When she finished, her fingers pointing at the floor, her head thrown back, Angel could not speak. He rolled onto his stomach and clasped his hands around the back of his head, looking down. The s****l vision he had in his mind’s eye was intoxicating.
Flaccus smiled and snapped his fingers, attracting Monica’s attention, and then pointed to Angel’s couch. The movement was so sudden he was caught unawares.
“Take her for the night. She’s yours.”
She moved across the room, sitting—although, he noted, not reclining—beside him. He propped himself up on one elbow and handed her his cup. She curled both hands around it and drank, then handed it back, smiling at him. He reached out to touch her cheek; she was slippery with sweat. The casual way Flaccus had dispensed her made the hair on the bac
