11. 2 anthony's angel

Anthony and Angel’s emotions finally reach a boiling point as they grapple with the undeniable pull between them.

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ANGEL

I waited by the window like a restless puppy, pacing the length of the living room until I finally gave in and perched on the edge of the couch. The TV was on, but I couldn’t tell you what was playing. It was just background noise now that Bernice had left. The silence she left behind felt louder, heavier, because it gave my thoughts room to stretch out and run wild.

I’d slipped back into one of Anthony’s T-shirts and a pair of his boxers again, the soft fabric brushing my skin like a security blanket. It was ridiculous—I knew it was ridiculous—but it was the only thing that helped to even me out. Even just a little.

We should have been at the hospital by now, but instead, Anthony was out cleaning up my mess. I hated it. Hated the way guilt curled up in my chest, knotting tight. And as if that wasn’t enough, I couldn’t stop replaying what Bernice said before she left.

She made it seem like Anthony was in love with me.

And to make things worse—or maybe better, I didn’t even know anymore—I kept hearing him telling me he loved me in his sleep.

The raw, unguarded way he said it, like the words had been sitting inside him all along, waiting for the right moment to escape…ugh, I couldn’t take it.

Now, it was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly everything was too clear. The kind of clarity that makes you sick to your stomach, because it forces you to see what you’ve been running from.

I was nervous for him to get back. I didn’t know how to act now.

Whatever bubble of denial I’d been floating in had burst wide open, and now I couldn’t unsee the truth. The way I felt about him—how fast it had grown, how deep it already ran—it scared the hell out of me.

Because if love was a verb, a choice, an action… Anthony was showing me, over and over, that he loved me. Maybe he wasn’t in love with me, not in the sweeping, romantic sense Bernice hinted at, but there was no denying that he cared about me. Deeply. Unshakably.

The man kept showing up for me, no matter what. No questions asked. Every time I stumbled, every time I tried to stand on my own, there he was.

It was overwhelming, this kind of care. Like a gift I didn’t know how to receive.

And just as I was spiraling, lost in my own tangled thoughts—there he was.

Anthony.

Anthony’s massive F-150 rumbled into the driveway, its deep growl cutting through the quiet like a warning. Behind him, the guys followed in a tight, precessional. They moved like clockwork—no honking, no headlights flashing, no unnecessary noise. Just quiet, precise efficiency.

Instead of stopping out front, the line of vehicles veered toward the garages out back, slipping out of sight like they’d done this a hundred times before.

My stomach twisted, a tangled knot of anticipation and nerves. I grabbed the remote off the couch, my fingers clumsy as I flipped the TV to the security cameras. The screen blinked to life, cutting from static to the overhead feed of the garage.

The beat up pickup eased inside, its headlights sweeping over the walls before going dark. My chest tightened when I saw it: DJ’s toys. Our clothes. The plastic bins holding the fractured, scattered pieces of our life. No furniture—it wasn’t like I had much to begin with—but everything else was there, packed up and stacked like it was waiting for me to claim it.

I couldn’t breathe for a second.

This wasn’t just stuff. This was us. Our world, shoved into bins and boxes, displaced and uprooted. But now? It was here. Safe.

Because of him.

On the screen, the guys moved with quiet purpose, their motions fluid and practiced, hands darting for boxes like they’d done this a million times. They worked in silence, communicating through quick nods and gestures. And over the faint hum of the camera feed, I could hear their laughter—light, easy, and unbothered.

It was so different from the heaviness pressing down on my chest.

I watched as Anthony leaned against the truck for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. There was tension in the way he stood, coiled and unspoken, but even like this, he carried himself with a calmness that I wish I possessed in this moment.

He gestured toward Reaper and DeShawn, his head tilting in that way he did when he didn’t need to explain himself, and they nodded back, quick and sure. A few daps and grins exchanged, then Reaper and Deshawn piled into the sleek black Mercedes with Bishop and Jackson.

The car pulled away a second later, its taillights fading into the distance, leaving Anthony alone.

The garage door slid shut behind him, the motor humming softly until it settled into silence. Anthony stood there, the weight of the moment hanging around him, though he didn’t show it outright. His focus shifted as he turned to lock the garage, moving with the same deliberate care he always did.

The ache in my chest grew heavier, like I’d swallowed too much air and couldn’t let it out. I grabbed the wall to steady myself, my ankle protesting as I hopped on one foot toward the back door. Each step felt slower than the last, but I didn’t stop. I needed to see him. To let some of this weight—this gratitude, this fear, this everything—out of my chest.

Finally, I reached the door, gripping the handle tight before easing it open.

And there he was.

Anthony heard the door creak and looked up, his eyes landing on me. He was mid-step, his gaze snapping up to meet mine, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something unreadable.

For a second, we just stood there, the space between us humming with all the words I couldn’t bring myself to say. The sun slipped through the doorway, brushing against my skin, but it wasn’t enough to calm the heat rising in my chest.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down, Angel,” he said. He looked at me the way a parent might when they caught their kid sneaking out after curfew—equal parts amused and exasperated.

And he had the nerve to look good while doing it.

Anthony was drenched in sweat, his white t-shirt sticking to his chest and tattoo’d arms in ways that sent my brain in entirely the wrong direction. I quickly dropped my gaze, praying he couldn’t read my thoughts because they were definitely not PG right now.

“I was sitting down,” I said quickly, shifting awkwardly on my good foot. “Niecey rubbed it for me and had it elevated, but…” I hesitated, shrugging as I glanced toward the floor. “I heard you come in.”

He didn’t say anything at first. He just wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. His presence seemed to fill every corner of the space, like it always did.

“Everything’s stored safe in the garage,” he said finally, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, like he’d been running through a mental checklist. “Another day, I’ll start bringing it all in little by little. Get DJ’s room set up. Get you more comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable,” I said quickly, almost defensively. “More than comfortable.”

Anthony paused, one eyebrow quirking up as he looked at me, his lips pressing into a line like he was trying not to laugh.

“Comfortable, huh?” he repeated, his tone teasing just enough to make me squirm giving me a once over, noticing I was back in his clothes.

“Yes,” I said firmly, crossing my arms over my chest like it might shield me from the way he was looking at me—like he could see every crack, every doubt, every half-formed feeling I didn’t want to name.

He took a step closer, his voice softening. “Comfortable enough to be hopping around on one foot like that?”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could come up with a decent response, Anthony moved. In two strides, he was in front of me, his large hand settling gently against my arm to steady me.

“Come on,” he murmured, his tone low and coaxing. “Sit down before you hurt yourself again.”

“Anthony,” I said, standing a little taller, refusing to back down. “I’m not a child.”

“I know you not,” he said easily, his eyes flicking over me. “But you are accident-prone as hell, Angel. Don’t even try to argue with me.” He pulled out his phone, his fingers already moving like he was searching for something. “Matter of fact, I’m ordering you a bubble suit right now. Hold up, lemme see how long it’ll take to get here.”

“Anthony!” I groaned, playfully shoving his shoulder as he smirked. His grin only widened as he stumbled back half a step, clearly unbothered.

“I’m serious,” he said, holding his phone up like he was about to show me proof. “Full-body suit. Gotta keep you safe.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I tried to fight it. He always did that—lightened the mood just enough to make me feel like I could breathe again.

But the laughter faded almost as quickly as it came, the weight of the day settling back over me like a heavy blanket. I looked down, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of his T-shirt, and took a breath.

“I, um…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small it sounded. “I wanted to apologize. For today.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed, his smirk fading as his focus sharpened on me.

“I should’ve been paying attention,” I continued, rushing the words out before I lost my nerve. “I was irresponsible. I’ve never missed my rent before. Ever. I’m not that person—it’s just that—”

“Angel.”

The way he said my name stopped me cold.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” he said, his voice low and sure. “Your son is in the hospital. You were hurt too. You had a lot on your plate, on your mind. I’m not gon’ fault you for that.”

I blinked, my throat tightening as I tried to process the weight of his words.

“And your aunt?” He paused, his jaw tightening for half a second, like he couldn’t even bring himself to say her name. “She should’ve had more compassion. You don’t have to justify anything to me. Not to her, either.”

