Part 12
Thursday, 12:02 p.m.
4 days after the wedding
Cordelia’s head ached as she steered her car in the direction of the hospital. It was a good thing that traffic was light, because her mind was too full of other things to worry about safe driving. The last four days had been a living nightmare.
After the wedding, she and Angel had gone back to her apartment in complete silence. Even Wesley hadn’t said anything except good-bye when they left Mrs. Chase’s room that day. Angel drove them home, and the tension in the car was thick. When they arrived at her apartment, she locked herself in the bedroom and didn’t come out until morning.
Her anger toward Angel had dissipated somewhat during that night. She’d had a dream in which she and Angel declared their love for each other, slept together (but no Angelus), and then he cheated on her with Buffy. She woke up abruptly, her face covered in tears, her heart breaking, and it took her several minutes to calm down and realize that it was just a dream. Having it affect her so much made her realize that Angel was much more important to her than she’d been willing to admit. She was falling in love with him, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
The only thing stopping her from admitting her feelings was that she was deathly afraid that he would abandon her at the first chance he got. She knew he was attracted to her, but she didn’t think he loved her, not really. He loved Buffy, not her. They had a love that was an epic, tragic romance, the stuff that poems and songs were written about. All she and Angel had was friendship and an unwanted supernatural connection. And her own track record was horrible. She’d loved Xander, and he’d cheated on her. She’d loved her parents, and they’d practically abandoned her. She didn’t think her heart could take the abuse of Angel leaving her, too.
It hadn’t helped that every day since the wedding, he’d used every opportunity possible to touch her and be near her. He would brush up against her, smile at her softly, or stare at her from across the room. But he never said anything to indicate a change in his feelings. For all she knew, he was still just trying to tease her. His behavior was so unnerving that Cordelia began to avoid being in the same room with him. He was playing with her heart and she couldn’t take it anymore.
An SUV honked insistently behind Cordelia, and she shook herself out of her thoughts to realize that the light had turned green. She would be at the hospital within a few minutes. Her mother needed her now, and it was too tiring to keep thinking about Angel.
***
Angel awoke to the silence in Cordelia’s darkened living room. He’d heard her leave earlier and had feigned sleep, knowing she’d rather not talk to him. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated the sad state of his life.
His plan was failing miserably.
He’d tried several times to get a response out of Cordelia like he had the morning of their wedding. He’d walked around in his pajama pants, discretely flexing his muscles and stretching to the best advantage. He’d “forgotten” his clothes when he took a shower and paraded around in a towel, but she acted like she didn’t notice. He was uncomfortable flaunting his body like that, but he knew how it affected her, so he did it anyway. It hadn’t worked. He’d tried touching her in ways that seemed inadvertent, but she wasn’t paying attention. He’d touch her hand, and she’d move hers away absent mindedly. He’d brush up against her, and she’d move aside. He’d try to catch her eyes, but she’d avoid his gaze.
Every time he turned around, she was walking out of the room or putting more distance between them. And the harder he tried, the worse it became.
He wanted to just grab her and kiss her senseless, make her acknowledge the attraction they had to each other, but he couldn’t get her to stay put long enough for that to happen. He knew that short of forcing her to comply, he wouldn’t get his chance anytime soon. Angel knew he’d messed up by giving her no choice but to really marry him. He’d broken Cordelia’s spirit and betrayed her trust. She’d relied on him to help her get her out of trouble, and all he’d done was dig the hole deeper. It was no wonder she was avoiding him.
The guilt was killing him. And that, combined with the love for her that only seemed to grow daily, was going to eat him alive inside.
***
“So, Mom, how are you feeling?” Cordelia asked Mrs. Chase, her happy mask firmly in place.
“I’ve been feeling wonderful, Cordy. The doctors started me on a new set of medications before your wedding, and they seem to be working great. Almost no pain at all.” Her attitude and color seemed to enunciate her words. She did look much healthier than she had days earlier.
