Chapter 6
The swift change in Angel's feelings was not lost on Joe Howard. From the moment he'd first laid eyes on the small, dark girl, he'd been turned on. Naturally, since the Easter weekend was, by tradition, a time during which the rules were toosed out the window, Joe entertained thoughts of getting into Angel's pants. That was what made the world go round. However, he could scarcely believe his good fortune when Angel obviously turned it on for him.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" she asked archly.
Joe grinned. She was a sight to gladden the dreams of any man and he wasn't even dreaming. He was wide awake. It was broad daylight on a nice Florida day. The bright sun from outside lit the room which was costing him much more then it was worth-at least more than it had been worth. Angel in it made it suddenly more valuable. She stood near the bed in one of his athletic tee-shirts. The garment was loose and flowing, but it was snugged around a set of spectacular breasts which made Joe's mouth water.
Joe was a basic man. He liked hamburgers and steak and biscuits and gravy, the common, down to earth solid things of life. He played tackle on one of the toughest footballs teams in the south, a real hard-nosed outfit. He liked his beer cold, his bourbon straight followed by a shot of water plain from the tap and he liked his women just about any way. He liked, especially, what he saw before him and he liked the inviting way she smiled at him.
"Obviously," Joe said, not wasting time in getting close to her, "you need someone to take care of you. You go around getting into trouble."
"Humm," Angel said. She didn't stop to think that she was throwing herself at this boy. She'd seen him just three times, twice for brief periods and now when he had helped her escape the crush of the mob in the town square and she was not the sort of girl who went around crawling into bed with just anyone. Before the previous night, she'd been rather selective in her sexual activity. She was not promiscuous. She had taken only three lovers in her lifetime, before the night at Fortier Beach when things began so nicely with Carl and ended in a blur of confusion. Carl, she knew, made four and now, within a space of a few hours, whee, she was going to make it five, but what the hell.
Something was happening to her and she didn't take time to analyze it. Things moved so swiftly. There seemed to be something about the sunlight, the air, the very atmosphere, the world, the feeling of her body which made her come to decisions without thinking them through. For example, the absolutely stunning swiftness of the passion which filled her. One minute she was scared, nervous, not fully recovered from the stress of being caught in the crowd in the town square. The next she was crawling with lust. That, she thought, is what is filling me. It's lust Passion? A pleasant word to be used in romantic situations. Passion can be anything from a whispered, "I love you" to a coming together in tenderness. Lust was what she felt. Good, hard, bone thingling lust which made her body tingle, made her blood rush. She stood, clad in a thin, white tee-shirt which showed the nipples on her taut breast and the dark bush of her woman-hair and she could feel herself reaching out. It was as if her darn body, of its own accord, were moving toward Joe.
There was a moment which seemed to be frozen in time when they stood near each other. Neither of them spoke. Joe was smiling at her, his eyes on her face. She having already surrendered to him in her mind, afire with that swift, all-consuming need, was waiting. He seemed to be content to look at her and anticipate. Or, perhaps, he was fearful that the golden moment was false, that the surrender he could read in her dark eyes was a false hope, built of his own desire.
At any rate, it was Angel who broke the silence.
"I can't think of anyone nicer to, uh, take care of me, Joe," she whispered. Then it began. Already her blood was thundering through her veins, but when he extended one hand, one big, manly hand and touched her arm softly she looked down at the point of impact quickly because there was an actual electrical exchange, a bristling of the tiny hairs on her arms as he touched her.
"Hey," he said, having felt it too. "Electric personality."
"Electric," she repeated, mesmerized by his lips. She kept her eyes on them, on his mouth, as he leaned toward her, not yet reaching for her. The first kiss was a mere touch. His lips were sun-dried, dry. They brushed hers and she let her mouth go lax so that the smallest of pressures from him put his dry lips into the sweet woman moisture of her mouth and she tasted him. Evidently he'd been swimming, for there was a small tinge of salt-sea taste about him. Since he didn't smoke there was no cigarette taste to disguise his man-mouth goodness as he pushed his lips closer, still making contact with her without demand, still with his hand on her arm.
"God, you're sweet," he said, his voice strong, low. "So small." He had to bend far down to kiss her.
"Ah, Joe," she said, lifting herself to tiptoe up into his arms as he gathered her in. She felt his strength, the hardness of his arms as they went around her and wrapped her up into a blanket of man. He could reach almost all the way around her. His hands, palms flat, fingers spread to touch as much of her as possible, folded themselves around the curve of her sides, below the beginnings of breast bulge. She felt herself being pulled off her feet, supported by his arms. His manhood struck her in the soft stomach as she was pressed against him and she was pressed against him and she felt the bulge of it, soft at first, then increasingly large and hard as the kiss went from lip touch to wet, reaching tongue play and spread lips and wide, sucking mouths. She began to tremble as he hardened against the softness of her stomach, as she felt the sheer massiveness of it. "Oh, Joe," she whispered, pulling her lips away for only a moment to plunge back into the kiss with her mouth wide, teeth bumping his as his tongue came out to do battle with her weaker one.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered to her.