He was standing so close now, his steady gaze locking onto mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“The timing is crazy, huh?” I said, trying to regroup, but my voice dipped, brushing up against the edges of self-consciousness. “I guess we really don’t have much of a choice but to stay here.” I bit my lip, my gaze dropping to the floor. The words felt heavier as they left my mouth, guilt creeping in like an uninvited guest. “I’m sorry about all of this. Soon as I can, I’ll get back to work, get back on my feet again. I’ll find a new place… get out of your way.”

Anthony’s expression didn’t shift. Not even a flicker. His face gave away nothing, but his silence? That stretched just long enough for doubt to crawl under my skin and settle there.

Was he annoyed? Tired? Regretting every decision that had led to this moment? My stomach twisted as I scrambled to fill the growing quiet, my thoughts racing ahead of me, but then he spoke.

“I don’t want you worrying about any of that right now.”

His voice, low and steady, cut through my spiraling thoughts like a blade. It was solid, grounded in a way that made my chest ache, and when I looked up, his eyes were locked on mine. Steady. Unwavering.

“The only thing that matters,” he continued, his tone calm but firm, “is you taking care of yourself and DJ getting better. That’s it. That’s the concern. Everything else?” He tilted his head slightly, like he needed me to really hear him. “I got it.”

His words weren’t loud or dramatic. They didn’t need to be. They landed like bricks, solid and unshakable, building something I hadn’t even realized was there—a foundation beneath me, one I didn’t have to pour or construct on my own.

I nodded slowly, his words sinking deep, wrapping themselves around the jagged edges of my self-doubt like a balm I didn’t know I needed.

“Thanks,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. The word felt too small for what I meant, but it was all I had.

Anthony didn’t look away. His gaze stayed locked on mine, steady and calm, but there was something else in his eyes, too. It lingered just a second too long, like he was trying to tell me something without words.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, the kind of tone that settled in your chest and stayed there, filling up all the quiet, empty spaces. “I told you—I got you.”

“I know,” I murmured, barely able to hold his gaze. My voice was quiet, shaky, like I was still trying to steady myself. “But still…thank you. For everything. Not just letting me stay here, or bringing all our stuff, but standing up to my aunt… and for your friends—”

“They’re your friends too,” he said, cutting me off gently. His tone was soft but left no room for debate, like he’d already decided and didn’t care whether I’d caught up to it yet.

A small, unexpected smile tugged at my lips. It wasn’t forced or polite—it just was. My mind wandered to earlier, to my time with Bernice. She’d stayed with me on the couch, cracking jokes and telling stories until my sides hurt from laughing. We’d watched Brown Sugar before she left, and when she swore we’d do lunch soon, I believed her. Really believed her.

It wasn’t polite words or some throwaway promise to fill the silence. It was real. She was real.

And so were the rest of them—this whole circle Anthony had pulled me into, slowly but surely, like I’d belonged there all along.

“I really like Bernice,” I said, my smile widening at the thought of her.

Anthony chuckled, the sound low and warm, rumbling softly in his chest. “She’s good people,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, easy smile. “Her and Reap can be like a walking reality show sometimes, but that’s my brother and his lady. She’s the right one for him.”

“She mentioned a… fracture?” I asked hesitantly, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably as my brows lifted in amusement.

Anthony immediately shook his head, a mix of exasperation and amusement flashing across his face. “Don’t even ask,” he said, his tone heavy with the kind of weariness that only came from being too close to Bernice and Reaper’s antics.

A giggle bubbled out of me before I could stop it, the sound light and unguarded.

Anthony’s lips twitched at the corners, but he straightened his face almost immediately, his expression slipping back into the steady, grounding calm he carried so easily.

“Now, off that ankle,” he said, looking down at me with that familiar, no-nonsense gaze. His hand brushed lightly against my arm—soft, deliberate, like he was reminding me without saying it that he’d always catch me if I fell. He nodded toward the couch, the silent command clear.

“Anthony, it’s just a little tiny sprain,” I whined, dragging out the words as I waved him off. “It’s not that serious.”

He didn’t blink.

“Angel.”

That was all it took.

I rolled my eyes, sighing dramatically as I gave in, and let him guide me back to the couch. His hand hovered near my elbow—not grabbing, just there—close enough to steady me if I wobbled. He was careful, steady, the way he always was, like it wasn’t something he had to think about. It was just who he was.

As I sank into the cushions, my gaze drifted toward the kitchen. The spread on the counter caught my attention: eggs scrambled to fluffy perfection, strips of bacon lined up neatly on a paper towel, and a stack of golden pancakes sitting off to the side, waiting patiently for syrup.

Guilt twisted in my stomach, momentarily replacing the dull ache in my ankle.

“I’m sorry I ruined breakfast,” I said softly, my eyes flicking back to him. “It looks like you were working hard on it.”

Anthony followed my gaze to the kitchen, then shrugged, his expression calm but unreadable. “It’s fine,” he said simply, his voice neutral. But there was something there—something just beneath the surface that I couldn’t quite name.

Before I could press further, he turned and disappeared into the bedroom without another word, leaving me alone with the smell of bacon and the quiet weight of my thoughts.

By the time he came out of the shower, I was back on my feet, standing at the stove. I’d taken over the pot of grits he was about to start earlier, determined to finish what I’d interrupted. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps against the hardwood made me glance over my shoulder—and that was a mistake.

The spoon almost slipped from my hand.

Anthony smelled like he’d just strolled out of heaven, wrapped in a cloud of clean, woodsy cologne that was all Gucci and all him. The scent clung to his skin like it was made for him, mingling with the faint warmth of steam from his shower. His hair was still damp, little droplets clinging to the edges, darkening the curls at his temple.

And then there was the rest of him.

He wore a crisp white tank that stretched over his chest and broad shoulders like it had been tailored for him, paired with loose lounge shorts that stopped just above his knees. My gaze dipped lower, catching sight of his thick, powerful legs, corded with muscle—legs that could probably carry the weight of the world if he had to.

Anthony looked… edible.

Better than anything simmering in the kitchen.

I turned back to the stove quickly, gripping the spoon tighter, my heart racing like I’d just run a marathon.

Stir the grits.

Focus on the grits.

Stir like it’s the most important job you’ve ever had in your life.

I could feel his presence behind me, a slow, easy warmth that had nothing to do with the stove. Niecey’s voice whispered in my head like a devil on my shoulder. Anthony is down bad for you.

I shook my head, swallowing hard. Act natural, Angel. Act natural.

“I thought I told you to stay off your feet,” Anthony said, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts, low and steady like he was holding back a grin.

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly, too defensively. I glanced over my shoulder again, just long enough to see the way his brow arched in response.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his tone playful but laced with that familiar hint of authority that made my stomach flip.

“Positive,” I said firmly, turning my attention back to the pot. “I needed to finish this. You already did most of the work, so it’s only fair.”

“You’re being such a bad listener today,” Anthony said finally, his voice low and teasing, though there was something else underneath it.

“It’s the least I could do,” I said quickly, shrugging like it was no big deal, though my heart was thudding in my chest.

Anthony straightened slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as his eyes narrowed just enough to make my pulse skip.

“This isn’t some transactional friendship, Angel,” he said, his voice calm but carrying the kind of weight that made it impossible to argue. “You don’t have to keep score of what I’ve done and try to catch up.”

“I’m not trying to keep score,” I said, shaking my head again. “I just… you didn’t get a chance to eat, and you’ve been out in the sun all day cleaning up my mess.”

His jaw flexed at that—just barely—but he didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze dropped briefly to my ankle, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face before he looked back at me.

“I need you off that ankle,” he said, the words clipped but not unkind.

“Anthony, let me just finish this,” I argued softly, turning back to the stove in defiance. “Then we can eat and head to the hospital.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft bubbling of the grits and my own uneven breaths. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting back a smile. But his eyes? They stayed locked on me, steady and unyielding.

“Off that ankle,” he said again, more pointed this time.

Before I could protest, I felt him behind me—close enough that his warmth brushed against my back. Then his hands landed on my shoulders, warm and sure, his touch gentle but firm as he turned me around to face him.

And then—before I could even process what was happening—his arms were around me, strong and unrelenting, lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing at all.

“Anthony—!” I squealed, the sound breaking into a laugh as he carried me like I was a featherweight.

He placed me on the counter with a soft thud, his hands steadying me even after I was seated.

