Angels Fall by J.A. Huss & Johnathan McClain
Series: Original Sin #2
Publication date: March 27th, 2018
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
Sometimes angels fall.
Maddie doesn't really owe drug lord, Carlos Castillo, money. So she hadn't taken his threats seriously. Until now. He wants it, whether she owes it or not. And if she doesn't have it in six weeks he's gonna take her as payment instead.
Tyler would save the world if he could. That's a fight that lasts forever. And if there's one thing he's good at, it's fighting. So if Maddie thinks she's gonna deal with an insane drug lord on her own, she's crazier than he is.
She's got a debt she can't pay. He's got more money than he needs.
She's not gonna fall for his charm. He's gonna make sure that happens.
They're destined to be together. Even if Maddie doesn't know it yet.
Sometimes your soul mate isn't who you'd choose, it's who you need.
Good thing you don't get to choose.
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Trailer
Excerpt
TYLER
Shit. I have so much I want to say and to ask her. I want to know what the hell is going on with this Carlos asshole exactly. I want to explain that I have been trying to stay away and that I'm only here now because I want to make sure she's okay. Because I owe her. Because I love her. Because I loved her back when she was just a kid and Scotty's little sister and now I've fallen in love with the woman she is.
But her bare ass in my hands, tongue in my mouth, and thighs wrapped around my waist convince me that I can table that shit for a later date.
I walk her back to the trunk of the car and slam her down on it. She throws her legs open and that's when I notice two things:
One: Her devil costume has a little red devil tail hanging off the back of the panties and it's dangling down on the trunk of the car between her own thighs. Which is adorable and hot as shit at the same time. And...
Two: The panties themselves have a zipper on the crotch.
And I'm done.
And then I'm undone.
Two zippers go down in quick succession.
I slide her to the edge of the trunk where my cock is waiting to receive her. The morning sunshine creates an incredibly different atmosphere than we had the last time we were back here together. It's strange. The night we fucked back here we were secret, hidden, protected, glancing furtively to make sure no one saw us.
Now, today, we couldn't be more exposed, but neither one of us seems to notice or care. And I realize suddenly that the last time we fucked in this very alley, it was also after some drama created by Unlucky Logan. The difference is last time, I kind of stepped in and saved Scarlett, and this time Maddie sure as shit saved herself. And thinking about that again pushes hot, boiling blood into my dick and I thrust myself inside her with the same kind of reckless force that she defended herself with.
"More," she grunts out, tightening the grip of her calves around my hips and dragging me into her further.
The teeth of the zippers on both her panties and my jeans rub against the skin on my shaft as I pound in and out, and the scraping, lacerating feeling makes me harder, which causes me to want to fuck her just that much more fiercely. Because I deserve to be punished. I owe her that. I can take it. I've taken worse.
And then I pull out without warning.
"The fuck are you going?" she asks.
I bend down and when I stand back up, I'm holding the pitchfork. I hand it to her.
"Here," I say, pulling my t-shirt over my head. The look on her face lets me know that it's one thing to see the scars in the darkened seclusion of a strip club, or the black of an alley at night, or even my place or hers after the sun has taken its rest. It's an entirely other matter confronting them in the bright light of day.
I force the pitchfork into her hand as I slip my dick back inside her again.
"Use it," I say.
"Fuck are you talking about?" she says.
"Press it into me. My chest. While I'm inside you," I say as I begin pumping in and out again.
"I don't--" she starts. But I know what's right. What I want. What she needs.
"Just do it," I wheeze, as I fuck her sweet pussy. I just want to pleasure her. I want to make her feel good.
And I want her to punish me.
Now.
"Do it," I urge again.
Her eyes narrow and she gets (appropriately) a devilish grin. And then without another word, she rocks her hips back and forth with the thrusting of mine, while at the same time pressing the sharp prongs of the tool into the scarred flesh on my chest. I can feel it ripping and tearing, but I don't feel pain. Not in a conventional sense. Not even when she drags the edges down to my waist. I just know that she needs to hurt me, and this seems like a good start.
I watch her forearm tense. I can see her trying to stop herself from just fucking impaling me right here, which is what she wants to do. And if she does, she does. But as long as she doesn't, I'm going to keep sliding this big cock in and out of her until she comes.
