Angel of the lake

Chapter Twenty-Five

His legs carried him faster than ever up the stairs and away from the training room. Away from her. Faster than they'd ever moved before. Faster than he'd ran on any battlefield.

Under no circumstance was he giving that evil angel the chance to follow him.

She drove him mad.

Upstairs, he barricaded himself in his bedroom—their bedroom. Megan had staked her claim. His heart was still palpitating with that excitement.

He hadn't had to ask her to come into his room. Not really. There'd been no bribery there. No ultimatum.

He'd done what Lorcan failed to do.

He'd started their bond off successfully. So successfully, in fact, that she was going out of her way to spend time with him.

But right now, her lingering scent throughout his room was the last thing he needed.

I can smell her arousal.

Fuck.

He crossed the room to the bathroom, locking the door just in case. He knew what she was like. If she decided to follow him, it wouldn't take her long to figure out where he'd gone.

Evil, evil angel.

As if he'd be able to keep her locked out in the first place.

Damned evil little angel.

He should've beaten one out that morning. His cock was so hard it ached. But it wasn't like he'd had the chance. Megan had sashayed right past him to she shower. Had he gone in after her, he was sure she'd have come back. He knew how she liked to tease, and he knew how little she cared for nudity.

There were benefits to having her in his bed with him in the night. Sure. He had her close, safe and sound. But damn it, did that woman shuffle.

He checked the door, worried she'd come pounding through at any moment.

Satisfied she'd stayed with Cas, he eased his shorts down, along with his boxers.

His eyes fell upon her pile of washing from that warning, her panties sticking out at the top. He grabbed them with a groan.

As expected, his cock was completely erect to the point of looking painful. Meg's fault. If she had any idea of the things she did to him...

Of the things he wanted her to do to him. The things he wanted to do to her.

He gripped his shaft with her panties, rolling his thumb over the precum at his head. His mind wandered, picturing her knees on the floor, her pink, full lips slowly wrapping around his head.

The image in itself was ruinous.

She'd tease her dainty hands along his length, wrap them around his girth and pump, taking more and more of him in between her sweet lips.

Fucking hell, he needed her to gag on him. To choke and spit.

He brushed a hand across his horns, crying out.

She tortured him.

Megan was his sweetest, most depraved torture.

Evil, evil little vixen.

And he lived for every sweet second of it.

His balls were heavy, his thighs bouncing. Gods, he needed her here to do this. And he knew she'd volunteer to finish him off in a heartbeat, because she was evil like that. But he couldn't. He wouldn't be able to stop. Barriers would blur, and he'd want more than she was ready for.