The ease with which he did it left me speechless. My mind stumbled, thoughts spiraling somewhere I didn’t want them to go. Carlos. I couldn’t help but think about how Carlos used to make comments about my weight—his words sharp and careless, hidden behind fake smiles. “Too big,” he’d say. “So heavy.”

But Anthony?

Anthony didn’t grunt. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.

“You’re treating me like a baby,” I teased, forcing a smile, though my voice wavered slightly.

“If you’d listen, like a good girl, I wouldn’t have to treat you like one,” he shot back, grinning as his tone dipped low.

Oh.

That’s when I noticed his hands.

They were resting on my waist, solid and firm, his thumbs brushing in slow, lazy strokes against the fabric of my shirt. The touch wasn’t demanding—it wasn’t even a grip. It was just there. Holding me without holding me down.

And the way he was looking at me… Lord, help me.

It wasn’t just playful anymore. It was something deeper, quieter, a weight between us that neither of us dared to name.

I couldn’t look away.

And the truth was—I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

My laughter faded, the sound dying in my throat, and his did too.

The space between us felt impossibly smaller now, like the air had thinned, collapsing in on itself. His smile softened, losing its teasing edge, shifting into something quieter. Something deeper. His eyes stayed locked on mine, unblinking, and suddenly, I was hyperaware of everything.

The press of the counter against the backs of my thighs.
The warmth of his hands, still resting on my waist.
The low hum of my pulse, rushing too fast, too loud.

I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it might anchor me. But Anthony didn’t move. He just stood there between my thighs, watching me, his expression unreadable but intent.

“Anthony,” I said softly, my voice almost trembling. It wasn’t really a question, but somehow, it still felt like one.

His gaze flicked down—just for a second. Barely a moment, but enough for me to feel it. His eyes lingered on my lips, then darted back up, meeting mine again with a heat that made my breath catch.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning my face like he was trying to read me, trying to find something in my expression. And maybe I was doing the same, because I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t want to.

For a moment, the rest of the world just… disappeared.

It was just us.

Him and me, and sound of our hearts beating wildly.

“I can’t fight this anymore,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet, almost a whisper, like he wasn’t sure he should be saying it aloud.

My heart stopped.

His fingers flexed lightly at my waist, the smallest movement, like he was grounding himself—or maybe me.

“Please,” he said, his tone steady but laced with something raw, something unguarded. “Tell me I can kiss you.”

The question hit me somewhere deep, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I did. Without hesitation, I nodded.

“Yeah,” I breathed, my voice barely audible, but it was enough.

His lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, like he’d been waiting for that one word all along. But his eyes? They stayed locked on mine, steady, intent—like he was searching for something more, something unspoken.

And then, I gave it to him.

I leaned forward. Just a little—so little I wasn’t even sure if he noticed. But of course he did. He always noticed.

That was all it took.

His hands slid from my waist to my hips, as he closed the space between us in one smooth motion. His breath ghosted against my cheek, soft and warm, sending a shiver down my spine. My heart was pounding so hard I swore he could hear it, the rhythm frantic, wild, and completely out of my control.

And then his lips were on mine.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was deliberate—like he’d been thinking about this for a long time, holding himself back until this exact moment. His lips were soft but sure, and the way he kissed me wasn’t just an action. It was a promise. Unspoken, but undeniable.

My hands, frozen at my sides, finally moved. They found his shoulders first, the fabric of his tank warm beneath my fingertips, and then slid up to the back of his neck. My fingers tangled in the damp curls at his nape, pulling him closer, as if instinct had taken over before my mind could catch up.

He pressed against me lightly, his warmth grounding me, anchoring me in a way that felt almost foreign—like I hadn’t felt this steady in years. His hands tightened on my hips, the slight pressure sending a shockwave through me. He pulled me closer, and closer still, like even the smallest distance between us was too much.

The kiss deepened, our tongues played and the world tilted.

When we finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. He lingered, his forehead pressing lightly against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the stillness of the kitchen.

I opened my eyes slowly, and when I did, I found him already looking at me.

“Angel,” he said softly, my name leaving his lips like a quiet prayer, like it was something sacred.

I swallowed hard, my fingers still resting lightly against the back of his neck. Words swirled in my head, but none of them felt right. How could I explain what this moment meant, how it made me feel? How he made me feel? Seen. Grounded. Like maybe, just maybe, I was worthy of all this care, this closeness.

Anthony pulled back just enough to take me in, his eyes scanning my face like he was committing every detail to memory. His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile—one that made my chest tighten all over again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low, steady, and far too sincere for me to handle. “Been wanting to tell you that since the moment I met…ran into you.”

He reached up, brushing a stray curl from my face, his fingertips grazing my skin. The way he looked at me—focused, searching—was the same way I’d caught him looking at me countless before, when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

But now? He wasn’t hiding it. And me? I couldn’t deny it.

“Thank you?” I said, the words tumbling out awkwardly, my voice pitching upward like a question. My cheeks burned hotter as soon as I heard myself, and I winced internally. Why did I say it like that?

Anthony froze for the briefest second, his head tilting slightly like he was trying to process my ridiculous response. And then, to my horror, he laughed.

It was soft and low, the sound rumbling from his chest and wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

“Oh, my God,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands as a laugh bubbled up in spite of myself. “I’m such a loser.”

“Stop it,” Anthony said, his tone teasing but kind as he reached up to gently pull my hands away from my face. His thumbs brushed over my knuckles, lingering there as he grinned down at me.

“Nah,” he said, his voice softening. “You’re just you.”

I rolled my eyes, though the corners of my lips betrayed me, tugging into a shy smile. “That’s not comforting,” I teased, my voice soft but tinged with the nervous edge I couldn’t quite shake.

“It should be,” he said, his tone shifting, softening in a way that made my chest ache. His thumbs brushed slow, lazy circles against the backs of my hands, and the tenderness in the gesture nearly undid me. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

The words hung between us, heavy and warm, pressing into the silence that followed. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Before I could even try to gather my thoughts, his voice dipped lower, quieter, threading with something so raw it nearly broke me.

“I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

My breath caught in my throat, my fingers twitching against his. I swallowed hard. “How do you see me?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, just for a moment, his gaze flicking down to our joined hands before lifting back to mine.

“Determined,” he started, his eyes locked on mine like he needed me to feel the weight of every syllable. “You’ve been through hell, Angel, and you’re still standing. You don’t quit. Even when you’ve had every reason to give up, you don’t. You keep going.”

My chest tightened, his words sinking deep, unraveling something inside me I didn’t even know I’d been holding together.

“Intelligent. Resourceful,” he went on, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You figure shit out, no matter how stacked the odds are. You’re smart as hell, Angel.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped me before I could stop it. His smile widened at the sound, just for a moment, before it softened again.

“And you’re a damn good mother,” he said, his tone dropping, more serious now. “The way you love DJ? The way you fight for him, protect him… You’d move heaven and earth for that boy. I see it. Every day.”

I bit down hard on my lip, my throat burning as I tried—and failed—to keep the tears from welling up in my eyes. His words weren’t just breaking me; they were remaking me, piece by piece.

He shifted slightly, his hands tightening around mine, his thumbs never stopping their soothing circles. “You’ve got a big heart, Angel. A good heart. Too good for most of the people you’ve had in your life. And yeah, people have taken advantage of that… taken advantage of you.”

I parted my lips to say something, anything, but the words caught in my throat.

“And I can’t stand it,” he added, his voice rough now, edged with frustration that wasn’t directed at me. His eyes darkened, flashing with something that looked almost like anger. “Because you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who’s gonna see you. Someone who’s gonna protect that heart.”

His voice softened again, a deep, unshakable certainty weaving through his words as he said, “I want to be that person for you.”

I stopped breathing.

His words landed so hard, so fast, I didn’t have time to process them. The world narrowed to just him—the warmth of his hands, the steadiness of his gaze, the way his presence filled every empty corner of me.

“Anthony,” I whispered, his name trembling as it left my lips.

“I mean it, Angel,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, intimate and raw.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, and then another, until they were falling freely. I didn’t even try to wipe them away. I didn’t even care. His words—so deliberate, so real—had broken something open in me, something I hadn’t even realized I’d been guarding so fiercely.

“I need you to know that,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing against my knuckles again, grounding me. “I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe me. I just need you to hear it.”

