardstock. “I’m afraid that my reaction to the news of our daughter’s interest in you wasn’t exactly the same as his. Instead I have come to extend a personal invitation to the New Years’ gala.”

“That’s kind of you. But Mia already invited me.” I open the door to my apartment. “You’re welcome to wait for her here.”

“Thank you, detective.” She sweeps past me on a subtle wave of perfume, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor. “As for the invitation, I would like to make it an official one. In hindsight, I can’t believe it was overlooked, regardless of your relationship with Mia. Our little city might have been the site of yet another mass shooting, its name synonymous with tragedy. You prevented that.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.” I take a few steps into my living room and stand with my hands tucked into my jeans’ pockets—and where I’m still easily visible from the hallway. I leave my apartment door wide open, because there’s no fucking way I’ll let this visit turn into a smear on my name.

Though that’s probably not Patricia Bennet’s style. A false accusation would be more up her husband’s alley, I bet. Because Mia said her mother doesn’t like to be humiliated, and suggesting a big brute like me touched her would likely qualify as humiliating.

“Well, the foundation would like to officially recognize you for doing that job.” In the middle of the living room, Patricia swings around to face me again, her gaze assessing as it runs down my length. “Have you had the opportunity to be fitted for a proper suit or tuxedo? A man of your size, I imagine it’s not easy to find one that you can borrow.”

Was that a jab at my bank account? That’s amateur hour. “I’ll manage.”

I’ve already managed. Back when Huertas got married and I stood up as his best man, I had a formal suit made then. That was eight years ago but my size is pretty much the same. So after Mia invited me to this thing, I dug it out of the closet and sent it to the cleaners.

Apparently intending to stay for a few minutes, she begins pulling off her gloves, tugging at the tip of each finger to loosen them from the close-fitting leather. The only gleam of color I’ve seen so far glitters in the huge sapphire gracing the middle finger of her right hand, and the matching stones dangling from her ears.

“I understand you are still on restricted duty, detective?” Her gaze sweeps the apartment the same way it swept over me—assessing it all without any visible reaction yet still giving off an air of faint distaste.

So it’s not a mansion. But it’s not a leaking shack. And it’s clean. Considering what I came from, there’s no chance I’ll ever feel ashamed of my home now. “I am.”

“You seemed to have healed well thus far.” She’s wearing a sympathetic expression when her gaze returns to me. “But it must be worrisome, not knowing your future, or being certain you will ever fully recover.”

Is she talking about my health or her husband’s threats? Either way, it’s still nothing. “I know my future pretty well.”

And that future is coming up right behind me.

“Mother?”

Flushed and panting a little, as if she ran up the three flights of stairs and down the hall, Mia comes straight in, her pale eyes running over me as if she’s looking for signs of blood. And she’s so damn beautiful, her hair in a thick wave down her back, that coat as sexy as fuck. When she sees that I’m unscathed, she shakes her head and turns toward her mother—and walks past her toward the kitchen, where she sets a bag full of takeout boxes on the counter.

“Well,” Patricia says lightly. “Now that I see what fine cuisine you have available, it is quite apparent why you wouldn’t want to return home for a traditional Christmas dinner prepared by our chef.”

“And that dinner will soon start, so why aren’t you there?” Mia regards her mother unsmilingly. “Are you here to threaten Cole, too?”

“Of course not.” Brows rising, as if she’s surprised by that accusation, Patricia glances toward me again—then reaches into her bag. “Actually, I have a Christmas gift for him…though, ultimately, it is for you. But just a little something to help you both along.”

“No, no, no. We don’t need—”

“Nonsense, Mia.” She pulls out a small jewelry box topped by a festive bow. “Go on, then.”

Shit. Mia’s looking at the box that her mother places in my palm like it’s got a bomb in it. But it’s not a bomb.

It’s a fucking giant diamond ring. A huge stone is surrounded by smaller stones, and they’re all twinkling brighter than a strand of Christmas lights.

Patricia regards it with a small, wistful smile. “It was my own mother’s engagement ring. So of course it should one day belong to my daughter.”

