Angel Blood

11- Eyes like Bottled Sunshine

Sinclair

She must have taken out her contacts in the past two weeks. Her golden eyes meet mine, as brilliant as bottled sunshine.

I've seen plenty of angel blood eyes in my day. I've smiled while watching the life drain from them. But something is particularly breathtaking about hers.

Amber flips her hair out of her eyes, a satisfied grin curling over her lips as she sees who stands in the doorway. I have to grit my teeth to withstand the urge to push her off the bed at the sight.

I expect her eyes to fill with tears—to run away in a fit of sobs. Instead, she does something even worse: something that urges me to shove Amber's body away and bury myself deep inside of her.

Her eyes narrow, chin raising to shoot me a heated glare. If I hadn't kept her gun strapped to my side in the past two weeks, I'm sure she'd have it aimed at my head.

"You're an asshole," she says, looking me in the eyes even though Amber grinds her naked body against mine. She crosses her arms, a scowl flitting over her face. If not for the slight quiver in her fingers as she taps them against her bicep hinting at her unease, I'd be impressed with her idiotic sense of fearlessness. "You're torturing him."

Something cracks in my chest, my hands tightening over Amber's waist. The fact that she sought me out just for the sake of another man makes me want to push a third knife into his throat.

"I'm a little busy," I say, thrusting for good measure. Amber's breathy groan makes me grit my teeth. Any time she opens her mouth while I'm fucking her elicits a similar reaction, I've noticed. After all, she's not the one I want writhing underneath me.

Her gaze turns murderous. "Sinclair."

I raise a sardonic brow. "Angel."

"I'll do it then." I don't miss pink that dusts the top of her cheeks, so contrary to the ferocity that crosses her features as she spins on her heels.

Her absence draws attention to the presence I'm left behind with. I try and thrust back into her but the heat in my blood has cooled and the image of dark hair gripped around my fist fades with the reminder of my reality.

I grunt, shoving myself away from her lightly freckled body and searching for a pair of jeans I'd thrown somewhere on the floor. Not because I'm a sentimental fucker, contrary to the intrusive thoughts that keep festering in my head like a disease, but because my dick has gone soft now that I've come to terms with who wraps around it.

She rolls over to look at me, brows raised in confusion. "Sin?"

I turn away from her as I zip my pants up. "Get out."

"What?"

"Amber." I turn my eyes upon her, watching her brows furrow at the disinterest on my face. "Out."

"It's the whore, isn't it?" She looks at the door as if she can see through the wood, a furious look passing over her face.

My hand grabs her face, tugging it in line with mine so she looks into my eyes. Whatever she sees within them makes her blanch within my grasp. "Leave."

She grabs her little black dress from the floor, not bothering to put it on her body as she strides out the room naked, shoulders slumped with dejection.

My cock throbs as I glance at the rumpled sheets, a set of sunlight eyes flickering through my head. I run a hand through my hair, teeth gritting together as I push the image of her pale body sprawled over the dark blankets from my mind.

...

Oliver sits on the couch, hands wrapped in gauze as he stares at the puddle of blood on the bar that had leaked from his skin moments prior.

He glances at me, jaw ticking. "Couldn't stop her."

I grunt, rubbing a hand over my stubbled jaw. I'd planned to leave him there for the rest of the day, but a little dark haired creature had proven my efforts futile.

I couldn't stop myself after seeing her look so small and troubled. The fierce gleam in her eyes had dimmed, so dreary as compared to the steady flame usually flickering within them.
I sigh, stepping over to the bar and taking out a glass. "It's fine."

"Really, I'm sor—"

"Oliver." I reach across the pool of blood to grasp a bottle of rum, pouring myself a generous amount of the smooth golden liquid. "I said it's fine."

Except it isn't.

Since I'd touched her that night, I couldn't get the feeling of her skin off my fingertips, the ring of her small gasps from my ears.

I take a sip of rum, letting the alcohol burn in my throat. It's a nice distraction. I've needed many of them lately. Anything to get the thought of how her wicked little mouth would feel wrapped around my—

I stop myself before the thought finishes itself. She's a plague, burrowing herself in the recesses of my mind. I'm sure of it.

"Where'd she go?"

He shrugs. "Wandering. There's a reason I kept her locked up."

He quiets as I glare at him. My hands clench on their own accord, tempted to do worse things than pin him down to the bar with a set of knives.

I take a sip of rum, letting the heat in my throat calm my rising blood-lust. I'm a mean motherfucker, but I'm not crazy. And killing my man just for the sake of a prisoner would definitely be that.

Still, I can't help the words from tumbling out of my mouth. "Oliver."

He glances at me, shifting warily in his seat.

"You do anything like that again and I'll let her have the honor of putting a bullet in your head."

...

She's found the same dress I'd made her wear weeks ago. They'd left it cleanly folded on the top of the dresser, which I thought fine of before realizing that she'd ever wear it willingly again. It hugs the tight curves of her body, showing off the admirable slope of her hips and heart shape of her ass.

Suspicion makes my fingers tighten around my glass. "What are you doing?"

She barely glances at me as she brushes past my shoulder and heads into the bathroom. "You've kept me locked up for two weeks. I deserve a little freedom, don't you think?" Her fingers rake through her dark hair, scrunching it into thick waves.

I can't help myself as I step in behind her, fitting my hand over the curve of her hip. It would be so easy to flip up the skimpy material and take her against the sink. "Don't be greedy."

Her eyes find mine in the mirror, narrowing in the way that tells me that her tongue weighs with venom. "Don't touch me."

Despite her harsh words, she leans into my touch. I chuckle, setting my drink on the counter and fitting my palm on her other side. Her skin burns through the thin material, warming my blood in all the most dangerous ways. "In case you haven't noticed, you're not in the position to tell me what to do, little prisoner."

My hands smooth over the material as she turns in my arms, leaning forward so her body presses against mine. Despite the harsh curl to her lip, her little heart thumps furiously against my chest.

Her lips are soft and pink and look so perfect to take against mine. I nearly lean forward until she presses both palms against my stomach, pushing so hard I stumble back up a few steps.

Golden eyes score into mine as she brushes past me. "If I were really your prisoner, you wouldn't be trying to feel me up at every given chance. So stay out of my way, Black."