We Are Not Angels: An Apocalyptic Angel Romance (The Warrior Angels Book 1) by Nadine Little

Author:Nadine Little [Little, Nadine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Publishing
Published: 2022-12-15T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Several appropriate responses run through my head:

“Presumptuous, much?”

“You first.”

A good slap, though I’d probably miss.

“All of them?” I squeak instead.

Hunter’s presence fills the cupboard and makes it difficult to breathe. My palms start sweating.

This is madness. He can’t think I’ll just take off my clothes because he says so—

Why am I unzipping my jacket?!

The heavy material scrapes the wall and flops to my boots. It takes two shaky attempts to tug my hoodie and t-shirt off in a oner instead of unzipping one and pulling off the other and delaying what appears to be the inevitable. Chill air caresses exposed skin.

I must look ridiculous—cheap Marks & Spencer bra that’s been washed too many times, tangled hair frizzed by the rain. Wide eyes, dilated pupils. Mouth breathing.

I unbutton my jeans and slide the zip down, the sound unbearably loud in the dark. I chicken out from going further—my pink polka dot pants really don’t match the white bra—and reach for Hunter. My hands brush something solid. I pop one button on his shirt and spread the collar, warm muscle under my palms. Fingers manacle my wrists, pinning both hands and bending my arms to the side. My knuckles ring softly on the boiler. I swallow hard, the position twisting my shoulder but hiding my breasts at least.

“Hunter?” I say and my voice wobbles.

There’s a light touch on my cheek. I shut my eyes but there’s no difference between the darkness of my lids and the darkness of the cupboard. The touch loops over my forehead, down the other cheek and strokes my jaw. It traces my mouth. I kiss the exploring finger and the touch disappears. Hunter forces my hands high, above my head, pressing me to the wall.

Now that’s not fair.

The touch returns to my face, my jaw. A hand curls around my throat. My pulse thuds against the pressure.

He could kill me so easily, is that what he’s implying? We’re alone in the flat. I’m trapped in a cupboard with a dangerous creature. I should let him do what he wants.

The hand slides down to trace each collarbone and dip into the hollow between. My pulse jumps against his finger.

What is he doing? Is he enjoying it? Am I? Being manhandled by a horny, arrogant angel who thinks he can just do what he wants…

Why did I encourage him to do what he wants?

His hand draws a line between my breasts. Since I’ve not got much to shout about in the boob department, his finger barely grazes them and skips over the underwire of my bra.

Is he disappointed? Female angels have bodies as perfect as their faces and no lack of womanly curves. I’m a starving teenage boy compared to them.

A finger circles my bellybutton and I bite my lip. It’s as if the circling caress is lower, circling my most delicate part—

Oh, boy. I guess I am enjoying it.

His hand explores my ribs, breasts, stomach. He tugs me off the wall and follows the cleft of my spine until his fingers cradle the back of my head.

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