It seems like a nice, if overly generous, gift. And a little premature—because although there’s nothing I want more than to marry Mia, her parents only discovered we were together yesterday. And the only word tossed out was ‘girlfriend.’ Yet Mia’s still eyeing the ring like she’s waiting for it to explode.

“Mother...” she says warily. “This really wasn’t necessary.”

“Of course it is.” Patricia’s pale gaze rises to meet mine. “I understand the common trend among young couples is for the groom to spend a few months’ salary on an engagement ring. You could still do that, detective, and perhaps come up with a pretty little bauble. But wouldn’t you rather be able to give Mia a ring worthy of gracing her finger?”

Holy shit. I knew what Patricia was, knew that she liked to stick in the knife. So I was looking out for it. But even watching for it, she still slides that blade right between my ribs. Because I’m suddenly staring at the ring with my heart feeling tight and sick, thinking that this is what Mia deserves and thinking how I could never afford it. I couldn’t. Not even if I busted my ass on the job for twenty years and didn’t have any expenses. And it’s just a fucking ring. Yet when I ask her to marry me now, this fucking thing will always be in the back of my mind, and there’s not a goddamn thing I’ll be able to give my angel that won’t seem like shit in comparison.

That’s not amateur hour. She stabbed deep. And it’ll leave a scar.

Yet she gave me a taste of what Mia’s known her whole damn life. And maybe because Patricia did it to me this time—or maybe because after a life of it, this was one time too many—but either way, if you push something hard enough, it’ll break.

And Mia fucking snaps. Eyes glittering with fury, she snatches the box out of my hand and slaps it into her mother’s palm, then grabs the other woman’s wrist and steers her toward the door. “I tried to just walk away, Mother,” she seethes through gritted teeth. “To just leave and forget everything you ever said to me. And I never said a damn thing in return because I didn’t want to hurt you like you hurt me. But I shouldn’t have worried. You can’t be hurt because you don’t feel anything. You’re a cold, heartless monster and you will never be welcome anywhere I am, not ever again.”

She shoves her mother through the door and into the hallway, where Patricia spins around to face her, chin high, mouth tight.

“I don’t deserve this from you, Mia. I have always looked out for you.”

“No, you have not.”

“I have! You’re too trusting. Even this man”—she spits the word—“he’s just another corrupt police officer. I asked a friend to look at him, and she found a sealed record in his criminal history. When the truth of that comes out, do you want to be married to a criminal? Do you know anything of his father and how many times he’s been in and out of prison?”

“Everything I know about his father tells me that he’s just like you. The only difference is that you have money.” A dangerous note hardens Mia’s voice. “But not for long, Mother. Because I have a Christmas present for Cole, too. He said that he’d love nothing better than to see my father hauled off to jail. And I’m doing my best to be Santa.”

I can think of a few things I want more, but I’d take that. I just don’t know how the hell she’d do it. “What do you mean by that, angel?”

She answers me but her gaze never leaves her mother. “It means that first thing tomorrow, I’m hiring a forensic accountant. Because some people don’t break their patterns—and last night I realized that my father thinks that he’s not only better than everyone else, but that he can also get away with whatever he wants. And he’ll use whatever methods he has to in order to secure his business deals. So it made me wonder if he was using the foundation’s money or the Bennet family trust in addition to his private funds. I guess we’ll find out.”

“Mia!” Her mother stares at her in horror. “You can’t do that. If even the suggestion of such a thing got out—”

“I can do it. It’s entirely within my rights as a Bennet and as a member of the board, and I’ll pay for the financial review out of my own pocket. So what do you think, Mother? You think he’s capable of it?”

Her icy blue gaze darts from Mia’s face to mine, then to her daughter’s again. “I don’t… You can’t do this.”

“I can. I am. And if I find what I think I will, I intend to take everything. I’ll ruin him. So if want to spare yourself that humiliation, I suggest you divorce him and run far away. Or I’ll pull you down with him. Then I’ll crush you both and I won’t even look down when I scrape you off my shoe.”