He leaned in slightly, his forehead almost touching mine, his breath warm against my skin.

“I want you in every way, Angel,” he murmured, his voice like a promise. “I want your good days, your bad days, and every moment in between. I’m not scared of any of it. I’m not scared of you.”

Me? He wants me?

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he added, his tone softening, gentler now, as if he could sense the storm swirling inside me. “I’m not rushing you. I just…I needed you to know.”

My lips parted again, but all I could do was blink up at him through the tears blurring my vision. I didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to explain the way his words had completely unraveled me.

But when I looked at him—at the honesty etched into every line of his face, the quiet intensity in his eyes—I knew one thing for sure.

He meant it.

Every word.

My lips parted, but nothing came out. What could I even say?

Anthony’s hands slid from my waist to the counter, bracketing me in, his arms framing me like a shield. He leaned in, his face just inches from mine, his eyes searching mine as if he were looking for permission to move closer, to close the gap.

And then his lips found mine.

It wasn’t hurried or demanding. It was unhurried, careful, like he didn’t want the moment to slip away. The kiss felt deliberate, deliberate in a way that made my heart pound harder, like he was telling me something without saying a word.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. It was measured, like he wanted to give me time to breathe, to process.

I stared at him, my heart in chaos, disbelief swirling with the quiet, overwhelming realization of how safe I felt. Safer than I had in years. Safer than I had with anyone else.

His hands stayed steady on the counter, framing me, holding me in place without caging me in. His eyes, steady and intent, searched mine like they could see past the surface and into the deepest parts of me.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to speak, but then he stopped himself, waiting instead—giving me the space to fill the silence.

And I did.

Because I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I have feelings for you,” I admitted, my voice trembling with honesty I could no longer keep buried. “Strong ones that make me feel guilty for feeling them because…” I trailed off, my gaze falling to my lap as I thought about DJ. “To be a good mom, I should only be thinking about my son right now, right?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened for a moment, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. Then he looked away, his expression softening as he nodded slightly before meeting my gaze again.

“I think it’s normal to feel conflicted right now. It’s a turning point in your life—the accident, everything changing. But maybe us…” He paused, his voice low and deliberate. “Maybe we’re a turning point too. I don’t think we were an accident.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful, before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder. The simple, tender gesture sent a shockwave through me, heat flooding my body so fast I felt dizzy. My panties were instantly ruined. How did he manage to do this to me with so little effort?

He was so close, too close, and yet not close enough. Him being near made it impossible to deny what I was feeling—not just in my heart, but in the parts of me I’d tried to suppress, the parts that craved him in ways I tried to ignore.

“You take such good care of me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“That’s all I wanna do,” he murmured back, his breath warm against my skin as he pressed another kiss to my shoulder. Oh, God.

I gulped, my mind spinning, and before I could stop myself, I asked a question I’d whispered a million times when he couldn’t hear me. One of those secret, unspoken thoughts that lived in the quiet corners of my heart.

“Am I yours?”

Anthony straightened, his hands sliding up to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks in a way that made the rest of the world disappear. His eyes locked onto mine, and the intensity there was almost too much, like he was staring right into my soul.

“I want you to be,” he said, his voice low but certain, every word weighted with meaning. There was no hesitation, no room for misunderstanding. Just raw, unfiltered truth. “Nothing would mean more to me than you being mine, Angel. All mine.”

“Anthony,” I said softly, my voice trembling just enough to betray the effort it took to summon the courage. “Can we, um…” My fingers brushed lightly over his chest, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his shirt. “Can you…take me to the bedroom?”

For a second, he didn’t move. His eyes locked onto mine, his body so still it was like he was afraid that even the smallest movement might shatter the moment. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the way his chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths. He wasn’t expecting me to say that—hell, I wasn’t expecting me to say that—but now that it was out there, I couldn’t take it back. And the truth was, I didn’t want to. I needed this. I needed him.

Since the accident, Anthony had been my anchor, the only thing keeping me drowning. When everything else felt like it was slipping through my fingers, he was immovable. If it weren’t for him, I was sure I’d have lost my mind by now, spiraling into a place I wouldn’t have known how to climb out of. He wasn’t just the calm to my storm; he was the shelter I didn’t realize I’d been searching for. Anthony was my elixir, my cure. And now? I wasn’t just sipping anymore—I was ready to down it in one go.

“Angel,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, his brows knitting together slightly in concern. “Are you sure?”

The tenderness in his tone almost undid me, the careful way he asked, like he was offering me a way out, like he’d stop everything in an instant if I asked him to. But instead of pulling away, it gave me the courage to keep going.

I nodded, my fingers sliding up to the back of his neck, tangling gently in his curls.

“Yeah,” I whispered, the word quiet but certain. “I’m sure.”

His lips twitched into the smallest, almost hesitant smile, like he was holding himself back from feeling too much all at once. One of his hands left the counter, moving up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin in a way that made my chest ache.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said softly, his tone so gentle it felt like a secret meant only for me. “What’s this about? Today? Everything? I’m not going anywhere, Angel. You don’t have to do this to keep me.”

“I know,” I said, my voice steadier this time. “This isn’t about proving anything. I just…” I trailed off, taking a shaky breath before meeting his gaze again. “I want this. Please.”

His hand lingered on my cheek for just a moment longer, his thumb brushing one last time, as if sealing the words I’d said between us. Slowly, Anthony nodded, his expression softening.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a quiet promise.

And then his arms were around me again.

He lifted me off the counter with the same effortless ease as before, like I weighed nothing at all. My legs instinctively wrapped around him, pulling him closer, and before I could fully register the closeness, his lips were on mine again.

This kiss was different.

Not rushed, but deeper—more urgent. Like he was pouring everything he hadn’t yet said, everything he couldn’t find the words for, into it. Like he needed me to feel it, to understand.

My hands curled into the back of his shirt, clinging to him as he carried me down the hallway, his steps deliberate and sure, like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind about where this was going.

When we reached the bed, he laid me down gently, like I was something fragile he was afraid to break. His body hovered just above mine, his weight balanced on his forearms, as he kissed me again—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

My chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, his lips leaving mine to trail softly along my jawline. Each kiss sent a ripple of warmth through me, grounding me for a moment. But between the kitchen and now, reality began to creep in, crashing over me like a wave I wasn’t ready for.

I realized what I’d asked him for. What it would mean.

I swallowed hard, my body tensing beneath him as my thoughts spun out of control. If we went there—if this happened—it would mean taking off my clothes. It would mean him seeing me. All of me. And I hadn’t been naked in front of anyone new since…

Since Carlos.

What was I thinking?

The insecurities I’d shoved into the farthest corners of my mind came rushing back all at once, like a dam breaking under the pressure.

What if I wasn’t enough? What if he saw my body—every stretch mark, every scar, every imperfection—and didn’t like what he saw? What if I wasn’t good at this? He’s probably been with women who knew what they were doing, who were confident, who could do impressive things in the bedroom.

Carlos’ voice echoed in my head, sharp and cruel, the way it always did. “All you do is lay there,” he’d said once, laughing like it was a joke. “Stiff as a damn board.” The memory hit me like a punch to the gut, shame bubbling up and threatening to drown out every bit of warmth Anthony had made me feel.

I must’ve gone completely still, because Anthony noticed.

“Angel.”

His voice pulled me back, steady and soothing, like a lifeline cutting through the storm in my head. His hand moved up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing softly over my skin, grounding me in the here and now.

“Out your head,” he murmured, his eyes searching mine, his tone calm but so certain it made my throat tighten.

I blinked up at him, my chest tightening as my emotions twisted between fear and something else—something warmer, softer.

“It’s just me,” he said, his voice dropping to something even gentler, as though he could see every doubt etched across my face. “Just me.”

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to play it off, but it wobbled, betraying me.

Anthony shifted slightly, easing back just enough to give me space to breathe, though the weight of his presence still pressed against me in the most delicious way. He rested his weight on one elbow, his free hand still cradling my cheek, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles across my skin, each stroke sending a shiver straight to my chest.

“You changed your mind?” he asked softly, his voice so gentle it almost broke me. “It’s okay if—”

“No,” I interrupted quickly, my voice firmer than I expected. “I just…” My words trailed off, tangled in the whirlwind of emotions that made my throat tighten. I looked up at him, searching his face for a hint of judgment or impatience, but all I found was quiet understanding.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. It wasn’t teasing or smug—it was steady, reassuring, the kind of smile that made me feel safe even when I was standing on shaky ground.