“That’s so wonderful, Mom. I’m so happy that you’re feeling better,” Cordelia squeezed her mother’s hand, then fell into silence. She looked down at their intertwined fingers, and with her free hand, picked at the lint on the blanket covering her mother.
The silence concerned Mrs. Chase, as well as the fact that Cordelia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Cordelia, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Mom, just tired.”
Mrs. Chase looked at her strangely, then smiled knowingly. “Had some late nights, have you?”
Cordelia sighed, not picking up on her mother’s innuendo. “Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping very well. Bad dreams.”
“Uh-huh,” Mrs. Chase said, her tone implying that Cordelia was just making excuses.
Finally, Cordelia got it. She frowned and tried to decide whether or not to set her mother straight. It wouldn’t do any good; her mother had an annoying habit of believing whatever she wanted to believe, and adjusting the rest to fit her wishes. This wasn’t going to be any different.
As Cordelia was frantically trying to come up with something else to talk about, her mother’s doctor strode into the room, his bearing that of a confident, friendly professional.
“Hello, Mrs. Chase. How are we today?” He smiled dazzlingly at Cordelia’s mother, and Cordy was shocked to see her mother blush in return. The doctor was a handsome, 40-something married man, if the ring on his finger was any indication. But it was just as obvious that her mother was smitten with him.
“I’m doing just great, Dr. Murphy,” Mrs. Chase replied.
“Wonderful,” he said, distracted by the information on the clipboard at the foot of the bed. He scribbled some notes at the bottom of one of the pages, then clicked his pen closed and returned it to his pocket.
He turned his attention to Cordelia. “I understand congratulations are in order, Cordelia,” he said warmly.
“Thank you,” Cordelia said, embarrassed.
He continued, the smile on his face growing wider as he imparted his news. “Your happy event may have just saved your mother’s life.”
“What?” Cordelia said, confused. How could a wedding cure cancer?
Dr. Murphy returned the clipboard to its hanger on the end of the bed, crossed his arms, and smiled conspiratorially at Mrs. Chase as he continued. “Your mother and I didn’t want to get your hopes up unnecessarily, but we found out just the day before your wedding that it appeared your mother’s cancer had been eradicated. That bad spell last week was her body fighting the final, winning battle against the cancer. She had her final evaluation just this morning, and she’s officially been given a clean bill of health.”
Stunned, Cordelia gaped at her mother, who smiled reassuringly and squeezed Cordelia’s hand. “Isn’t it wonderful, sweetie? I’m healed! And thanks to you!”
She turned back to the doctor, elated at her mother’s recovery but still baffled as to how she was at all responsible. “How did I have anything to do with it?”
His answer was the last thing Cordelia expected. “Mrs. Chase was very down about the state of her health, and it has been medically proven that a patient’s mental state is an important factor in recovery. She was convinced that she was dying, and her predictions were about to become self-fulfilling. Your marriage changed all that. Your mother was so happy for you that it ensured her recovery.”
There was silence as Cordelia digested this. “I—, I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “This is wonderful, Mom. I’m so happy for you.”
Mrs. Chase sighed. “I know. I’m so excited myself. The best part is that I get to come and live with you and Angel until the hospital releases me to move out of the country! We’ll have so much fun, Cordy!”
“You’re coming to live with me?” Cordelia said, dread creeping up her spine. She knew she’d suggested this, but she didn’t think it would actually happen.
“Yes! Isn’t that fantastic? I know your place is small, but you have a hide-a-bed in your sofa, so I’ll sleep there. That way, you and Angel won’t have to leave your room. I know how newlyweds need their space.” She winked at Cordelia.
Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat. Her mother was coming to live with her. She only had one bedroom. One bed. One queen-sized bed.
Oh, god. She was going to have to sleep with Angel.
Part 13
Thursday, 6:45 p.m.
Cordelia eyed the outside of her front door with trepidation. Since her mother’s shocking announcement at the hospital this afternoon, she had avoided coming home to face Angel. She’d caught several sales at the mall, and it had been discouraging to realize that shopping didn’t really right the world’s wrongs for her like it used to. Prada on sale didn’t quite fix the problems that came with apocalyptic visions and domineering mothers. Only a vampire with a soul could do that for her now.
