*****

Giles decided that going away to England was a good idea. Leaving the children behind in the house alone seemed like an even better idea. It wasn’t like Buffy could get any more pregnant. He didn’t trust Angel to keep his hands off of Buffy while he was gone, but he knew he would keep her safe and protected if they were alone in the house.

He flew out early Wednesday morning and although he knew the jet lag from such a short trip would be considerable, he was excited about getting away. He needed some time to think about the situation and mull over how he was going to share the news with his family that he was going to be a grandfather.

Angel had been waiting for Giles to leave the house before dawn on Wednesday morning. He listened for footsteps and for the door to open and close. He snuck up the stairs and watched his car pull out of the driveway. He waited for a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t coming back and then tiptoed up the stairs to Buffy’s room.

“Angel,” she murmured as he crawled in bed with her and spooned carefully around her body, making sure he didn’t bump any of his damaged ribs. “Is he gone?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he murmured. “It’s just us now.”

“You need to be sleeping,” she said drowsily.

He sighed, cuddling closer as one hand slid under her nightshirt to cup a breast. He nuzzled against the nape of her neck. “M go’in back ta sleep,” he murmured.

***

It was late morning when Buffy finally woke. She couldn't help but smile, nestled beneath the covers, all snug and warm with Angel. She sighed in contentment. But eventually contentment gave way to discomfort and she was forced to leave the bed to go to the bathroom. Buffy really hadn't given a whole lot of thought to being pregnant, at this phase it just didn't seem real. But little by little, junior was starting to make himself known. For example, Buffy had suddenly developed hamster bladder. Also, her breasts were so sore that it was a distraction. Thankfully she didn't have any morning sickness - yet. She'd read it could start with little or no warning. She really wasn't looking forward to that.

She was standing in the bathroom, looking at her still washboard flat tummy when Angel walked in, carefully wrapping her in his arms. He smiled at her in the mirror. "I think you have a while yet before you start showing," he offered, kissing her neck.

"Ha!" she countered with a snort. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who had trouble getting into the new Ralph Lauren pencil skirt yesterday morning. Angel," she whined, "I'm getting huge."

He looked at her in the mirror incredulously. He pulled her night shirt up again, studying her reflection in the mirror. "Obviously, you've gone insane," he said.

Buffy huffed, but turned around, leaning back against the vanity as she looked at him. "All right," she said, "strip."

Angel rolled his eyes, but very carefully removed his shirt.

Buffy winced. And paled. Good lord, he looked awful. Her fingers hovered over his bruises, but she dared not actually touch him. His ribs were a disgusting array of colors, green, black, yellow, purple.

“It’s worse than it looks,” he said, in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s really not that bad.”

“You’re all broken,” she complained. “I hope creepy guy kicked his ass.”

Angel grunted in agreement. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“No, go ahead,” she answered. Smiling wickedly, she pulled his sweat pants down around his ankles and helped him out of them. He was fairly disappointed, however, when she nudged him toward the shower without so much as a kiss or caress. She obviously hadn’t played the same game of doctor and nurse that he was familiar with as a young adult.

He turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature and then stepped in, but as he was scrubbing shampoo into his hair, he was shocked to feel her slip in behind him. She reached up and massaged his scalp, slipping her fingers through his before guiding him under the spray.

“I think I was right before about you needing a nurse,” she whispered. She lowered herself to her knees before him and caressed his already hardening shaft. “This looks like it needs some attention,” she murmured and he groaned in agreement. He leaned against the wall and winced when he thrust his hips out too sharply into her hands.

She teased him mercilessly, laving long, languid licks along the underside of his shaft, before covering every inch with hot, openmouthed kisses. Angel was seconds from begging before she took her into her mouth, suckling just the tip. She moved shallowly at first and achingly slow, until he was making little whimpering sounds that caused her belly to clench in desire.

Without even planning it, she found herself engulfing more and more of him until she was almost taking all of him in. She caressed him with her hand as she pleased him, squeezing the base, stroking him and cupping his balls.

“Buffy,” he hissed in pleasure. “Oh gods, that’s good.”

She pulled back. "Don't overtax yourself," she chided gently. Once again her mouth covered him, bobbing on his hard flesh. His hand played along her face, gently caressing her, urging her to continue. She didn't need a whole lot of coaxing, taking more and more of him on each pass. She could feel the muscles in his thighs tensing even more, hear his breathing becoming more erratic. She was more than prepared when his back finally arched and he spilled into her waiting mouth.

