An Angel Amidst the Devil By J. Hallmark

From Rustle of the Sheets

Republisher’s Note: I would give a warning about the sex in this, but the Author’s Note says it all.

Author’s Note:

Summary: There is no plot. There is only sex.

Rating: So NC-17 it’s not even funny. Well, it’s not supposed to be.

Note: This is MY fantasy of Michelle and Danny meeting without the sting of Mick, the Mafia or anything but the connection (and attraction) between them. This is a short vignette, don’t expect a sequel, just take it as it is.


An Angel Amidst the Devil By J. Hallmark

Sweat lingered upon her bare arms like mercury sliding slowly through a red-hot thermometer. The fall of her honey blond curls was a shroud of heavy silk caressing the skin of her shoulders, the flesh of her back exposed above the low cut of her dress. Pulsing lights from the overhead strobe cast hues of the rainbow upon each golden curl, emeralds and violets dancing across the flushed heat whispering across her face, sunshine and sunburst kissing the ivory dress taut across her breasts, clinging to the curve of her waist, the flare of her dress, its hem twisting against her long, bare legs as she swayed slowly to the music. Her head fell back as the song hit a high note, her fingers gripping the front of the bar, her body finding the rhythm of the beat with little effort.

He took a step forward, his gaze locked upon her body, her honey curls, silently willing her to turn and look at him. She stiffened slightly, that luscious body going still before slowly, as if she swam underwater, the muscles in her back, in her neck moved beneath her creamy skin and she glanced over her shoulder.

Their eyes met. She had to look away – his were too intense, too hot, full of an unspoken need she felt an answer to growing inside of her. She had to look away from his eyes, but she could not tear her gaze from him.

His hair was thick, ebony curls looking devilishly soft to the touch. The changing colors of the overhead light caught shades and textures between the tendrils. Those same hues cast wildly upon the sheen of his leather jacket, ebony like his curls, inviting and silky soft like his eyes. One hand rested casually upon the back of a chair and his fingers were long, supple; his grip tightened, caressed, lay gentle lines upon the curving metal.

Her eyes rose to meet his again and still he was looking at her. Again, she had to look away. Heat and fire. Desire and need curled and beckoned in their smoky depths. Her lids grew heavy beneath the onslaught of his hunger, her tongue darted out, licking feverishly hot lips as her gaze fell upon his and his mouth curved into a sweet smile, a smile that transformed the dark wanting of his face. His smile created an angel amidst the devil. She looked into his eyes and found herself drawn a step closer. His lips curved even more and the sweetness lingered only in her memory – here was a smile of knowledge … he knew her, knew that she felt the same invisible pull that he did – here was a smile of sex.

Sex. Images unbidden flew through her mind of this man, his hands – those long, supple fingers – upon her body, those lips upon her flesh. A gasp escaped her at the primitive surge of heat that ran through her. She snapped her eyes close and turned away from him. The music, the people talking and laughing around her … all of it was so loud, beating into her. She felt alive; every pore of her being, every sense of herself opened to the sounds, the smells, the vibrations around her. The steps. The steps of him as he walked toward her. She could hear him. She could feel him. She could practically taste him.

Her eyes flew open, searching desperately for Jesse, for Bill, for Drew … for anyone she knew that would bring her back to herself. This wasn’t she. This wasn’t who she was. She didn’t think this way, feel this way,… want this way.

““Dance with me.”” His voice was soft and low, a husky rumble of desire caressing each syllable. She felt his breath, moist and hot upon her throat and the heat of his body burned into her as he moved closer, closer until only the whisper of space stood between them.

If her very life had depended on it, she could not have refused him.

Slowly she turned, her hips brushing against his groin and if he hadn’t already been captured and held by her eyes — liquid, dark, heaven — he would have closed his own in ecstasy at the feel of her body pressed — even for that moment — against his.

Taking a step back, he held out his hand. Slowly, her every movement a symphony of eroticism and elegance melded into perfection, she laid her hand upon his, her fingers brushing over the tips of his. The flesh of her palm was damp and he wanted to taste her as they moved as one body towards the music beckoning from the dance floor. Bringing her hand to his lips, he turned it over as he took the tip of one finger, another, and another and another softly, quickly into his mouth, gathering just a hint of her taste.

Her entire body breathed toward him as she let out an exhalation, her eyes never leaving his. His hand held her wrist firmly, his thumb caressing the fragile bone there as he bent down, his gaze still holding hers and he pressed a kiss in the center of her palm.

Languidly her arm rose, her fingers dancing upon him as her body moved towards his, molding against him. The music was slow; a soft steady driving beat inflaming the blood racing through her body. This was lust. This was passion. This was desire in its purest, most basic form.

This she had never felt before.

His hands entangled in her curls as he made love to her with his eyes. In his eyes, she could see the same images that had burned through her – the same images that swam headlong through her now. His hands, his mouth, his tongue, his sex in her, on her, devouring her.

The dress she had deemed too choir-girl for the club seemed of a different make now as he molded the soft flowing material to her waist, to her derriere, as his hands kneaded her flesh, as he pulled her closer to him. To him. She could feel the hard heat of him, pulsing, erect, pressing into the juncture of her thighs. And she wanted to feel him inside of her. Now. Now.

She closed her eyes, unable to look at him. Unable to think, to do anything but feel.