Sighing, Cordelia gave in to the inevitable. Gathering her purchases in one hand, she brought out her keys to open the door, but it swung open before she had the chance to unlock it.
“Thanks, Dennis,” Cordelia said gratefully. Noting the virtual silence in the apartment, she asked, “Where’s Angel?”
The dry erase marker floated from its resting place and “shower” was scribbled on the board.
“Okay,” Cordelia said, still puzzled. She couldn’t hear the water running.
Just then, the bathroom door jerked open and Angel exited, drying his hair with a towel. He was shirtless, his black pants halfway zipped and unbuttoned. He stopped when he saw her.
“Cordelia,” he said, surprised to see her. “How is your mother?”
She frowned in answer, a look that was more consternation than concern. Sitting down heavily on the couch, Cordelia threw her bags onto the floor and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “Apparently, my mother is completely healthy.”
“What?”
“It seems our wedding was the ticket to her recovery. She was so happy, she got better.”
“I don’t get it.” Angel said. He’d been around sick people before, and being happy didn’t usually make a change like this.
“Those were my thoughts exactly. Apparently, she was getting better before our wedding but the doctor didn’t want to get my hopes up,” Cordelia said dryly.
There was a brief pause as Angel absorbed this.
Cordelia suddenly jumped up from the couch, pacing back and forth, throwing her hands around as she talked. “I am so angry at my mother right now. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. We didn’t have to get married. She wasn’t dying! And she knew it, too. I could see the look in her eyes today. The one that says she’s satisfied that her little plan worked,” her eyes narrowed. “Oooh, I hate it when she does that,” she griped, stomping her foot for emphasis.
Angel wisely held his tongue as he recalled how much he hated it when she did the exact same thing to him.
Trying to be supportive, Angel said, “Well, at least she’s not going to die now.”
Cordelia stopped and turned to face him. “Oh, you haven’t heard the half of it. I spoke with her doctor alone today. He cautioned me not to give my mother any big surprises in the next few months because her body was still weak and she might not be able to survive the shock. So I can’t even divorce you any time soon.”
Angel couldn’t help but smile at this bit of good news. Her next words wiped the smirk off his face.
“And she’s coming to live with us.”
“Live with us? As in here, at your apartment?”
Cordelia nodded. “Yes. I can’t even begin to think about how awful that’s going to be. I hate living with my mother. She’s messy, she’s nosy, she talks way too much, and she doesn’t listen to a thing I have to say.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. He knew she didn’t realize it, but Cordelia had just described herself six months ago. The visions had changed her somewhat, but not enough to completely erase the similarity.
Cordelia resumed her pacing. “And she had the nerve to tell me that she’d sleep on the couch and we could have the bedroom, since,” air quote, “’Newlyweds need their space.’” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe it?” she said, shaking her head incredulously.
Satisfaction spread through Angel what Cordelia was insinuating. Maybe his plan wasn’t going to be a total loss. Sleeping in the same bed with Cordelia was going to be a fantastic opportunity to make her see they belonged together.
Cordelia wasn’t paying attention and she missed the look on Angel’s face. “Somehow, we’re going to have to figure out how to get my mom to stay someplace else. She can’t stay here. I am not sharing a bed with you,” she vowed, whirling to face Angel.
By that time, he’d adjusted his features into a noncommittal mask. “What are you afraid of, Cordy? I don’t bite.”
She scrunched up her nose at him and rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha. Funny Mr. Vamp guy. And I’m not afraid of you,” she said untruthfully. She was very afraid of him, but not that he would hurt her physically. She knew instinctively that one night in bed with him, curse or no curse, would change her life irrevocably. She didn’t think her heart could handle the torment of sleeping next to Angel, desperately craving his touch, but knowing that he was in love with someone else.
“Well, great. Then it’s decided. Your mother will come to live with us and we’ll stay married.”
“What?!? Who died and made you king? We didn’t decide a damn thing.”