“What if…” he started, his voice careful, deliberate, like he was testing the waters. “What if today, I just make you feel good?”

The way he said it—low and certain, with a tenderness that reached deep into the parts of me I kept hidden—sent a warm shiver rolling down my spine. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t demanding. He was offering.

Just offering.

His words hung in the air between us, sinking deep, soft but sure.

I blinked at him, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my ears. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I mean,” Anthony said, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against my skin, his voice steady and calm, “I can see you’re nervous, and that’s okay. So maybe we take it slow. Let me focus on you.” His eyes stayed locked on mine, soft but unwavering. “That means you don’t have to think about anything. You don’t have to worry or second-guess. Just let me please you.”

My throat tightened, and my fingers twisted into the blanket beneath me. His words hung in the air, steady and certain, and I could feel their weight settling over me in a way that made my heart race.

Was he asking to… go down on me?

My stomach flipped at the thought, heat rising to my cheeks. Oh my God.

“I don’t… I’ve never…” I trailed off, the words tangling with my racing thoughts and getting caught somewhere between my throat and my fear. How was I even supposed to say this?

Anthony smiled, soft and patient, like he wasn’t in a rush for me to finish the sentence.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice so steady it almost made me want to cry. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip for a brief moment, tender and deliberate, before his hand returned to my waist. “That’s why I’m saying we take it slow. Just lay back and relax while I do everything.”

My chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was something else—something warmer, steadier, that was quietly washing over me.

“Okay,” I whispered finally, my voice trembling but certain. “Okay.”

Relief flickered across his features, his smile widening just slightly as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Can I take these off?” he asked, his fingers hooking gently into the waistband of the boxers I’d borrowed, his touch light, unhurried, and so careful it almost undid me.

I opened my mouth to respond but couldn’t trust my voice, so I nodded instead, my gaze flicking down to where his hands rested at my hips.

He slipped the boxers off slowly, his movements deliberate, like he was giving me time to stop him, to change my mind if I wanted to. When they were set aside, he met my gaze again, his eyes searching mine.

“These too?” he asked softly, hooking his pinky into the waistband of my underwear, his tone so gentle it felt like a whisper meant only for me.

I nodded again, my face heating under the weight of the moment, my breath hitching when his lips curved into another reassuring smile.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing, calm, like he could feel the nervous energy swirling around me.

He slipped them off with the same careful precision, his touch featherlight and unhurried. But as the fabric slid away, the weight of what I’d just let him see hit me all at once.

Shit.

I hadn’t shaved.

I hadn’t waxed.

I hadn’t done anything.

The thought burned through me, sharp and unforgiving, and my stomach twisted as my insecurities came rushing in, quick and loud and cruel.

What if he notices? What if he cares?

But before the spiral could pull me under, before another thought could fully form, his lips were on mine again.

The kiss was soft and steady, grounding me in the moment. His hand brushed along my jaw, tilting my face toward his as his warmth seeped into me like a balm.

I’m here. It’s just me.

The kiss said everything he didn’t need to put into words.

His lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, easing me back into the present, into him. My chest rose and fell with shaky breaths, but with each kiss, the tension began to melt, bit by bit.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against mine, his eyes searching mine with so much tenderness I could barely hold his gaze. His thumb brushed over my cheek, the motion soft and calming, like he was tethering me to him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sure.

The words unraveled something in me.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but this time, they weren’t born of shame or insecurity. They came from the way he looked at me—like I wasn’t just enough, but like I was everything.

He kissed my chin, then the curve of my jaw, and then lower, his lips trailing along my neck like he had all the time in the world.

My mind should’ve been racing, spinning with the endless insecurities that always seemed to creep in at the worst moments. But somehow, he made it stop. Every thought, every worry, every fear dissolved into the background until all I could focus on was him.

The warmth of his lips on my skin.
The soft rasp of his breath against my neck.
The way his hand cradled me, gentle but firm, like I might slip away if he let go.

And then I felt it.

His hand slipped from my neck, trailing lightly down my body. His fingertips brushed over the curve of my shoulder, the dip of my waist, before they settled between my thighs.

The first gentle press of his finger against my clit sent a jolt through me, and I gasped, my hips jerking at the sudden rush of sensation.

“Oh,” I breathed, my voice shaky, my body tensing for just a second before melting under his touch.

“Relax, pretty girl,” he murmured against my skin, his lips still trailing soft, lazy kisses along the curve of my neck. “Papa got you.”

Lord.

The words sank into me, his voice low and soothing, threading through my chest and leaving warmth in its wake.

And then his lips were on mine again, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was deep and unhurried, perfectly in sync with the slow, deliberate circles his hand was making. Each pass of his finger sent sparks of pleasure through me, the tension in my body building with every careful, intentional touch.

My hands clutched at the sheets beneath me, twisting the fabric as I felt myself growing wetter, the sensations overtaking me in a way that made my breath hitch.

“Anthony,” I gasped against his lips, my voice trembling with pleasure and disbelief.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine as his hand never stopped its slow, deliberate motion. His eyes, dark and focused, locked onto mine, and the intensity in them made my chest tighten all over again.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers grazing my skin with the kind of tenderness that made me want to cry.

“I got you, Angel,” he said, his voice steady and sure, filled with a quiet confidence that made me feel safe and exposed all at once. “I’ve got you.”

The words sent a shiver through me, and I let out a soft, trembling moan, my body arching slightly under his touch. Every insecurity, every doubt I had moments ago faded into nothing. None of it mattered now. My eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the warmth of his presence, but when I opened them again, I barely had a moment to process what was happening.

I felt it.

Anthony’s breath ghosted over my most sensitive skin.

And then his tongue flicked out, deliberate and confident, and I almost flinched at the sight of it—at the promise it carried.

A sharp gasp escaped me as the first stroke sent a bolt of electricity shooting through every nerve. He settled there, between my legs, like he was claiming his kingdom—like this was his rightful throne, and he intended to reign..

His tongue moved with purpose—slow, thick strokes that explored me like he’d been waiting for this moment, like I was something he’d craved far longer than I realized. He wasn’t rushed or unsure. He was focused, his every movement deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every single reaction I gave him.

A soft moan escaped him, the vibration sinking into my core and pulling a broken whimper from my lips. His hands gripped my thighs, firm and unyielding, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh like he was determined to keep me exactly where he wanted me.

The way he held me open wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was steady, possessive—like he needed all of me, every inch, and wasn’t afraid to show it.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t do anything but feel.

And God, did I feel him.

Each flick, each pass over my clit, sent sparks shooting through me, and my hips twitched involuntarily, seeking more. As if answering my body’s silent plea, his tongue began to move faster, alternating between soft flicks and firm, focused pressure. His moans grew louder, more insistent, like he couldn’t get enough of me. Like the taste of me was driving him wild.

It was intoxicating—the way he sounded, the way he moved, the way he made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him in this moment.

My fingers found their way to his head, tangling in his hair, tugging gently as my back arched off the bed. A gasp tore from my lips, followed by a broken moan that I couldn’t hold back no matter how hard I tried.

“Anthony,” I whimpered, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer.

The sound seemed to ignite something in him.

He groaned against me, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through my body.

I couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from me—soft gasps, desperate whimpers, and trembling moans that barely sounded like my own. My thighs tensed against his grip, my entire body trembling as the tension built higher and higher. But his hands kept me steady, holding me exactly where he wanted me.

And then his voice cut through the haze, low and commanding.

“On your elbows,” he said, the authority in his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Eyes on me. I want you to watch.”

My body moved before I could second-guess, trembling as I propped myself up on my elbows like he’d asked. My legs slid onto his broad shoulders, and my hair fell around my face as I tilted my head forward, looking down at him.

And when our eyes met, I forgot how to breathe.

Anthony wasn’t just looking at me.

He was consumed by me.

His jaw was tense, his lips shiny from his work, and his eyes—dark and focused, utterly locked on mine—looked like they could see straight through me, straight to the heart of everything I was.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his tone low but soothing. His lips trailed lower for just a moment, pressing soft, reverent kisses against the inside of my thigh before returning to their target. “Stay right here for me.”