Offended pride and anger lifts her chin higher. “And you’ll do this for him? Betray your family for him? Your father was right, this man needs to be put in his place. We’ll find a judge to open that sealed record and you’ll see who he is. The whole city will.”

Fingers curling into claws, Mia lurches forward. “Don’t you even—”

I catch her around the waist, drag her raging form back against my chest. In a soothing tone, I tell her, “Easy, bad cop. I don’t care if it comes out. You want to know what’s in there?” I ask Patricia, and wait until her gaze meets mine. “I was fourteen years old when my dad pimped me out. So you want to open that up? You want to talk about how it feels to be betrayed by someone who’s supposed to care for you? About how it feels to end up in some sick bastard’s bed because your old man needs to make a deal? I got a feeling you know a little something about that.”

Spots of color appear high in her suddenly pale cheeks. “You know nothing about me.”

“Maybe not. But I know people you can talk to.” I use my kind and gentle voice. “You probably should.”

She stares at me, her mouth tight, before abruptly shaking her head and turning on her heel.

Mia watches her stalk toward the elevator in stunned silence—and her body tense, wary, as if she doesn’t believe it’s really over. Only after the elevator doors close on her mother’s rigid face does her body relax against mine. “You ran her off,” she says in awe. “And she didn’t say anything while going. She always gets the last word.”

“I guess she’s not ready to talk about this.”

Mia doesn’t say anything for a long breath, then hesitantly asks, “You really think… You think my father…did that to her?”

“Yeah.”

Her mouth pulls into a frown and she stares down the hallway for another long second. “I don’t know how to feel. About her, I mean. If it’s true, it’s horrifying.”

So is what her mother did to her all these years. “I feel like you don’t owe her anything. But that’s me. You can take your time to work it out for yourself. There’s no rush.”

She nods and her hand comes up to clasp my forearm, still wrapped around her waist. “What you said to her…that was you playing good cop, right? It wasn’t true?”

“It wasn’t. All that my juvenile record will show is that I tried to shoplift some food from a grocery store.”

“But if that record was unsealed…can it hurt you?”

“Nah. The man who arrested me is sitting in the chief’s chair. And the only thing I’ve stolen since is a pair of your panties.”

She giggles and turns within the circle of my arms, looking up at me. Then her smile fades and she bites her lip before saying, “The size of a ring doesn’t matter to me.”

Ah shit. There goes the sick clench of my heart again. But I don’t let a bit of it show or bleed into my voice when I tell her, “I know it doesn’t.”

Her face softens like she saw and heard it anyway. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t eat at your pride. Like not being able to have sex with me did.”

Goddammit. I thought I’d hidden that pretty well, too. “You could tell?”

Deliberately she arches an eyebrow and purses her lips, as if to say it was obvious as hell, then she smiles and lifts her hand to cup my jaw. “I’m the queen of ‘Just because it shouldn’t bother you, doesn’t mean it won’t.’ So when what my mother did gets to you, whether it’s about a ring or anything else, just remember that I’ve already had everything money can buy. But I wanted something more…and you’ve given me that. I just hope that what I give back is enough.”

This time the clenching ache within my chest is sweet. “It is, angel. Anything you give.” I push my fingers into her thick hair, my gaze searching her face. Beautiful, so beautiful—but with a few shadows amid all the brightness. “You all right? That’s a lot of shit that came at you in a short time.”

“Yes.” Her voice thickens, and regret darkens her face. “And I’m sorry I shut you out last night. I just…don’t have a lot of armor around my heart.”

“I’ll protect it for you.”

She gives a short, watery laugh, her eyes suddenly glistening. “You’re the biggest danger to it, Cole Matthews.”

Just as she is to mine. Gruffly I tell her, “I should have done better. You took a hit yesterday because of me, when you found out about your dad asking me to watch you. I should have prepared you for it, told you about it. It just wasn’t anything that was ever serious to me.”

But I should have realized it would be serious to her.

“I know. And it’s okay.” She draws a shuddering breath. “That wasn’t what hit me so hard, not after you told me what happened. It was just them. I was just so tired of them. I wanted to leave them behind and they won’t let me. I’m sorry she came at you today.”