Before he could argue further, the phone rang. Angel was closer, so he answered it. A calculating gleam crept into his eyes as he greeted the caller.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Chase! Congratulations on your recovery.”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes and tried to shoot him a “if you even THINK about telling her she can live here, you’re going to die” glare, but he ignored her.
“Uh-huh, she’s doing just fine. I’m taking really good care of her.” His tone left no doubt as to the level of care she was receiving.
Cordelia clenched her jaw at his implications.
“It will be so great to have you here with us, Mrs. Chase.” Pause. “Well, if you insist. I would be honored to call you Mom.”
Angel’s grin graduated from calculated to evil as he stared down Cordelia.
“Yes, I believe the sofa bed is quite comfortable, but it’s rather close to the bedroom. I hope we won’t keep you up at night. Cordelia is very . . . enthusiastic.”
Cordelia’s mouth dropped open at what he was insinuating, and her face colored when she imagined her mother listening to them making love. Unwanted flashes of Angel’s body on top of hers, his mouth on her skin, his hands on her, swept through her mind. Oh, god. I can’t take this.
His laugh at her mother’s response jerked her out of the lust-inspired fog. “Yes, she is.” Pause. “I’ve got it. Tomorrow, 9 a.m. I won’t be able to be there; I have to work. Cordelia will pick you up and bring you home.”
Having regained control of her senses, Cordelia motioned for him to give the phone to her.
He ignored her again, and he could see the steam start to seep out of Cordelia’s ears. “Well, thank you, Mom. It will be wonderful to have you here.” Pause. “Okay, same to you. Bye.”
Hanging up the phone, Angel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Cordelia was livid and embarrassed; not a combination that brought out the best in her. “Why do you have to be such a bastard, Angel? I wish I’d never asked for your help in the first place. All you’ve done is make this more difficult.”
“What’s the big deal, Cordelia? It’s just your mother. We’ve shared living space before, and we’re both responsible adults. I think we can manage to keep our hands to ourselves,” he said. You’re going to want me so bad by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be begging me to take you.
“Fine,” Cordelia said, her voice biting. “But at least I have tonight away from your grabby hands. Just stay out of my way, Angel.” She glared at him one more time for full effect, then stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door. Oh, you think you’re so smart, huh, Angel? Well, you’ve never seen a cold shoulder like this one. I’ll make you sorry you ever laid a hand on me in the first place.
Even as her angry thoughts formed, Cordelia recognized a twinge of anticipation in herself. She knew that, eventually, he’d wear her down. She couldn’t help the fact that the thought of being with him made her entire body sizzle.
***
Friday, 7:30 p.m.
“Well, Mom. It’s so nice to see you well settled in our little home,” Angel greeted Mrs. Chase as he strode in the front door, looking for all the world like he’d just spent a hard day at the office. Actually, he’d hidden in the closet in Cordelia’s bedroom when she brought her mother home, then spent most of the day patrolling underground tunnels when they were out shopping. He’d returned only when he saw them come home.
In an effort to avoid talking to him, Cordelia was in the kitchen, trying to fix dinner. She only knew how to make a few things that turned out edible, and soup was one of them. Water. Vegetables. Meat. Seasoning from a packet. It wasn’t rocket science, and Cordelia got it right every time. Okay, so she wasn’t Julia Child, but who cares? She couldn’t do everything.
At the moment, her frustration was being released as she brutally chopped vegetables with a knife that would have been more at home between a broadsword and an axe in the weapons cabinet than it was in her kitchen. A loud *thwack* sounded every time she brought the blade down, and it was almost as satisfying as hurling dishes at the wall, but much less expensive.
Her current irritation in a mile long list was how Angel kept insisting on calling her mother “Mom.” She knew he did it because it annoyed her, and that knowledge just made her that much angrier. When would he stop being such a jerk about this?
‘When he gets what he wants,’ the annoying little voice inside Cordelia’s head answered.
“Oh, yeah? And what, exactly, does playboy vamp want?” Cordelia muttered, viciously cleaving a helpless stick of celery in two.