He slumped against the shower wall and Buffy played dutiful nursemaid, soaping up a washcloth and gently scrubbing as much of him as she could without causing him pain. She turned off the water as it started to turn cool and bade him wait while she retrieved towels. She attended him faithfully, drying him off before wrapping a towel around her head and then drying her own body.

It was a testament to Angel's exhaustion that he did nothing more taxing than watch her as she towel dried her hair, combed out her long locks and slathered every inch of that delectable skin with moisturizer. When she took his hand, he docily followed her back to the bedroom where they both shed their towels and once again climbed between the sheets. With their naked flesh pressed together, they both drifted back to sleep.

***

Angel and Buffy slept for the half the day cuddled in each other’s arms as if they had been saving up their REM cycles for each other. Buffy enjoyed taking care of Angel while he was sick and he enjoyed it twice as much as she. He was sure he could spend all day watching her and began wondering what she was going to look like when her lithe body was heavy with his child.

On Thanksgiving morning, he woke up fairly early to find himself alone. He yawned and rose slowly from the bed, anxious to find out where his lover had run off. Shrugging on a worn pair of jeans that Buffy had left sitting on a chair in the corner of her bedroom, he shuffled toward the door. As he passed her dresser, he saw the Claddaugh sitting there.

He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. In all the excitement, he had nearly forgotten he hadn’t yet given it to her. She had polished the tarnish from the old silver until it gleamed brightly. He was touched that she knew it was for her and yet had not put it on her finger. Smiling, he slipped it in his pocket and made his way downstairs.

Buffy was humming along with the radio in the kitchen surrounded by all sorts of food that had yet to be prepared. He leaned against the doorway and watched her bop around the kitchen in a baby t-shirt that showed off her still flat tummy and a pair of shorts that looked a bit snug. Her blonde hair was in a high ponytail that swung around with her movements. She had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She whirled around to open the refrigerator and caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Startled, she jumped and pressed a hand to her chest.

“Angel,” she gasped, “you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he said, smiling, moving toward her for a kiss. “Morning beautiful.”

“Morning,” she whispered against his lips.

“What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing toward all the food. He was amused that his pampered princess was apparently attempting to cook a meal.

“Thanksgiving dinner,” she announced proudly. “I invited Oz and Willow over. They’re bringing rolls and pies. I found one of my Mom’s old cookbooks.” She held up the tattered thing for him to see and then flipped through it, biting her lip. “I think I can do it,” she said with uncertainty. “I mean I’ve seen it done before.”

“I’m sure you can,” he answered, chuckling. “If not, we’ll have rolls and pies.”

***

Buffy wasn't what you could call a slacker. When she put her mind to something, nothing could stop her. But Angel knew there was more to this than her natural impulse to excel. This looked like some strange manifestation of a nesting instinct. It stood to reason, he supposed, that the fact that she was pregnant would start weighing on her conscience, especially since her own mother had died when she was so young. Buffy hadn't had the year upon year of mimicking her mother's every move that most girls had. Joyce died when Buffy was eight, leaving her in the care of her devoted, loving father, but largely high and dry in terms of female guidance.

Considering everything, Buffy had done exceptionally well compensating for a lack of feminine direction. It also explained, to a large extent, why she had taken fashion and appearance so seriously. Buffy had been flying blind. She had been so terrified of someone figuring out that she didn't have a clue what she was doing, that she took it in the other extreme. No one was ever going to look at her and think her mother had failed her.

But the downside to these events was that Buffy hadn't had the years of idolizing her mother followed by years of doing everything she could to avoid becoming her mother. She hadn't had a chance to internalize all of Joyce's mannerisms and then throw them to the wind in favor of her own path. In short, to Buffy, Joyce was still a goddess in whose shadow she would forever linger. Joyce's memory was a holy thing, a perfect thing that could never be tarnished in Buffy's mind.

Which was why Buffy was about to have a nervous breakdown over something so trivial as making Thanksgiving Dinner for three of her peers whose own culinary skills were limited to Kraft Microwaveable Easy Mac, frozen pizza and the fine line of Hostess prepackaged desserts.