And then he slipped two fingers inside me.

A cry tore from my lips, my head falling back as the stretch filled me completely. His fingers were thick, long, and sure, curling inside me in a way that made my hips jerk involuntarily. They felt bigger than Carlos’ dick ever had—so much bigger that the thought struck me like lightning.

But before I could sink into that thought, before shame or comparison could creep in, Anthony’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

It wasn’t harsh, just a playful, light bite, but it was enough to snap my head back up.

“What did I say, Angel? Be a good girl and watch me,” he commanded, his tone firm but velvety, smooth and inescapable. The kind of command that didn’t just ask—it told. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, dark and unrelenting, holding me in place as securely as his hands. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling, raw, and so needy I barely recognized it. “Please, don’t.”

The words felt pitiful, almost desperate, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My chest rose and fell with shallow, stuttering breaths, every inhale catching on the edges of the fire he’d ignited inside me.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to meet his gaze like he asked. And what I saw set my whole body on fire.

He looked ravenous.

Completely consumed, his focus was unflinching, as though nothing else existed but me. His lips were glistening with proof of how thoroughly I’d come undone, and the way he looked at me—hungry, determined, possessive—burned straight through every shred of self-consciousness I had left. It left only heat in its wake.

His fingers began moving faster, thrusting and curling inside me with precision, each movement dragging me closer to the edge. Every time they found that devastatingly perfect spot, I cried out, literal tears of pleasure slipping from the corners of my eyes. My hands gripped the sheets beneath me, twisting the fabric as my body trembled violently with the tension spiraling in my core.

I was unraveling, falling apart, the fire in my stomach burning hotter, tighter, until it felt like I might shatter.

Anthony didn’t stop.

His tongue and fingers worked in perfect rhythm, relentless but never overwhelming, his movements steady and deliberate, like he knew exactly how to keep me balanced on the knife’s edge. And every time I felt myself teetering too close to the breaking point, his voice pulled me back.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against me, his voice low and thick with approval. The vibration of his words sent a fresh surge of heat rushing through me, making me whimper. “I can feel it, pretty girl. You’re right there.”

His fingers curled again, pressing just right, and his next words pushed me over the edge.

“Let go for me.”

The tension snapped all at once.

The release hit me like a tidal wave, slamming into me with a force so overwhelming it knocked the breath from my lungs. My body convulsed as pleasure rushed through me in relentless, crashing waves, raw and unfiltered.

A cry ripped from my throat, ragged and desperate, as my thighs trembled uncontrollably against his shoulders, trying to close around him. But Anthony’s grip was firm, his hands holding me steady, keeping me open. He wasn’t letting me go.

Not yet.

He worked me through it, his fingers and tongue, his pace shifting only slightly—slowing but not stopping—as he wrung every ounce of my release from me. The sharp intensity of it gave way to a deep, almost unbearable pleasure, the kind that left me trembling in his hands.

“Anthony,” I gasped, barely able to get the word out as my body sagged against the bed, boneless and undone.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled his fingers from me, slow and deliberate, his mouth following the trail of sensation he left behind. His tongue moved in soft, lazy strokes now, tasting me like he wasn’t finished savoring.

“Good girl,” he murmured against me, the praise sinking into my skin, making my chest ache in the best way. “You’re perfect, Angel. Every part of you.”

Tears stung my eyes again—not from shame, but from the weight of his words, the tenderness in his tone. His hands softened their grip on my thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, reassuring circles into my skin as he eased me gently back down from the high.

And just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore, just as I thought I’d crumble under the weight of everything he made me feel, he looked up at me.

His chin rested lightly on my thigh, his mouth still glistening, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that left me breathless.

“Oh…my…God,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath as my chest heaved, the air in my lungs barely enough to steady me. My hands clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to anchor me as the aftershocks rippled through my body.

I felt weightless. Untethered. Like I was floating somewhere just out of reach, caught in the space between pleasure and disbelief, my legs trembling uncontrollably. My mouth hung open, but no words would come. No coherent thoughts. I wasn’t even sure I’d ever come back to Earth.

“Papa’s Angel tastes so good,” he rasped, his voice gravelly and low, the sound vibrating through me like another aftershock, reigniting embers I thought had burned out.

The heat in his words melted into my skin, branding me from the inside out.

He lifted his head just slightly, his beard glistening with the evidence of me, and when his eyes found mine, I froze.

He looked like I’d awakened something in him—something wild, untamed, and completely unshaken by the destruction he’d already caused.

“Think you can give me another one, pretty girl?” he growled, his lips curling into a devilish smirk that made my stomach flip.

I blinked at him, my breath still coming in shaky, uneven bursts, the words catching in my throat before I could even try to reply. My legs were weak, still trembling against his broad shoulders, and the thought of surviving that again felt impossible.

“I don’t think I can,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.

His grin widened, sharp and mischievous, the warmth in his expression darkening into something primal.

“I know you can,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip like he was savoring the memory of me. His gaze locked onto mine, daring, knowing. “Let me prove it to you.”

Before I could catch my breath, he moved.

With one fluid, effortless motion, Anthony pulled me to the edge of the bed, his strength undeniable but his touch careful. The soft thud of his knees hitting the floor sent a shiver racing through me, my body tensing in anticipation even as the last tremors of my release continued to ripple through me.

I barely had time to process the shift, the position, the way his hands slid down my thighs to keep me spread for him—before his tongue was on me again.

“Anthony—” I screamed, my voice breaking, ragged and barely recognizable. But he didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

The sudden pressure made my stomach tighten, my back arching off the bed like a bow. My body couldn’t take it—every nerve ending was lit up, sparking like fireworks under his relentless touch. His fingers slipped inside me with a precision that sent shockwaves through my core, curling in a way that had me seeing constellations behind my eyes.

Oh God, it was too much. I was too sensitive now.

Every movement of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers, sent me spiraling further into insanity, my body writhing beneath him as instinct took over. My legs trembled uncontrollably, and I tried—desperately—to escape the overwhelming pleasure. My hands pushed weakly at his shoulders, and I even tried to kick him off, my body jerking against him in a frantic bid for reprieve.

But Anthony wasn’t having it.

“Where you think you’re going, Angel?” he murmured against me, his voice thick with amusement.

The heat in his tone wrapped around me like a chain, pulling me back into his grasp. His words weren’t just a question; they were a command.

He wasn’t letting me go. Not yet. Not until I gave him everything he wanted.

“Papa!” I gasped, the nickname tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop it.

The groan that rumbled from him when I said it was pure sin. Heat flushed through me, my heart pounding as the realization of what I’d called him settled in. I couldn’t believe I said it. But judging by the way his tongue moved with renewed determination, neither could he—and he loved it.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough, a growl that sent shivers racing down my spine. “Be good and let Papa take care of you.”

His words hit me like a match striking gasoline, the low, primal heat in his tone igniting something deep inside me.

I looked down at him, desperate to make sense of the chaos, and for a split second, I didn’t recognize the man between my legs.

Anthony didn’t look like the quiet, steady protector who tucked me in at night and made me breakfast in the mornings. He didn’t look like the man who gave me soft smiles and steadied my nerves with a single touch.

No, the man between my thighs looked wild.

Primal.

Untamed and obsessed.

He was relentless, driven by the sounds spilling from my lips, by the way my body twisted and arched under his touch, by the way my legs trembled uncontrollably against his broad shoulders. And the way he kept coaxing more out of me—more of those soft cries, more of that wetness he seemed to savor like it was made just for him—left me feeling like I was unraveling piece by piece.

Our eyes locked, and it was like the whole room disappeared. The intensity in his stare stole the air from my lungs, his lips swollen and slick, shiny with the proof of my undoing. And then he smiled—slow, wicked, devastating—and it sent a fresh, molten wave surging through me, leaving me helpless to do anything but stare back.

“You see, Angel?” he murmured, his voice deep and full of heat, each word deliberate, dripping with purpose. “You see how much I love tasting you? See what you do to me?”

I whimpered, my thighs trembling violently as his thumb pressed inside me—so thick, I couldn’t think straight.

And then he did it.

He spit on my peach.

The slick, obscene sound hit my ears, and when I saw my juices dripping down his beard, glistening against his lips and chin, something inside me broke. Completely unraveled.