“I’ll survive.” And I’m not sorry the way it played out. Seeing Mia catch fire and hearing how she plans to burn her parents down was fucking amazing. But maybe not for her. “Are you okay? Do you need space again for a while?”

“No. I just need you.” But even as my heart swells up, she hesitates before adding, “Do you want to come over to my place, since the tree and everything is over there? We never explicitly discussed our plans for Christmas Day. But maybe I should have, instead of assuming that you want to spend it with me.”

Still uncertain that she’s worth everything that she is. Gently I push her toward her own door. “I’m coming over for you, not for the tree. I’ll grab that takeout bag and be right there. I also have a present for you. And a box of rubbers”—realizing I’m doing my own assuming, I tack on—“if you want me to bring them.”

Clicking open her deadbolt, she tells me, “Just leave them there.”

That ache goes real tight and painful again. Except the interpretation I put on her words doesn’t match the breathless way she said them. So instead of assuming one more time, I ask her in a raw voice, “Are you saying you don’t want me to fuck you? Or that we don’t need them?”

Mia’s head whips around. She sees my face and I must look like I’m in hell because she quickly shakes her head and reassures me, “We don’t need them.”

Fuck yes. And fuck the food. I’m about to eat something else.

Swinging the door to my apartment shut, I slowly stalk across the hall, my cock trying to bust through my jeans and lead the way. “Just let me make sure of what you’re saying. You want me to come inside you?”

Cheeks flushed, she nods.

“You on birth control?” I’m pretty damn sure she’s not.

“No,” she whispers.

That breathy answer has pre-cum spilling from the tip of my dick, my body preparing to fill her up in every possible way. “So if this means that I knock you up, you’ll want our baby as much as I do?”

Hope gleams in her eyes as she answers, “Maybe even more than you do.”

Not possible. “I thought you weren’t in a rush?”

Head tipping back as I move in closer, she rises up on her toes. “I’m not. But there’s no reason to wait, either. Is there?”

I can’t think of a single one.

So like a starving beast I claim her mouth, loving her sweet taste, the hungry whimper that comes from her throat as she returns the kiss. Slowly I back her into the apartment, my hands buried in her hair and holding her steady while she tears at her belt, then at the buttons of her long coat, our shuffling steps punctuated by her soft little moans.

We’re on a straight line for the bedroom but I can’t wait that long to get a deeper taste of her. We’ve only made it as far as the Christmas tree when her coat hits the floor. I drop to my knees a second later, then have to groan at the pure perfection on display before me.

“This fucking dress.” I’ve never seen her in it before, but it’s sexy as sin—thin shoulder straps that seem barely strong enough to hold up the fabric cupping her beautiful tits, crimson silk that hugs every curve and flirts with her knees. “I’ll take it off you later, but right now I’m going to—”

Get my head under that skirt. Except as soon as I lift that flirty hem, sweet Jesus. I’m struck dumb by the sight of what she’d hidden away for me to find. She’s wearing those tall boots that I’ve loved forever but even those didn’t prepare me for the black stockings and suspenders decorating her sleek thighs…or her bare, glistening pussy. Not a panty in sight.

“Is this all for me?” I ask hoarsely.

“All for you,” is her husky confirmation. She widens her stance and pulls the skirt from my frozen hand, lifting it higher. Her voice lowers to a whisper like she’s sharing a secret. “And you want to know the best part? I ended up going to church like this.”

Oh my dirty little virgin. This Christmas just keeps getting better.

Groaning, I palm her ass and haul her hips forward, aiming that sweet pussy at my mouth. Her delicious musky flavor explodes across my tongue. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair, holding on tight for balance when I tease her hot little clit with side-to-side licks, the kind I know drive her so damn wild and get her so fucking wet.

And I’m rushing. Rushing too damn fast. Except it doesn’t feel like that. Because this has been more than a month coming, every day like endless foreplay, and Mia’s a virgin but she’s not shy or scared or innocent—and she doesn’t have a cherry left, because if anything remained after she used her toy then my fingers and tongue took care of the rest. And this part, with me on my knees worshipping at the shrine of her cunt, this we’ve done slow and fast and all the speeds in between.

