Chapter 22
Friday 27th September, 2024
The Clout Gym, Crockenhill, London
She didn't take well to being called a snowflake - snowflakes are pretty but fragile, they can't take the heat. In an attempt to make some of her own lifestyle adjustments, Maura sits on the edge of the boxing ring with Faye's words pinballing around her brain like wild conkers. We he really becoming a changed man?
Maura is intrigued, but cautious, not entirely convinced that it is possible.
Angel: You're on the wrong side of the ropes.
Hearing his voice gives her goosebumps – it used to give her shivers, nightmares, a sickness in her stomach. But now the sickness feels less like nausea and more like butterflies. Pretty, deadly butterflies.
He walks over to where she is sat, looking as attractive as hell in his black adidas shorts and a plain black t-shirt. Despite black's slimming qualities, he looks as broad as ever, and Maura tries her hardest to ignore his upper traps. And his upper arms – the ones that toss her around his bed for hours. And his tight, muscular chest – the one that is surprisingly comfy enough to fall asleep on, despite his rumoured 'no sleepovers' rule.
He approaches her, arms folded over a wad of documents, and asks her if this is where she has been hiding all week. Maura stands up and stretches one arm over her neck.
Angel notices the shape of her chest in a tight GymShark bra and the curve of her waist spilling over her joggers. He grabs his papers to stop himself from grabbing her – he has other business to attend to today, as tempting as she looks, and he's already behind schedule.
Maura: Actually, I've been seeing another man.
There is a pause as Angel's gut does backflips. He tries to hide it in his face but the slight clenching of his jaw and the crease in his brow is a tell-tale sign that she isn't just another notch.
Maura: He's left me hanging today though.
Maura shrugs at the empty gym and Angel sighs with relief, understanding that the 'other man' she is referring to is Mario, is the gym's personal trainer.
Angel: You'll pay for that, when I get you back in bed.
Angel kisses her lightly on the mouth, satisfied that he's not sharing it with anyone else, especially Mario – Maura isn't his type, along with everyone else on the planet who lacks a cock and balls.
Angel: Oh dear. Want me to kill him?
Maura bats her eyes giggling, only seventy-five percent certain that he's joking, and examines his face. He's neatly-unshaven today with dark circles under his eyes – he looks exactly the same as he did on Monday morning, kissing her goodbye at the backdoors of The Pear Tree, before saying hello to Kit, who was arriving through the front.
But despite telling herself that the time apart was good for her, having him standing a few inches away from her face makes her realise just how much she's missed kissing his. And kissing everywhere else. Plus, she still needs today's work out, and although she told herself she wouldn't go crawling back to Angel, technically he's come crawling back to her...hasn't he?
Immediately turned on, she ducks into the boxing ring and begins rewrapping the velcro gloves on her hands. She smiles at him and beckons a hand to him to join her.
He watches her scrape through the strands of her bangs to tie her hair up, and it drives him crazy – what followed the last time she did that was an intense fifteen minutes of sloppy, deep-throated oral, and he isn't sure his willpower to say no is strong enough when the stakes are so high.
He checks his watch and shakes his head smiling; but deep down, he knows he doesn't stand a chance.
Angel: Maura. Baby. I have a legitimate business meeting soon. Came by to pick up these papers.
He's speaking to her like he's prey, warding off a hungry predator. Angel lets his eyes wander all over her body and how good she looks in gym gear – and he knows just how good she looks out of it, too - maybe being gobbled by her isn't such a terrible idea after all.
As if she can read his mind, Maura pulls off her gym bra and folds it over the ropes. His eyes are glued to her hard nipples, perfectly puckering in the centres of her breasts. His mouth waters at the thought of rolling his tongue around them and his heart starts to race as she twists them with pinched fingers.
He looks down at his feet and shakes his head again, before fixing his gaze back onto Maura.
She peels her joggers down to her ankles and kicks them over her feet, wearing nothing but black lace briefs. He stands in awe of her hips and naked legs, desperately wanting to be between them. He puts his hands to the back of his head in surrender and hears the crinkling of the documentation, which now seems so unimportant. He shakes his head again and bites his lower lip.
Maura pulls the flimsy black lace down, letting it fall past her knees and land at her feet. She steps out of them and sits down with her legs spread wide in front of him.
Angel watches in agony as she sucks one of her fingers and slips it between her legs, rolling her eyes with a quiet groan.
He's unbearably hard and his nylon shorts feel like a steel vice; there's no way she's doing this alone.
Forgetting about the eleven 'o' clock meeting in an hours' time, he lets the papers fall out of his hands, as trivial as trash, and he picks a condom from his wallet. He playfully jumps into the ring, with the packeted condom between his teeth and then cracks his knuckles before slapping the steel trip gong.
Angel: Right then.
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Trestle
Mystery / Thriller**SMUT warning** Following the death of his racketeer father, Angel is left to manage the O'Hare family's rugged affairs. He vows to worship his girls and protect them from the threat of poverty, sin, and dangerous men like himself. But when debts c...