Her head fell back and the silken, creamy column of her throat lay bare to him. A sheen of sweat glistened upon her flesh and again that insatiable need to taste her swelled within him. His head bent, his tongue finding the hollow at the base of her throat, caressing the delicate bone there before sliding upward along the soft, so soft, skin offered to him. A breathy sigh escaped her and he curved his hand around her neck, bringing her face to face with him. Her eyes opened slowly as if in a dream and her lips were parted, moist, waiting for the kiss that she knew was coming.

He lowered his head and his mouth captured the soft pillow of her upper lip, sucking gently and then his tongue slid in between her mouth, sliding along her bottom lip, tasting her. He withdrew for a moment and her lids slowly opened as her tongue came out, gently licking her lips in a daze. His mouth descended upon hers once more, raining whisper-soft kisses upon her, his tongue flicking out, dancing with hers. Her lips were so soft, so full, so lush, so perfect. He devoured her, hunger and need filling him as his kiss deepened and her soft, her heat, everything about her flooded through his body.

Blood was rushing through her, she heard thunder in her ears as her heart began contracting and she could feel the blood pumping in and out as the taste of him filled her. She felt dizzy, light-headed. She was whimpering, soft sounds emanating from in between their kisses. This went beyond desire. This went beyond anything she had ever known. She wanted him. She needed him. Her breath came fast and heavy as she pulled away, her gaze meeting his and seeing the mirrored need revealed there. “I want you.” That smile curved his lips again, a cross between an angel and a devil and she found her own mouth flashing a smile that must have matched. “Now.”

They wove through the dancing throng, intent upon escape. His hand was firm, his grip solid as he easily maneuvered through the Friday night rush. She kept her head down, no longer wanting to see a soul who would recognize her … know her. As if anyone would know who she was right now. She didn’’t know who she was. She knew only this hunger, this driving need for this man. Her gaze rose and traveled over his form, clad in black jeans, the leather jacket and those curls – those glorious, gorgeous curls. She wanted to run her fingers through them; she wanted to feel their silky softness against her naked flesh.

The cool air was a shock to her body as they stepped outside. Reason and clarity returned in that moment as the cold drove her into reality. The hard wall was suddenly at her back, one hand around her neck, the other on her bare leg as he pushed her dress up. She met his gaze, intending to speak, to tell him that she had changed her mind, but she met his gaze. She looked into his eyes. His body pressed into her and now his breath was warm upon her earlobe as his tongue wet her flesh. She lost reason, reality disappeared into a fog that knew only hunger and need. And want.

Want and desire. She pressed herself against him, desperate, desperate to have him inside of her, loving her, one with her. “”Who are you?”” he whispered into her ear, his voice a honey-dripping, sun-drenched erection of feeling. Pulling away slightly, he gazed down at her, his question reflected in his eyes … his question a need.

““Michelle,”” she whispered between thick lips, full and pouty and begging for his touch. He smiled – that sweet, sweet smile — and offered his own name.

““Danny.”” It was music to her ears. She found herself smiling in response as she savored the syllables of his name on her tongue. Feeling the same need, he repeated “Michelle,” softly just as his lips once more found hers, ravishing her mouth, his tongue colliding, clashing, sucking, dancing, clinging to hers. Driving her hard against the wall, he dropped his hand and felt the cold-warm flesh of her thighs. Cold from November’’s bite, warm from the heat of his hands.

Grasping her underwear, he pulled the silky material down as she clung to him, her hands beneath his jacket, her nails clawing into his back through the material of his shirt. He slipped a finger inside of her and she was wet and tight and perfect. Heaven. Michelle.

One in the same.

She reached in between them, her fingers pulling at the snap, grabbing at his zipper. Now, now, she thought, an urgency filling her unlike any she’d ever known. She needed him inside of her now. All thought fled as his fingers feathered at the core of her, touching, tightening, pulling and her body screamed out as she felt a rippling sensation flood through her. Her hand encircled the hard heat of him, tightening around him, “”now, now, now, now”” she whispered, her breathing ragged.

His touch was gone to be replaced – God, the wall was hard but she could barely feel it as he plunged into her. The air was cold and biting upon her skin, but she felt as if her entire body were aflame as he thrust inside of her, filling ever pore of her. She gripped his arms, his shoulders, his head, afraid that if she let go she would fall into oblivion.

Heaven. She felt so right, so perfect. He was all sensation, all feeling as he pulled her up, her legs winding about him. With every thrust every silken tug from her called to him, answered him, completed him all at once. His lips fell upon her throat, savoring the taste of her flesh. He captured her mouth, thrilling to the desperate pants and cries, moans and frantic whimpers she uttered in between each brush of his lips, every touch of his tongue. He felt alive, on fire, unlike anything ever before.

This was too much. She was too much. But not enough, never enough. He never wanted to let her go; never wanted this sensation to end … never wanted this to end. He was close, so close, his eyes closed and everything went black around him, then white, then a rainbow of colors exploded inside his head as she let out a sudden shout, his name buried in the cry.

There was silence, marred only by the heavy sound of their breathing. Her head lay in the crook of his neck, her legs still wrapped about him, he still inside of her. Slowly she looked up, her eyes wide and searching. Wild and vivid and alive, so alive.

She felt so alive, more than ever before in her life. In his eyes, she looked into his eyes; she saw satisfaction, need fulfilled and joy. In his eyes, she saw joy. Her breathing was still ragged as she wondered at the warmth flooding through her. Even as she unwound her legs, even as he slipped from her, she felt this blooming inside of her. Something had changed.

Everything had changed.

Their eyes met and there was joy.

The End

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