The sight alone sent me spiraling, my grip on reality slipping with every passing second. That grin, those lips, the way his voice wrapped around me like a slow burn—I was done for. There was no way I was surviving this. Nope. Not a chance.

I couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from my lips—broken, nonsensical, trembling cries that felt foreign coming from me. Tears blurred my vision, hot streaks trailing down my cheeks as pleasure climbed higher and higher, reaching a place I wasn’t sure I could come back from.

“Give it to me, baby,” he growled, his breath hot against my skin, his lips brushing over me as his tongue worked me in slow, devastating strokes. “All of it. Down my throat, Angel. Papa’s starving for you.”

This man.

This man.

He was a freak. A filthy, shameless, perfect freak.

And the worst part? He was enjoying this more than I was.

I was losing my damn mind.

Carlos had never done anything like this. Sex with him had been about power, control. About him. I wasn’t a person in those moments—I was an object, a thing to be used, something to be conquered.

But Anthony?

He wasn’t just here with me—he was for me.

Every touch, every flick of his tongue, every precise, calculated movement of his hand felt like he was mapping me out, learning me. He worked my body like he wanted to uncover every hidden secret it held, like he needed to know every inch of me.

And then, through the haze of my delirium, I swore I heard him murmur something low, dark, and quiet.

“You know I’m going to hurt your Aunt for hurting you, right?”

The words slipped out like a secret, like something he hadn’t meant to say aloud.

I blinked, trying to process, but my body was too far gone. “Huh?” I managed weakly, my breath catching as the words reached me. “What did you just—”

Before I could finish, his thumb slid out of me, replaced by two thick fingers that pushed inside with purpose.

The moment his fingers curled, hitting that devastating spot deep inside me, everything else fell away.

My lungs emptied in a sharp gasp, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, any coherent response dissolving into nothingness.

“What was that?” Anthony asked, his voice smooth but edged with amusement, like he already knew I couldn’t answer.

I tried to remember what I was going to say, tried to focus, but it was impossible.

Whatever he said didn’t matter anymore.

My body jolted as his fingers moved in perfect rhythm with his tongue, stroking and curling, pulling me closer to the edge with every deliberate movement. The tension in my core twisted tighter, the pleasure sharp and blinding, impossible to hold back.

“Anthony!” I screamed, the word tearing from my throat, raw and desperate. My hands flew to his head, gripping his hair so tightly I was sure I’d pull it out.

He didn’t flinch.

He groaned instead, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated against me, sending a fresh wave of heat spiraling through my body. He liked it. No—he loved it.

In fact, he smiled.

“Mmmhmm,” he hummed, the sound low and thick, his voice pulling me under, deep and mesmerizing. “That’s it, baby. You’re right there.”

My hips bucked against his face as I damn near pulled his hair out his scalp, my body completely beyond my control as he pushed me higher and higher, relentless and unyielding.

“Give me everything,” he murmured, his words a dark, demanding promise. “I can take it.”

The way he said it—low and teasing, like a predator toying with his prey—was enough to unravel me. Anthony Harris, usually so reserved, became a different kind of man between my legs, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

I screamed again, the sound raw and unfiltered as my body trembled violently beneath him. My thighs tried to close around his head, but Anthony held me open, his hands firm and steady, refusing to let me go until he’d wrung every last ounce of my pleasure from me.

And he wasn’t done.

He held me open, unyielding, his strong hands pressing into my thighs as if to remind me I wasn’t going anywhere. His fingers were still inside me, curling and stroking with devastating precision, while his tongue flicked over my clit in a rhythm that was as relentless as it was perfect.

And then it happened.

The fireworks behind my eyes burst into a blinding explosion of light—wild and endless, consuming everything in their path. My body seized, every muscle going taut as I arched off the bed, completely at the mercy of the pleasure tearing through me.

It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It hit me like a runaway train, unstoppable and devastating in the best way.

“Papa!” I screamed, the word tumbling out of me in a chant I couldn’t control, my voice cracking as the waves kept crashing through me. My hands clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to hold onto as my entire body shook beneath him. “Oh my God, Anthony!” I cried like a baby, my voice thick with desperation I didn’t even recognize, tears streaming down my cheeks unbidden.

This wasn’t like when I the first time.

This one consumed me—mind, body, and soul. It didn’t just happen to me; it owned me, claimed every inch of my being. This was a full-body orgasm, raw and all-encompassing, leaving no part of me untouched.

I felt it everywhere—in my legs, in my toes, in the very tips of my fingers as they curled helplessly into the fabric beneath me. My chest heaved, every breath coming in ragged and shallow, and the heat of it flooded me so completely I swore I could feel it in my soul.

Anthony didn’t let up.

His mouth stayed on me, insistent, his tongue coaxing every ounce of pleasure out of me like he needed to feel it as much as I did. Like he wasn’t satisfied until he’d drained me completely, wringing every bit of ecstasy from my trembling body. He wanted to drown in everything I was giving him and then beg for more.

As the tidal wave slowly receded, leaving me weightless and trembling, I felt the soft ripples of aftershocks rolling through me. My body tried to remember how to breathe, how to function, how to exist.

But even then, even in the haze of the high he’d pulled me to, something clawed at the edges of my mind. A need. A want.

I almost begged him to make love to me. Almost.

The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, clawing at the back of my throat, desperate to spill out.

But I swallowed them down, burying them under layers of hesitation and nerves.

If I had the courage—the kind of boldness I could barely dream of—I’d tell him. I’d beg him to fill me, to give me all of him, to let me feel the full weight of everything he was holding back.

That muscle that poked me every morning when he pulled me close? I knew it would wreck me.

Life-changing.
Earth-shattering.
Make-you-see-God kind of wrecked.

But I wasn’t built for that kind of boldness—not yet.

How could I be?

I could barely survive what he was doing to me now. His tongue. His fingers. The way he held me down like he couldn’t get enough of me. Just that alone had me trembling, gasping, gripping the sheets like they might somehow save me from completely falling apart.

And saying those words out loud? Anthony, fuck me…make love to me.

I couldn’t even imagine it.

If his fingers and tongue could drive me to the brink of insanity, what would the rest of him do to me?

I’d be hollering. Screaming. Loud enough to make the walls shake. Loud enough to let the entire world know I’d lost every shred of my mind and didn’t care if I ever got it back.

“Told you,” he said softly, his voice still gravelly, thick with satisfaction. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, his beard glistening as his eyes locked on mine. “You could do it.”

He didn’t move away.

Didn’t stop.

Instead, Anthony opened me up wider, his strong hands spreading my bottom set of lips apart with care that felt almost reverent. His thumbs held me in place, firm but never harsh, as he lowered his head and kissed me there—soft, lingering kisses that sent tremors rippling through my body.

It wasn’t just the act itself that left me breathless; it was the way he did it.

Sweet.
Slow.
Like I was something precious he wanted to savor.

“She’s pretty as fuck, Angel,” he murmured, his voice thick with reverence, each word grounding me and unmooring me all at once.

He pressed a lingering kisses to my clit, deliberate and unhurried, like he couldn’t bear to pull away. “Perfect,” he murmured, the word melting into my skin. Another kiss, softer this time, followed by the coolness of his breath fanning over me, making my body tremble.

“Just… perfect.”

His lips dragged across my skin, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

“She’s so good for me, Angel,” he rasped, his voice dipping into something darker, richer, something that sent a jolt of electricity shooting through my body. “Sweet as honey. Messy in all the right ways.”

My breath caught in my throat, my hands clenching the sheets as the heat of his words wrapped around me, sinking deep into places I hadn’t realized were still vulnerable.

And then, one last kiss.

Soft. Reverent. But full of promise.

It wasn’t a goodbye.

It was a see you soon.

“Hope you don’t keep her away from me too long,” he said, his grin lazy, confident, like he already knew the answer.

I couldn’t respond.

Couldn’t speak.

Lord, this man could talk so dirty.

And me?

I had no idea how to respond.

When he finally pulled back, his hands didn’t leave me. They stayed exactly where they were—steady, grounding—like he knew I needed him to hold me together. Like he was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.

My chest heaved, every breath shaky, my pulse pounding in my ears as I tried to come back down from where he’d taken me.

Then, he did it.

Anthony licked his lips.