She read over the recipes carefully before preparing each item, reading over the cookbook with meticulous care. The ingredients were set before her carefully and each step memorized before vigilantly preparing the dish. She was determined for this first meal to be the best she ever prepared.

***

“Well, wow,” Willow said, stepping into the kitchen with something akin to awe on her face. “I kinda thought you couldn’t cook. I mean you just don’t seem…the type.”

“I wasn’t,” Buffy said, scooting a water glass slightly to the left. She stepped back and peered at the table once more before looking up at Willow and smiling brightly. “Now I am.”

After Willow and Buffy set everything on the table in a festive display, Buffy wandered into the living room to retrieve Angel and Oz who were upholding their part of the Thanksgiving tradition by having beers and watching football. She startled when she noticed the newcomer.

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow said, “this is Xander.”

Buffy turned to look at her friend whose cheeks were flaming in embarrassment. Buffy quickly read the situation. Clearly, Xander had nowhere else to go. Buffy remembered Willow mentioning him before, they were best friends, but Buffy thought he lived in Oxnard. She put on her best hostess smile. “No problem, just let me set another place at the table. Nice to meet you, Xander.”

He smiled a small, self-conscious smile. “Likewise,” he replied.

Once Buffy and Willow were alone in the kitchen, Willow started chattering. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I didn’t realize Xander had shown up. He was supposed to call me if he was going to be able to make it.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy assured her. “The more the merrier. Besides, you know, sort of the spirit of the holiday. Refugees on a foreign shore and all.”

“And let’s not forget the senseless decimation of the indigenous population,” Willow added automatically.

Buffy rolled her eyes, she wasn’t having this argument again. “What happened?”

Willow turned, making sure that Xander wasn’t lurking within earshot. “His parents kicked him out,” she said. “He’s been staying with his Uncle Rory, but it’s ... bad. I think he maybe staying with Oz for a while.”

“It’s fine, Willow,” Buffy assured her again. “Any friend of yours I’m sure will be a friend of mine. And there’s tons of food. It’s all good.”

Willow set an extra place at the table as Buffy filled the serving dishes. She took a moment to reflect. Even six months ago, Xander’s arrival would have been a huge imposition. Buffy might have even shown him the door. But now? Knowing how similar his situation was to Angel’s gave Buffy unending sympathy for Xander. There was no way she could turn him away.

Ten minutes later, they were all seated around the beautiful table. Angel held Buffy’s hand. “It looks great,” he said with genuine awe.

“Yeah,” Xander added. “This is so much nicer than what my family usually throws together ... or at each other.”

***

Hours later, after the food had been decimated, everything from the olives to the pumpkin pie, they were all collapsed in the living room. Buffy hated football, but she loved cuddling with Angel. And there was something so lovely about spending a holiday with him as a family that just seemed so right. She snuggled in and after a few minutes of snuggling and thinking about how wonderful the holiday had become, she was fast asleep.

Angel smiled down at her as she snuggled in and murmured sweetly in her sleep. While they finished watching the football game and cleaned up the dishes, she slept fitfully, worn out from rising at dawn and fretting over every single detail. He didn’t wake her up when everyone finally left. He shifted their positions on the couch, wrapped himself around her and went to sleep.

On Friday morning, Angel woke up in Buffy’s bed to the sound to violent retching. He flung himself out of bed and clenched his jaw in agony as his ribs protested to the movement. Ignoring the pain as much as he could, he ran to the bathroom and found Buffy throwing up. He grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet, tossed it in the sink and gathered her hair back from her face. He crouched behind her and rubbed her back soothingly. When she was finished, he rinsed the washrag out with cold water and wiped her face. He helped her to her feet and was stunned when she wrapped her arms around him and started to sob.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, running his hand over her bed tousled hair. “It’s just morning sickness. You’re okay.”

“I-I k-know,” she cried, hitching breaths and holding him more tightly. “It’s just that n-no one’s ever done that for me before.”

“Done what for you?” he asked, tried to slide her back a little before she broke another of his ribs. When she wouldn’t move, he gave up and rubbed her back again.

“Held my h-hair when I was sick,” she explained pitifully. She sniffled. “That was so sweet.”

He smiled down at her sappily. If it was this easy to please her, he’d be happy to do nothing with his life except wait on her hand and foot. Abruptly as the crying began, it stopped and Buffy pulled away, eyeing the shower. She smiled up at him. “Join me.”

