Plan A for Angel

The concrete cracked as Angel drove his fist into the wall. Sharp pain was only a temporary distraction from the frustration building inside him. He ignored the bleeding knuckles as he wrenched off his leather jacket tossing it on the bed. The entire room was in disarray, and he was in no mood to put things in order.

All he could think about was Cordelia and the romantic plans he had dreamed up about this reunion. Idiot! What possessed him to believe that things would go accordingly? Spike’s kidnapping scheme to get the Amarran gem denied him the hero’s welcome that might have greeted him and everything that was supposed to fall into place in picture-perfect fashion.

Beautiful Cordelia. He wanted more than just her body. He wanted all of her.

Cordelia’s sparkling eyes, that gorgeous smile on her face letting him know she cared, the hug that conveyed just how much she missed him during their week apart, and curving her body into his, in that subtle, natural way that proved she was into him—all missing from their hasty rehash of Manny the Pig’s treatment, Spike trashing the apartment, and his dispatching of Marcus the Torturer.

Instead of revealing the ultimate benefit the ring might provide, he held off on talking about it, wanting to share it just with Cordelia at first. The news of this miraculous cure would be between them for now. Because it meant their relationship did not have to spin on its wheels anymore, fraught with sexual tension. There would be no more need to suppress his desires. He could be the one to claim her and all her pent up passion.

Even that idea was turned topsy-turvy. Doyle accompanied her home. Having taken a big risk, he was the one who freed them, allowing them to escape Manny the Pig’s van. Cordelia made a big deal about it in her usual touchy-feely way. Hugs and squeezes, pats on the back, handholding and ego stroking included.

Angel was forced to congratulate Doyle on using what little brawn he possessed to save the day. Being relieved that they were both safe was quite oxymoronic. He was irritated by his friend’s presence and felt strangely left out of their little survivors club, which was ridiculous, but it changed nothing.

Doyle was supposed to be out of the picture, off at some poker game or at his favorite pub. He sure as hell was not supposed to have spent the whole week trying to get into Cordelia’s pants, or at the very least her good graces. Smugly, he now knew there was nothing intimate going on. Ninety-nine percent certain of it, anyway.

Jealousy twisted his gut. He did not want that feeling. Probably unfounded, it seared at his insides anyway. If he thought Doyle really stood a chance, he might let him have it. If happiness were something Cordelia could find with his friend, then he would support it all the way. Well, as much as he could without actually crushing Doyle into a pile of bone shards. But they were not really suited. They might have a spark of something going on, but she did not lust after Doyle the way she wanted him.

Angel knew Cordelia felt just as much passion for him. Every kiss and touch, and moan had given her feelings away. So, he might have followed through with his original plan. Tracing her tempting curves. Starting a slow, gentle seduction. Nothing like that wild, reckless romp in the other room. Not their first time.

Closing his eyes, he could still feel her touch, the warmth of her hands exploring the breadth of his back, the curl of her nails into his shoulders as he took their kiss even deeper. The urgent need to get closer. Wanting to rip away the clothes that kept them from being skin to skin.

He never got around to telling her about the ring. Even after she slapped him with that comment about the curse. The perfect opportunity blown because Spike had implanted that one shred of doubt in his head. That had not stopped him from kissing her. Red-hot kisses, too much, too fast. Not in the soft romantic way he had planned. He needed to slow it down. Find a way to tell her everything.

Yet, he had to make sure that there were no excuses this time. No one else to blame for this magnetic attraction between them, especially fictional characters in a historical romance novel.

Cordelia had never admitted that she wanted him. He had argued like he never had before, telling her things he had kept close to his chest, filing them away for the stuff of fantasies. Reminding her that he was not just a man, but instead a vampire with a few demonic needs to go along with everything else.

She had been turned on instead of terrified.

Exactly what he hoped, precisely what he feared, because she wanted him on every level and that might just be enough to push him over the edge if the ring did not protect him or that loophole in the curse wasn’t as defunct as the Watcher thought it to be.

Truth was that he did not want to take things slowly, not really.

As if his own clothes offended him now, he started removing them. First the shirt, opening it button by button as if to calm himself down. Toeing off the shoes. Unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants with the slow descent of the zipper trying to ignore the fact that he was still rock hard, but it was impossible. Angel swiped his thumb down his ridged penis torturing himself with the teasing rub.

Kicking away the rest of his clothes, he stalked into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. The cold water was an icy irritant. One more thing he didn’t need right now. Angel turned the knob the other direction so the water became steaming hot filling the shower stall in a cloud of vapor. Stepping inside, he let the water beat mercilessly at the tension tightening his muscles.

He pressed his hands against the tile, standing there with his eyes shut tight, willing his body to return to a quiet state. Impossible when the mantra repeating in his head was her name. Not when the real source of tension was positioned farther south where the hot water trickled down to his groin, the heat chasing away the cold from his flesh.

Angel growled away the urge to touch himself. He did not want that right now. Not without her. Flashbacks of Cordelia, gorgeously naked and aroused, wet all over, touching him with those healing hands, made him realize the shower might not have been the best way to ease his tension. Before, he had been badly injured, incapable of responding sexually, although he was certain he could have managed if he had tried. Right now, she would get a far different reaction.

Different.

Kissing her lush mouth, the water pelting their skin. Those soft hands soaping up the hard lines of his aroused body, neck to nuts, letting her soapy grasp slide along his hard length, fisting him tight, moving up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. He wouldn’t idly stand by certain that his hands would be roaming around her softer curves, busy circling bubbles around her luscious breasts.

They would never make it back to the bed. Not if they took the time to dry off. The sheets would be wet and he would have to fix that. Or else she would complain about getting tangles in her damp hair. Better if they stayed right there in the shower where it was warm. He’d turn her around, press her up against the tile, and listen to her gasp his name as he took her deep and hard.

Thrusting away from the tiled wall, Angel tried to ignore the random images scrolling in his head of the rest of that scene. It was not happening. Not tonight at any rate. How many years had he practiced suppressing his urges, and studying methods of control? One hint of a reprieve and all he could think about was sex… and Cordelia.

Angel picked up the soap and quickly dispensed with the rest of his shower. Other than a perfunctory cleaning, which provided more temptations, he left his aching shaft untouched. A personal torture he would survive. After all, he was a vampire, and a case of blue balls was not going to kill him no matter how excruciating.

He dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and found his favorite hair gel on the floor where Spike had no doubt rifled through the medicine cabinet behind the mirror he had no need to use. Right now it was steamed up giving the illusion that there might be something to see. Defiantly, he wiped the steam away staring into the reflection of the bathroom interior, a harsh reminder that he was not human despite the benefits provided by the Gem of Amarra.

Despite their mutual desire, Angel wondered if he had the right to press Cordelia into a sexual relationship. The passion was certainly there, but they had their friendship and the mission to consider. Was he moving too fast? No, he had given her time to think. He had let her go when all he really wanted was to carry her off to bed and prove that there was nothing remotely eunuch-like about him.

Angel smirked smugly at the idea.

CHAPTER LINKS

Chapter 15          F-n-N Home          Chapter 17