It’ll just be getting my cock inside her that’s new. And that’s when I’ll take it slow and easy.

And I need take it slower now, now. Oh fuck. This is the moment when her legs start trembling and her head rolls back and she digs her teeth into her bottom lip, but can’t stop those helpless moans. This is the moment when she starts riding my face and her juices are dripping down my chin and coating the inside of her thighs, and that’s usually when I work three fingers into her tight channel, fucking her with them deep and hard, sucking on her clit until her entire body seizes up and her pussy clamps down on my fingers like it’ll never let them go.

But this time I don’t have any fingers to offer. I’ve got a good grip on her ass but my other hand is frantically tearing at the fastening of my jeans. Because I thought a ripped-up muscle hurt but real pain is what my dick’s suffering now, knowing I’m so damn close to pushing my way past her tiny entrance, into that cunt that’s never been opened up by a real cock, and it’s agony having anything standing between me and her pussy now.

So I need to slow it down, because I don’t have enough hands holding her up, and I know that just before she comes her knees will give out. But her pussy tastes so good, so fucking good. And her engorged clit is so damn hot, and every time I flick my tongue and suck a little harder her moans and her gyrations get more erratic, because she’s about to come and no fucking way am I slowing down.

Then her knees go. But I don’t let her fall, instead wrapping my arm around her hips and pulling her against my face to steady her, slowly easing her down to the floor and sucking on her clit all the way.

The orgasm hits her just before she’s all the way down. Her fingers about rip out my hair, but I barely notice because when she comes all that juicy wetness intensifies into a liquid rush. And usually I’ll lick it all up, or rub it all over my face and chest, but right now she’s so wet and ripe for fucking that I can’t think of anything but getting that syrupy sweetness all over my dick.

Not fucking her yet. Just giving my cock a little taste. Just easing this pain.

Because she’s so beautiful. So fuckable. She’s half-lying on the Christmassy quilted rug she bought for the base of the tree, her hair spilling around her head in a tangled black halo. Her red lips are parted as she pants, her skin glistening with sweat. One of the silk straps holding up her dress has slipped down over her right shoulder, exposing the perfect scoop of her breast and a cherry-red nipple. That flirty skirt’s up around her waist, and her legs are splayed in that boneless way she has when she’s recovering from an orgasm. And everything else on display, Jesus. The lacy lingerie belt, those suspenders and her pale thighs with the soft inner skin reddened from the stubble on my jaw, the stockings—all of it frames her pussy, turning the slit flushed a deep pink and dripping with her juices into a work of art.

My head’s pounding in unison with the veins in my cock as I move over her, holding up my upper body with one stiff arm braced beside her shoulder, taking the rest of my weight on my knees. I fist my ironhard shaft in a hand that shakes with need. With me hovering over her like this, the difference in our sizes is so goddamn stark. I’m a huge fucking brute. She’s tall and curvy, but compared to my bulk she’s just a little thing. And comparing the tiny entrance of her pussy to the thick head of my cock?

I’ve got to take this so slow. And easy.

“Not going to fuck you yet, angel.” Each harshly grated word is a necessary reminder of what I’m doing—and I’m not fucking her. “Not until we’re in a bed. I just need to feel all those hot pussy juices against my dick. Not going to take you yet.”

“But I want you to,” she breathes and the rusty edge of her voice threatens to scrape away my control. Her thighs come up and grip my sides, and the movement unfurls the petals of her pussy. “I love it when you take what’s yours.”

Mine. And she’s offering it up. Right here. Though she ought to be in a soft bed. And I ought to treat her right. So I’m not going to fuck her here.

But I can’t stop myself from moving closer and sliding the ruddy crown of my dick up and down that juicy slit. My breath hisses through my teeth as her plump pussy lips part around my cock’s head, enfolding it in their scalding embrace.