Like it was even a question.

Thirty minutes in the shower and a blow job later and Buffy shooed Angel back to the bedroom. He popped another pain pill and was half asleep by the time she finally re-entered the bedroom. Staring at her groggily, he noticed that she wasn’t dressed, or rather, undressed, for crawling back into bed with him.

“Buffy?” he asked, taking in her designer outfit and flawless makeup. If he hadn’t seen it himself, he would never guess she had been violently ill less than an hour earlier. She looked stunning.

She looked down at him, thrown by his apparent confusion. “You need to rest,” she said seriously, threading her silver hoops through her pierced ears. “There’s leftovers downstairs and I’ll be home before nine.”

“Nine p.m.?” he demanded, attempting to push himself up in bed until the shooting pain convinced him to lie still.

“Angel,” she said patiently, “it’s the day after Thanksgiving.”

He shook his head, staring at her, clearly unable to follow her logic train.

“It’s the biggest shopping day of the year,” she explained, somewhat irritated that he didn’t know something that was so clearly part of the human genetic memory.

He couldn’t help it, he laughed. Oh, how he loved his Buffy. No matter how much she changed, she always stayed the same.

***

Angel cocked an eyebrow when he saw it was Oz knocking, but he stepped aside and allowed him to enter. Wordlessly, they both went into the kitchen and made heaping turkey sandwiches. They were at half time of the UC Bolder and Nebraska football game before Angel finally spoke.

“I thought you’d be hanging out with Willow.”

Oz cocked an eyebrow. “Shopping.”

Angel frowned. “Willow doesn’t really strike me as the marathon shopping type.”

“Not thinkin’ she had much of a choice,” he said blandly.

“Well, that’s my girl,” Angel explained, holding in a grin.

Oz turned back toward the game, took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “She’s good for Will,” he said, towards the end of halftime.

Angel grunted his agreement.

***

“Buffy,” Willow hissed, turning as red as the negligee she was holding. “I can’t, um, this is just too ... “

“Too?” Buffy prompted, grinning unrepentantly.

“It’s just too too,” Willow said triumphantly. “I’m just not a too kind of girl. I’m more of an oh or maybe a huh. Definitely not a too.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, reaching behind her back to undo the clasp on her bra so she could try on the sexy black silk nightgown. It was gorgeous. And it was on sale. Two great tastes that taste great together. “Well,” Buffy said absently, smoothing down the silk as she checked her butt in the mirror. There would be no point buying it if it made her butt look big. “You know the guys are hoping to tour a little next year.”

“Yeah,” Willow said cautiously.

“Devon was talking the other day about splitting the bill with Shy so they could save on costs. Which, I guess would mean that the skanky Veruca chick would be with Oz every day for what? A month?”

Willow’s resolve face slid into place. She had no doubt that Oz was faithful to her, but it wasn’t for lack of Veruca trying to steal him away. “So, you don’t think the red will clash with my hair, do you?” she asked, pulling her shirt over her head.

***

Buffy and Willow strolled inside the house looking like they just stepped off the cover of Cosmopolitan. Normally, the day after Thanksgiving was ear marked solely for sales and shopping, but since Willow was being initiated into the world of high fashion, she had to be initiated correctly. It wasn’t something a girl should do halfway.

Willow was dazed by what the day held. She also was proud at her ability to join Buffy in the world of the cool, yet still retain her own sense of self. Her clothes were funky and hip, her new lingerie was going to send Oz into a series of expressions but the biggest deal was her new hair. After debating with Buffy and the hair stylist for over an hour on what would be her perfect new look, she went with a choppy cut that made Veruca’s razor job look like an accident in the bathroom.

When they stepped into the house loaded down with bags, they left them by the door and strolled into the living room to check on the guys. Buffy tried not to shudder when she saw that the room was nothing but plates and beer cans and empty bags of popcorn. Instead, she and Willow waited for the guys to look up from their movie. She watched Oz’s face as he glanced up from the flickering screen and raked slowly over his girlfriend’s body in one of her new outfits and then her new chic hair.

“Do you like?” she asked, spinning for him. She was so cute when she beamed at Oz like that. Buffy just wanted to hug her.

“Uh huh,” he answered, rising from his chair immediately. “Angel. Gotta jam.”

“Oooh,” Willow squealed and then whispered to Buffy. “He really likes it. And did you see how he looked at me?”