Shit. I have so much I want to say and to ask her. I want to know what the hell is going on with this Carlos asshole exactly. I want to explain that I have been trying to stay away and that I'm only here now because I want to make sure she's okay. Because I owe her. Because I love her. Because I loved her back when she was just a kid and Scotty's little sister and now I've fallen in love with the woman she is.
But her bare ass in my hands, tongue in my mouth, and thighs wrapped around my waist convince me that I can table that shit for a later date.
I walk her back to the trunk of the car and slam her down on it. She throws her legs open and that's when I notice two things:
One: Her devil costume has a little red devil tail hanging off the back of the panties and it's dangling down on the trunk of the car between her own thighs. Which is adorable and hot as shit at the same time. And...
Two: The panties themselves have a zipper on the crotch.
And I'm done.
And then I'm undone.
Two zippers go down in quick succession.
I slide her to the edge of the trunk where my cock is waiting to receive her. The morning sunshine creates an incredibly different atmosphere than we had the last time we were back here together. It's strange. The night we fucked back here we were secret, hidden, protected, glancing furtively to make sure no one saw us.
Now, today, we couldn't be more exposed, but neither one of us seems to notice or care. And I realize suddenly that the last time we fucked in this very alley, it was also after some drama created by Unlucky Logan. The difference is last time, I kind of stepped in and saved Scarlett, and this time Maddie sure as shit saved herself. And thinking about that again pushes hot, boiling blood into my dick and I thrust myself inside her with the same kind of reckless force that she defended herself with.
"More," she grunts out, tightening the grip of her calves around my hips and dragging me into her further.
The teeth of the zippers on both her panties and my jeans rub against the skin on my shaft as I pound in and out, and the scraping, lacerating feeling makes me harder, which causes me to want to fuck her just that much more fiercely. Because I deserve to be punished. I owe her that. I can take it. I've taken worse.
And then I pull out without warning.
"The fuck are you going?" she asks.
I bend down and when I stand back up, I'm holding the pitchfork. I hand it to her.
"Here," I say, pulling my t-shirt over my head. The look on her face lets me know that it's one thing to see the scars in the darkened seclusion of a strip club, or the black of an alley at night, or even my place or hers after the sun has taken its rest. It's an entirely other matter confronting them in the bright light of day.
I force the pitchfork into her hand as I slip my dick back inside her again.
"Use it," I say.
"Fuck are you talking about?" she says.
"Press it into me. My chest. While I'm inside you," I say as I begin pumping in and out again.
"I don't--" she starts. But I know what's right. What I want. What she needs.
"Just do it," I wheeze, as I fuck her sweet pussy. I just want to pleasure her. I want to make her feel good.
And I want her to punish me.
Now.
"Do it," I urge again.
Her eyes narrow and she gets (appropriately) a devilish grin. And then without another word, she rocks her hips back and forth with the thrusting of mine, while at the same time pressing the sharp prongs of the tool into the scarred flesh on my chest. I can feel it ripping and tearing, but I don't feel pain. Not in a conventional sense. Not even when she drags the edges down to my waist. I just know that she needs to hurt me, and this seems like a good start.
I watch her forearm tense. I can see her trying to stop herself from just fucking impaling me right here, which is what she wants to do. And if she does, she does. But as long as she doesn't, I'm going to keep sliding this big cock in and out of her until she comes.
Rest of the Series
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Flesh into Fire by J.A. Huss & Johnathan McClain (Original Sin #3) -
Goodreads / Amazon / B&N / Kobo / iBooks / Audible
Passion Rising by J.A. Huss & Johnathan McClain (Original Sin #4) -
Goodreads / Amazon / B&N / Kobo / iBooks / Audible
About the Authors:
Two accomplished writers come together to create unforgettable sexy romance. J.A. Huss is the New York Times bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today bestsellers list eighteen times. Johnathan McClain is a veteran actor and writer whose work, either performed or written, is probably airing on at least one of the channels on your television right now. You can contact them on their website www.hussmcclain.com, their joint Facebook Group (https://www.facebook.com/groups/shrikebikes) or find them on their social links below.
J.A. Huss' Links
Johnathan McClain's Links
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