David/TJ, Rolling Stone
“Garbage. Fish wrap.”
The magazine was tossed from the bed where it fell open on the floor.
“Hey! I was reading that.”
“Got something better for you to do, TJ.”
“Yeah. Something that we won’t fight about.”
Shadows shifted on the wall. The bedside lamp cast a trembling light when the mattress moved hard enough to shake the nightstand. Night air slid in through the open window and coiled around skin that slid against skin and there were no more articulate words. Just simple sighs and moans, the slap of flesh on flesh.
She never trusted him. Not completely. The first time, the handcuffs gave her a sense of safety. The second time they were for more. The third time, after she clicked the latches closed around his wrists, she was wet enough that he could taste her in the air.
She rose above him, blonde hair in her eyes. Blue glittering in the dark. Her hot sex around his cock, her thighs clamped around his hips. Metal clattered as he moved his arms.
Angel never told her how easily he could’ve broken the cuffs. Kate never let on that she already knew.
He was supposed to be keeping Doyle out of trouble. Not supposed to be playing. But when Doyle started losing, Angel could see the lost openings, when he ground his teeth at missed opportunities … of course it ended with everyone else out.
“Appel, bel homme.”
The last player wasn’t a demon, but he wasn’t human. Red eyes above a mouth too pretty to belong to a man. Lips quirked at Angel’s impassive stare. Angel spread his cards on the table. Smoke circled above.
“Vous gagnez, vampire.”
Angel smiled. Long time since he’d won a blowjob in a poker game.
More to come.