“Mucho expression,” Buffy nodded.

“Uh huh,” she added excitedly. Willow’s glow was contagious. Even if Buffy hadn’t already been smiling, she would be grinning from ear to ear over the happiness on her friend’s face. It was so refreshing to be shopping with someone who didn’t pretend they knew every single item on the racks. Cordelia was great sticking her nose up at even the top designers. Willow, on the other hand, didn’t even know the ten sacred rules of shopping and it didn’t seem to matter.

When she closed the door, Buffy went back to the living room to find Angel cleaning up his and Oz’s mess. She excitedly told him all about their day as if he cared that she got Versace on sale or not. What was exciting to him was how happy she was, how a day in a bunch of stores with Willow following her around was so much fun.

But Buffy's happiness did give him more than a moment of personal shame. He knew from her recounting how many items she had purchased, despite the fact that she had found them on sale, she had no doubt spent a great deal of money. Her father's money. Giles was already letting him live in the house, providing him with food and shelter, not to mention the myriad other items now sitting in the basement. Angel was supposed to be proving he could provide for Buffy and their child, yet all he could think was that he never would be able to foot the bill for one of Buffy's shopping sprees.

Buffy tried to take the dishes from his hands, but he shooed her away. Cleaning up the mess he'd made was the very least he could do. However, his need to be self-sufficient came out more like a brush off. As Buffy's bottom lip began to stick out in a pout, Angel relented, letting her carry a glass.

They walked into the kitchen together and began silently doing the dishes. Angel rinsed the dishes and Buffy loaded them into the dishwasher. They were finished before she finally found the courage to ask, "Are you mad at me?"

He pursed his lips together, ashamed that he'd given her that impression. "Of course not," he said quickly, "it's just … "

"Just?"

He took a deep breath, looking at her. "Today just reminded me that there's no way I could afford to keep you in the style to which you're accustomed," he admitted quietly.

Buffy frowned. She hadn't even stopped to think about what Angel's reaction might be. Of course he would look at it from that perspective. How could he not? He was one of the most conscientious souls she had ever met. It shamed her deeply. Why hadn't she considered Angel's reaction?

But the truth was, this was an annual ritual. She hadn't given any thought to it. She'd just taken Daddy's credit card like she did every year and went shopping. Angel was right, if they were going to build a life together, things were going to have to change, but how and when and where remained to be seen. "I guess there's a lot of things I haven't really considered," she said.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said. "I don't want you to ever have to deny yourself anything because of me. I don't want you to pull you down."

She looked up at him, practically gaping. "You're kidding, right?" she asked incredulously. "Angel, being with you is never compromising. You … The way you make me feel. No one has ever made me feel half as special as you do. No one ever could. I love you. Being with you could never drag me down."

He couldn’t help but smile. Gods help him, but he needed to hear those words from her.

"But you're right," she continued. "If we're going to have some kind of life together, there's a lot we need to figure out. I mean, in theory I'm all for it, but I have to admit we haven't exactly discussed the specifics." She smiled up at him and quickly amended. "Not that they're deal breakers. I love you, Angel. I want to be with you no matter what. Nothing could ever change that."

He pulled her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. Reaching into his pocket, he wrapped his fingers around the Claddagh. "You're right," he said in a near whisper. "There are some things we need to discuss."

***

Buffy squealed in delight as she held onto Angel. He took the bike slowly around turns to keep from hurting his already damaged ribs and Buffy was careful to hang on to his hips instead of wrapping her arms around him. The night was clear and warm and neither spoke, sensing the reverence of the occasion.

Finally, they reached the outskirts of town and he pulled his bike on the shoulder of the road near a patch of woods. Silently, he led Buffy between the trees until they reached the end of a cliff that cut off sharply. Down below she heard a river or stream, but she could barely make it out in the darkness.

“When I was younger, I would run away from the house,” he said quietly, holding her hand. “All I wanted to do was escape my father, his alcohol and his women. Once I ran for so long I ended up here. I came back here a bunch of times. I used to pretend that she never died, you know? That we never left LA.”

He was silent for a while, listening to the soft rush of the water moving below them. Buffy tipped her head back and stared at the million stars in a hushed awe. It was a beautiful place. Peaceful.

Angel lowered to one knee before her and took her hand. He kissed her fingertips lightly, brushing them across his lips.

