My boyfriend–maybe… we need to DTR–definitely had some experience. Angel just dove right in. I almost clock out entirely from the moment he grips my leg, but I try to hold it off. With no small amount of sadness, I compartmentalize the activity at hand and focus on the panic that started since I saw my face with a nimbus glowing behind it. 

I feel like I read somewhere that it isn't uncommon for kidnappers to release their victims, especially if there’s all risk and no reward. That means I have to stay desirable…or crafty. 

In order for me to have the man of my dreams keep me, I need to trap him. Can’t do it with a baby, not that I should. It’s kind of a shit move, and I would know since it’s how I was born. But I digress. 

First, I need to show my appreciation at every step, like now. Angel is being so sweet; he just rubbed me through my dress–didn't know that could be enjoyable before now–and kissed my inner thigh as he slid my dress up slowly. Real smooth; real adoring. He gently guides me to my back, the chair big enough to lie with a bent knee. Angel positions my other leg over his shoulder, and my eyes widen as I realize he’s focusing solely on me. It’s the softness in his touch as he starts to explore that stirs the fluttering in my belly; I don’t think anyone’s ever treated me this tenderly.

“A-Angel.”

He kisses me in answer, little thrills of anticipation shooting up my spine as I feel his tongue join.

Well, I’ll be. Angel genuinely takes his time with me, bringing me to my second thought. 

I have to learn him like a book. For example, I might be reading into his earlier response too much, but he might be a littlekinky. Considering the length he went to fulfill my interior design dreams, the meal, and now…I have a sneaking suspicion he’s into service topping…or bottoming…or both.  

Note to self, investigate whether or not he has a happy drawer/chest/wardrobe. As well as investigate what is in said drawer/chest/wardrobe. 

Third, I need to try to stay around as long as possible. I’m talking, stuck on him like glue, bordering on, if not total, codependency. Live in his head rent-free, if you know what I mean.

When I inevitably get kicked to the curb, I at least want to leave with good memories. Even if that means waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to watch the sunrise with Angel or learning to appreciate basketball since March Madness is still going (and hopefully get him to like a real sport, like hockey). This also means I’ll tough out going with him to his next contract despite being a homebody. 

But what if he’s tired all the time and can’t hang out after his shifts?

“Fuuuuck!” I card my fingers through his hair, gripping the hair as close to the scalp as I can, letting my hips rock as he throws in a finger. His pleased hum so close to everything is too much. I try to cut off my next curse, but the bastard starts pressing down on my bundle of nerves until I cry out from it being too much. As soon as Angel hears this, he gentles again, but I feel his grin as he kisses in apology. 

Angel has told me he likes to know what his partner is feeling, though he didn’t have to do all that. But you know what? I also want to know what my partner is thinking. 

If I feel him turn sour, I’ll have to pull out the big guns: keeping him on his toes so he’ll think there’s a chance I might want to leave. Risky and a last resort, but definitely a card if necessary. What kidnapper, let alone a man supposedly in love, wants to let their person slip away. If he really loves me, he can cancel a contract.

But won’t that affect him negatively? 

What if he gets blacklisted from a hospital group thingy?

Then he’ll be broke. And you’ll be broke…again.

Oh no. He’d probably resent me. 

Then what am I supposed to do? I don’t think he’ll be cruel once he understands I’m different. He is a nurse, after all. (Hopefully, not one of those high school mean girls that pivoted to nursing to keep being in power.) But who wants to have to leave work and come home to another patient?

Statistically speaking, very few men. They usually end up leaving the sick partner. 

You're fucked.

Is there nothing I can do to make him content with me?

I feel his hand squeeze my hips, Angel no longer teasing as he adds another finger while switching between blowing and sucking me off. He’s clearly experienced. 

How many people was he intimate with to be able to treat me so well? Why did it not work out with them? If he had a chance, would he go back to his exes?

Staring at him, I can’t help but ask: do you really love me?

I must’ve muttered that out loud because his yes vibrates against my thigh. He pauses momentarily, slightly out of breath, as our eyes meet. His dark eyes gaze at me with molasses' perfect sweetness. The feeling is so rich and thick that it takes a while for it to fill my belly, and I fear if he continues, I won’t be able to accept anything else ever again. 

“Always,” he promises, sending shudders through me. It’s enough to settle me back into the present. I’m so busy worrying about the future that I forgot how much I wanted him now. In this little pocket of time, I let go of my anxieties just enough to cherish this moment, praying it‘ll stay with me forever.

His gaze continues to arrest me. Angel’s dark eyes shine bright like I’m the Sun beaming down at him. Either he knew I was too sensitive or wanted to keep breathing and meeting my eyes because his fingers took over. 

Nearing the end, I can’t help but hold on to him tighter because none of this feels real. And being the sweet man he is, Angel only anchored my hips with freehand, nails digging in and marking his presence. 

The spell breaks as I release, my eyes closing automatically as I surrender to the pleasure. I want to cry, laugh, and yell in one as he helps me ride it out. 

Right as my strength leaves me, Angel’s there. Holding me up, kissing me like I’m the best thing since sliced bread. Some part of me whispered that this might be the last time I’d ever get this sort of treatment. Thus, as the praises from his lips rain down on my skin, I soak every single drop in desperately like a cactus bracing for the drought.