Trying to regain my sanity, I slick the tip upwards and tease her clit, but can’t resist another pass through the drenched heart of her. Mia’s thighs grip me ever tighter, her hands moving restlessly up and down her silk-covered belly like she wants to grab hold of me, or touch herself—and she does, sliding her hand up to cup her breast and pinch her ruby nipple, then making a soft urgent sound before her hips begin rolling as if she’s trying to push me inside her.

“Angel.” I growl like a savage beast when I feel that taut little pussy stretching, giving. “Not yet.”

“I can’t wait, I can’t.” She’s gasping, shaking. “Just do it here. Take me here.”

Gritting my teeth, I fight the need to slam deep. We ought to be in a bed. I need to go slow and easy. It’s her first time. Our first time. But how the fuck can I go slow? Her pussy’s so hot and wet and tight that it’s just sucking me in. Or that’s Mia, shoving me in deeper with each rock of her hips, her legs wrapping around my back and trying to pull me closer. And she’s begging for more of my cock, her desperate “please, Cole, please” ringing sweetly in my ears.

And as for the bed… Fuck. It’s Christmas. I should give her what she wants.

With a tortured groan, I slam my hips forward and bury the full length of my cock inside a paradise of wet heat, bottoming out at the end of that long, hard stroke. Her strangled gasp stops me for an instant, her body in a stiff bow beneath mine and her luscious cunt holding me in the sweetest, tightest heaven I’ve ever known. So fucking tight. But if I’m too big and too deep, then she’s loving that, too, because that gasp melts into a thick moan, her head rolling bonelessly to the side and her back arching. And after all the waiting and the pain, I’m finally inside my angel. So goddamn deep inside her. I gave her want she wanted. Now I’ll take it slow. I’ll pull out and pick her up and carry her to the bed and finish this there.

Sweat dripping into my eyes, I ease back until just the head of my cock’s inside her, but her cunt’s so swollen with her arousal that her inner walls clutch me even tighter. Goddammit. Grunting with each stroke, I fuck my way back in, all the way into the greedy little pussy that won’t let me go, won’t let me treat my angel like I should. And doesn’t this pussy know it’s mine?

Mia does. Her fingernails are scratching the fuck out of my back as my big cock takes control of every inch of her cunt. I use the fat head and thick curving shaft to rub up against that sweet spot inside her that makes her start to sob and whine and writhe. I bottom out again and ruthlessly grind against her clit, until her inner walls are even hotter and tighter but she’s so slippery wet that I can’t stop pumping into her, into this incredible hot pussy that’s being good for me now, so damn good, too damn good because Mia’s starting to tremble and if she comes now, with me inside her, if I feel her cunt squeezing me like it’ll never let me go, I’ll lose my goddamn head and fuck her straight through this floor.

But I can’t stop. Can’t stop can’t stop can’t stop. Because I’m about to make my angel come and I’d rather take another bullet than abandon her pussy now.

She starts moaning then, helplessly moaning my name, her head thrashing from side to side, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if trying to anchor herself. Her hips arch up off the floor, making the thrust of my cock strike up higher and deeper inside her. Then her whole spine is arching up, her boot heels digging into my ass, and that sultry cunt grips me so goddamn tight just before her head tips back and she screams. Her inner muscles start convulsing and her orgasm brings the rush of wet that makes every hammering stroke into the slick grasp of her pussy a million times better than the one before.

Everything’s better than it’s ever been before, better than everything I imagined. The way she falls boneless again, and how I follow her down, gathering her close as I continue to thrust inside her. Now it’s slow. So slow, savoring her kiss and the shining light of her eyes. The soft bounce of her tits. Her husky voice moaning that I feel so big and so good inside her. So now I take my time, loving everything she is, because it’s not my mind that I’ve lost, but my heart.

And it’s not her pussy that finally pulls me over. It’s her trusting arms twining around my shoulders. It’s her legs holding me tight. It’s her soft cries muffled against my throat, and her frantic

—I love you, I love you—

Giving me everything, after everything she already let me take. My whole goddamn world boils up and through my cock, filling her with my seed, my future, my heart. Everything I have to give in return.

Then I fuck her through the floor.