Slow. Deliberate.

His monster-sized tongue dragged across them he was memorizing every inch, savoring me as if what he’d put me through wasn’t enough. I knew he’d want to do it again—I could see it in the hunger still burning in his eyes—but I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and heavy, daring me to look away. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t have torn my gaze from his if I tried.

And then—without breaking that hold—he slid his fingers into his mouth.

The same fingers that had just unraveled me.

He sucked them clean, his lips wrapping around them slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine. A low, satisfied growl rumbled deep in his chest, sending a shiver through me.

And I?

I starred at him like deer caught in headlights.

Anthony Harris was so nnnaaasssttyyyy.

Oh.

My.

God.

“Just for Papa, right?” he asked, his voice a low, intimate rasp that seemed to sink straight into my skin. His brow lifted in a slow, deliberate challenge, waiting for my answer.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely audible through my chattering teeth as the aftershocks of him still pulsed through me.

“My Angel,” he murmured, his lips curving into a slow, satisfied smile. The words weren’t just words—they were a contract, a promise, a claim. Heavy and loaded, like I’d just signed to Death Row Records. No way out, no second chances, just his.

And even though we hadn’t gone all the way, I knew there was no turning back. If Anthony liked me as much as Niecey swore he did, actually loved me like he’d said in his sleep, and looked at me the way he did when he had me laid out, trembling and at his mercy while treating me like I was his personal all you can eat buffet—there was no escaping this man.

Not that I wanted to. I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

When he was finished, he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of my thigh, right over the spot where I still felt his teeth.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough and quiet, the rasp of it like a warm blanket wrapping around me. The care in his tone was so genuine, so steady, it threatened to unravel me all over again.

I nodded, the motion small and shaky, barely able to find my breath, let alone my voice.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips curving into the faintest smile before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to my stomach through the oversized shirt I was wearing. It wasn’t rushed or fleeting—it was soft, lingering, deliberate. It felt like he was marking me somehow, leaving behind a piece of himself, imprinting every ounce of his care into my skin.

His tenderness was supposed to calm me, but instead, it unlocked a flood of nervous words that spilled out of me in the least sexy way imaginable.

“Sorry I didn’t wax,” I blurted, my voice shaky and rushed. “I haven’t had a chance—”

Anthony stilled for a moment, then looked up at me with a smirk so calm, so assured, it made my cheeks burn.

“Angel,” he rumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a wicked grin. “A little hair’s not gonna stop me. I’d braid it, twist it, lay it down with edge control if I had to—either way, I’m eating.”

What?

I let out a nervous laugh, but my brain was short-circuiting, words tumbling out before I could think to stop them.

“I’ve only ever made myself…” I started, my voice catching slightly. I hesitated, my heart pounding, but then I forced myself to say it. “I’ve only ever been with—”

“Shhh.” Anthony’s voice was a soft interruption, but it silenced me instantly.

He pressed another kiss to my stomach, then one to my hip, the warmth of his lips settling something inside me I hadn’t realized was spinning out of control. Slowly, deliberately, he moved up, his broad frame hovering over me again. His hands slid to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing gently across my cheeks, grounding me in a way nothing else could.

“It’s me and you now,” he said, his tone steady, deliberate, like he was building a foundation with his words. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like he was looking straight through me, seeing every messy, insecure part of me and accepting it anyway.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he continued, his voice soft but resolute. “What you’ve been through, what you’ve felt—or haven’t felt—before. None of that changes how I see you. None of it changes what I want.”

My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, my body trembling under the weight of his words.

“I’ll make you feel this good—or better—every time you want,” he promised, his voice low and full of quiet conviction. His fingers tilted my chin up, his dark, unflinching gaze holding mine like a tether, like he needed me to understand what he was saying. “I want to take care of you, Angel. I want to love you, please you. If you’ll let me.”

My breath caught, the weight of his words settling into my chest like a steady, grounding pressure. No one had ever spoken to me like this before—not with this much care, this much devotion.

He smiled softly, his thumb brushing against the corner of my lip. “You deserve to feel good. To feel loved. And I’m going to make sure you do. You don’t ever have to worry about being enough, because you already are. You always have been.”

A tear slid down my cheek, but Anthony didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, brushing it away with his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world, then kissed me again—soft, unhurried, like we had forever.

When he pulled back, his forehead hovered inches from mine, his hand still cradling my face. His eyes roamed over me, slow and careful, taking in every trembling inch of me in his oversized T-shirt. The way he looked at me wasn’t rushed or lustful—it was deeper, something that made my chest ache in the best way.

“And when you’re ready to make love to me, Angel…” he said, his voice low and warm, each word carefully chosen. He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, his eyes locking on mine. His gaze was steady, his lips curved into a small, almost reverent smile. “It’ll be love. Not just something we do. Not just a moment. It’ll mean something.”

He reached down, his fingers lightly grazing the hem of the T-shirt I wore, his touch gentle and tentative.

“And it doesn’t have to be tonight. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. It’ll happen when you’re ready,” he said, his eyes softening even more, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

Tears filled my eyes, but this time, they weren’t born from fear or insecurity. They came from the overwhelming tenderness of this moment—the way he made me feel seen, valued, safe. It was a kind of care I hadn’t known in so long, if ever. And, if I was honest, they came from how badly I wanted him. How much I wanted to ask him to make love to me.

But the words stayed trapped in my throat.

“Anthony,” I whispered eventually, my voice trembling as I reached up to touch his face. My fingers brushed his jawline, tracing the curve of it before settling on the warmth of his cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiled at that, leaning into my touch as his hand came to rest on top of mine. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “This is what it’s supposed to feel like, Angel. It’s supposed to feel good. Safe.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in, and I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

He leaned in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, then my temple, and finally my lips.

“We’ll take this at your pace,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look at me. His fingers threaded through my hair, the motion slow and soothing, like he could quiet every restless thought with just his touch. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me.”

I just stared at him, my chest tight with everything I didn’t know how to say.

Anthony’s hand moved gently to rest over my chest, right where my heart was racing, wild and unsteady beneath his touch. His thumb brushed softly against my skin, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough, but so tender.

“Angel,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the air from my lungs. “I feel this.” His hand pressed just a little firmer, like he was grounding both of us in the moment. “Right here. I feel you. And I don’t want to feel it alone. I don’t want this to just be me.”

His forehead dropped to mine, his breath warm against my face, and when he spoke again, his words were almost a whisper, but they carried the weight of something heavy, something real.

“You and me… that’s all I want. I don’t care how long it takes for you to feel ready for more physically. I’ll wait as long as you need, Angel. But I need to know—right now, today—is your heart with me? Can I make you mine?”

Yes.
I want you.
I need you.
I never want to go back to life without you.
Please don’t ever leave me.

The words surged in my chest, desperate to break free, but they caught in my throat, tangled with the weight of everything he’d just given me.

I opened my mouth to respond, to say something—anything—to match the raw, unguarded truth in his voice. My lips parted, the words forming like a fragile thread pulling tight between us.

But before I could find my voice, the sudden buzz of my phone shattered the moment.

The ringtone vibrated violently against the nightstand, its sharp, intrusive sound cutting through the quiet intimacy of the room like a blade.

My breath hitched, my head snapping toward the sound as my chest tightened.

Anthony froze, his hand still resting over my heart, his gaze flicking to the phone. I felt his focus shift, his attention sharpening in an instant. The warmth of his touch steadied me, but the question in his eyes was clear.

The ringtone wasn’t just familiar.

It was the ringtone.

The hospital.

The world tilted, my stomach lurching as dread clawed its way into my chest.

Anthony’s expression changed instantly, the vulnerability in his features replaced by a quiet, unshakable alertness. His hand stayed on my chest, grounding me, his voice calm but edged with concern.

“Angel…” he said softly, his tone careful, his eyes never leaving mine.

I didn’t need to explain. He already knew.

I grabbed the phone with trembling fingers, my heart thundering in my chest as I answered. “Hello?”

“Miss Moore, I need you at the hospital right away,” a calm but urgent voice said on the other end.

My stomach dropped. “What happened? Is it DJ? Is he—”

“Yes, it’s Derek,” the voice interrupted, professional but not unkind. “We’ve had a change in his condition. I can explain more when you get here, but we need you to come as soon as possible.”

to be continued…

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