When she hesitated, Marc smiled. "Please."
Angela couldn't deny him or herself. The need to get close to him tonight was undeniable. When he stepped behind her, big body warm and hard, she snapped her eyes shut and held herself in place.
The feel of her curls running over his calloused hands was like silk, and Marc took his time, using his fingers to gather it, brushing her neck softly.
Angela heard the brush hitting the bed behind them, felt his big hands go to her shoulders, but instead of moving away, she allowed him to rub her. The heat from his touch was like heaven.
"That feels good," she moaned, and Marc breathed in deeply of it before moving back a bit, his body hardening.
Angela knew it was teasing him and surprised them both by letting him continue, even when his fingers brushed the curve of her breast, and sent little chills into her stomach. She forgot to listen to the voice of fear as his thumb brushed her again, the sensation rushing into her gut like a bullet. "Mmmmm…"
Marc's eyes snapped shut at that sound, liquid heat flooding his gut. He moved his hands away from her ribcage, sending them to her waist, her slender hips.
They had to stop now, Angela knew that, knew she'd probably hate herself later, but the feel of him was comforting, enticing… When he tugged gently, she leaned back against his hard, bare chest, wishing she had the nerve to give him what he so clearly wanted.
Marc controlled himself, didn't push against her ass like he wanted to. When she would have turned to get closer, he moved back, not willing to destroy the peace.
Angela stifled a protest at his retreat, her face flushed. She hadn't meant to lead him on, had done really well so far, but the need was on her, the Witch and the old Angela crying for release.
Marc realized her confusion. The killing had done it for her. It was something no one liked to admit, but he'd had some of the best orgasms - alone - right after a battle where blood was spilled. "You okay?"
Her eyes darted to the threadbare coverlet pulled across her lap. "Yeah, you?"
Marc noted the bars over the windows, arm still throbbing. "Sure. You got that rolled yet?"
Angela forced a grin as the temperature dropped lower in the dusty bedroom, blowing grit across the dark, hardwood floor. "It's in your pack."
Marc got it and fired it up, body tight. He tried to force his mind to other things as she pulled her sweater over her shoulders. Her long curls hung around her pale skin, the smell of her was assaulting his nose, and Marc frowned at himself as erotica flashed through his mind.