“I know there’s a right way to do this and this probably isn’t it,” Angel said, looking into her eyes in the dark. “I know you deserve so much more than I could ever give you but I can’t imagine my life without you anymore and I don’t want to. You are the most important person in my life and I love you more than I ever thought possible. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy. Buffy Anne Giles, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He held his breath as he waited for her answer. He had his mother’s Claddaugh gripped between his fingers, poised to put on her finger or crush in his palm.

“Yes,” she whispered softly. “I’ll marry you, Angel.”

He released a harsh, relieved breath and his hand shook as he slipped the ring on her finger. “This is a Claddaugh ring,” he forced out. “It’s an Irish wedding band. The crown stands for loyalty, the hands stand for friendship and the heart stands for love. Wear it with the heart pointing toward you,” he said, tracing the top of the ring. “It means you belong to someone…like this.”

He held up his hand and showed her that he too had a matching ring. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him and kissed the ring on his finger before kissing his lips, gently wrapping her arms around him.

“I love you so much, Angel,” she whispered. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks and her voice was trembling as she spoke. “I wanna spend the rest of my life making you happy too.”

***

It was very late when they finally made it home again. Angel imagined he could almost taste the approaching dawn even though the sky had yet to lighten. They had spent hours staring up at the night sky, holding each other, talking. They both discussed their desires to be good parents and their total lack of knowledge of how to accomplish such a feat. Buffy voiced her terror about never being able to live up to her mother's memory, Angel voiced his terror about repeating his own father's mistakes. But mostly, they just loved each other, telling private thoughts they had never before shared with another human being.

Angel felt like a new man as he stepped into the house. He had real hope for a future with Buffy. He still knew he'd never be good enough for her, but she wanted him and he wanted her. Together, they could make a life.

He was quiet, letting her lead him up to her bedroom. Angel should have felt guilty about it, but he didn't. Giles wasn't an idiot. He had to know there was no way Angel would be sleeping in the basement alone while his future father-in-law wasn't even on the continent.

But when Buffy slowly helped him undress and pushed him back in the pillows, he started hedging. "Buffy, trust me, I want to," he said, "but I just can't physically."

She smiled, looking down at his already rigid flesh. "Oh, I beg to differ," she said saucily.

He mock growled at her. "I didn't mean that part was unable," he said pointedly.

"Is this a guy thing?" she asked, pulling her shirt over her head and quickly shedding her bra. Angel watched, entranced as she skimmed her yoga pants down her legs and then stepped out of her panties as well. She crawled over him, straddling his hips.

She bit down on her lip and gently grasped his cock in her hand, stroking him from root to head. He groaned, his head flopping back in the pillows. "You don't always have to be in charge, you know," she whispered throatily. "You need your rest, Angel. You just lie there and let me worry about things."

He couldn’t even speak, he just nodded frantically. She smiled down at him and positioned his cock at her luscious opening, sliding him into her with an aching slowness that had him hissing with pleasure. Angel felt like he was going to pass out from the sensation of being inside her again. He ran his hands over her curves, cupping her breasts finally and flicking his thumbs over her nipples. She arched her back and began a tantalizing rise and fall that was so slow he felt his thoughts unraveling. He wanted to pull her hips down hard over him and thrust up harder even though the act would probably injure him further.

“Aaannngel,” she whimpered as he pulled her down harder over him and resisted the urge to rut like a wild animal. Her inner muscles tightened around him as she moved over him. Her back arched gracefully and she slightly pivoted her hips, taking all of his rigid sex inside of her.

Her long blonde locks hung, stroking her back in silky waves. Angel wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it. He urged her down over him until each stroke scraped her nipples against his chest. He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her desperately, sucking and biting at her lips.

“Harder, baby,” he groaned, moving up against her. It hurt as much as it felt fantastic, but he was beyond caring. He needed to be one with her, completely inside her. It had been too long since he felt her silken channel with his own flesh and the decadent pleasure was stunning.

At his cue, she ground their bodies together only slightly harder, keeping them almost joined until they were both panting for release. Beads of sweat broke out on Angel’s forehead as he struggled to keep with the torturous slow grind. He was nearing the edge of his control and he wanted to weep with relief when he felt the contractions of her sheath around his cock. She whimpered, climaxing around him and he let himself go, fading into oblivion with her.

***