He lifted her. She made a delightfully light, warm bundle in his arms. Her flesh was so wondrously soft. Joe Howard liked girls to the point of worship. He felt her warmth and couldn't believe it. She was too good. The sweet feel of body contact was so good as to be unbelievable, but, truly, she was there in his arms, legs long and bare as they thrust from his short tee-shirt, her knees bend as he supported her with one arm under her knees, one behind her back. She lifted her face for his kiss as he moved slowly toward the bed. He had made the bed when he got out of it that morning, so it was neatly spread up with the chenille bedspread in a Florida coral color which was somewhat faded by repeated washings.
He moved toward the bed, shuffling his feet. Her soft, girl's body pressed to his. She had her arms around his neck and was clinging. Her lips were ripe-apple-sweet under his mouth. He felt the edge of the bed strike his legs and paused, reluctant to release her even for a moment. He knelt on the bed, worked himself into the middle of it, lowered her, still folded in his big arms, and put his weight on her. She, like a soft flower, spread, letting his big body go between her legs. The shirt was inadequate. He heard it rip under the strain. He felt, through his clothing, the soft heat of her pussy the sweet saddle between her out-thrust legs, and pushed into it with his clothing-sheathed prick.
He could not get enough of her. He ran his tongue around her teeth, searching for the hidden areas of sweetness which lay far back in her mouth, up in the soft-hard area between her front teeth and her lips. She was gasping, straining against him, churning her hips to press that cloth-covered hardness into the sensitive area at the base of her pelvic mound. She was small, dainty in his arms. She was woman, sweet, eternal. She was woman of tremendous appeal and Joe felt his lungs churning to get enough air. He let his hands feel and appreciate her body. Although she was a small girl, she had wonderful breasts. They were hard-soft with a core of heat which burned at him through the thin tee-shirt. She made no objection as he lifted himself from her, stripped the tee-shirt up and exposed the sweet, brown tipped mounds. She was languid with need as he pulled the shirt roughly over her head, mussing her hair further. He pushed himself down to have a view of twin peaks with rosy-brown rings of just the right size. He closed his mouth over one unexpanded nipple and felt it go hard and grow as he bit it gently between his front teeth. Angel let a sensuous moan escape, a sound which fired him to a zeal which was rare, even in a man as passionate as Joe.
She was his. All of her was his and his to be claimed. He did so with his mouth and his lips. He let her burn for a moment as he withdrew just to look at her. Then, with a gusty sigh, he lowered himself and kissed her between the twin peaks of her breasts. She put her small hands on the back of his head and rolled his head back and forth as he mauled one taut nipple roughly with his tongue and teeth. He switched his attentions as she began to do a little hip dance of lust under him, grinding herself up into his hardness. Then, with a quickening heart, he lowered himself along her perfect body, letting his rough tongue drag, pursing his lips, sucking at her lovely, unblemished skin, kissing it, licking it as he went lower, lower. The indentation of her navel seemed, he thought, to be very sensitive. She moaned aloud with pleasure as he teased it. She was lying with her eyes closed, her lips parted. Her hair had fallen about both sides of her face to give her a wanton, mussed look. Her breasts showed a small area of white where sun had never reached and there was a marking around her hips as he looked at that very feminine part of her. Her bathing suit was outlined in darker, sun-browned skin. He kissed the white of her little pleasure belly. Her skin was surprisingly cool. Her legs were spread expectantly and her loins kept up that churning, heaving motion, pushing her hard pelvic roundness against his chest.
He knew that he was going to possess her utterly, completely, as completely as a man can possess a woman. But there was time. He raised himself to his knees and stripped away his shirt. Then, in a moment of complete abandonment, he pushed his muscular, male breast down between Angel's outspread legs, put the little male nipple at the center of the heat and moistness and pushed to feel her, hot, lubricated by the flow of passion.
With a gasp, she pushed down, lifting her wet pussy to press it softly, demandingly, against his bare chest. He could see her chest heaving. He reached up and pinched her distended nipples, hard. She writhed. Then he was ready. He knelt before her, primitive male worshiping at the altar of the fertility goddess, his fingers reaching out to be wetted by her lubricity as he pulled her tiny labia apart and looked at the soft-flesh, iris-like opening. Sweet, passion-oiled woman waited as he hesitated, not from misgivings, but from sheer anticipatory pleasure. Then he lowered his head to the attack, spreading his lips wide to take in all, all. His tongue went deep into her cunt, thrusting. His nose pressed hard into the upper reaches.