‘You. Naked and writhing beneath him, screaming his name.’ The knife stopped mid swing as the thought ricocheted off the walls of Cordelia’s brain, and she nearly lost her grip on the handle as the images those thoughts inspired flitted through her mind.
She began chopping again, this time with more force, each swing punctuating her words. “What is the matter with me? I’m starting to sound like some sex-starved groupie at vamp appreciation night. How am I ever going to survive tonight?” she whispered, trying to let the sound of her own voice drown out the thoughts in her head.
’Why do you have to survive? Why not just give in? You know it will be the best sex of your life. Who cares if he doesn’t love you?’
Cordelia recognized the voice: it wasn’t exactly her conscience, more like her inner vixen. In human form, it would be Cordelia at her sexiest . . . and coldest. Short, tight red dress, strappy heels, pouty lips, and a sly wink accompanied by a come-hither look. This was the Cordelia that called Angel “salty goodness” when she first saw him at the Bronze, and later when she tried to woo him away from Buffy. This was the Cordelia that flaunted herself in front of Wesley time and again in high school. This was the Cordelia that asked Wilson to stay and sleep with her, but it was suspiciously silent when she was pregnant with demon spawn. When she had conversations with herself, this part of her psyche was the one that always got her into trouble. She knew better than to let it talk her into anything, but sometimes, the voice sounded too good to ignore.
“I care, moron. If he sleeps with me and leaves me. . .” she trailed off, hands pausing in her work. After a beat, she shook herself out of morbid thought land and dumped the vegetables in the pot on the stove.
“I can’t take that chance. He’ll leave me, and I wouldn’t survive it,” as if to emphasize her point, she brutally ripped open the package of seasonings and dumped them into the pot.
’He can’t leave you. You’re his link to the Powers,’ her inner vixen reasoned.
“Oh, he may not actually leave me, but he’d act like nothing happened, or he’d avoid talking to me. In the long run, he’d know he made a mistake,” she argued back, stirring the pot vigorously. “No, it’s better not to even go there.”
“Go where?” Angel’s voice nearly made her heart leap out of her chest. She twirled around, and smacked his shoulder with the spoon.
“Jeez, Angel. Don’t creep up on me like that! You scared me half to death!” She glared at him.
Angel took advantage of her ruffled composure and leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “Hello to you, too, baby. Bad day?” he asked, smirking, his eyes dancing with the fun he was having at continuing their charade.
Cordelia’s eyes narrowed and her speech dropped to a near-whisper, “Keep the Ozzie Nelson crap down to a minimum, honey, or you’ll be sleeping at Wesley’s tonight.” Her voice dripped with sarcastic warning.
“And how would you plan to force me to do that?” Angel asked, wary of her confidence.
It was Cordelia’s turn to be smug. “I have my ways.”
“Really,” Angel said dryly. “And what would those ‘ways’ be this time?”
“You don’t want to find out, darling,” she said, batting her eyelashes and smiling sweetly as she noticed her mother peering into the kitchen, watching their low conversation.
Before Angel could pry further, Mrs. Chase’s voice intruded into the kitchen. “Cordelia, sweetie, do you need help with dinner?”
Panicked, Cordelia said, “No, Mom, thanks. Angel’s a great cook; he’ll help me.”
To Angel, she whispered, “She’s a worse cook than I am.”
“Is that possible?” Angel asked, his face a picture of saintly innocence.
“Hey!” she yelled, hitting him again with the spoon. “Thanks a lot, dork.”
Angel smiled at the glimmer of his Cordelia that had shone through her statement, the girl he knew before her mother made a mess of their lives,. “Oh, good, I’m back up to ‘dork.’ That’s an improvement over ‘undead jerk.’”
“You’re both,” Cordelia retorted, trying to hold on to her anger. His smile was making it so difficult.
Angel decided to quit while he was ahead. He leaned into her, peering over her shoulder at the pot. “Shouldn’t there be water in there with the vegetables?” He asked guilelessly.
Cordelia spun around, gasping as she saw the smoke curling up from the pot. “Crap! Help me, Angel!”
“That’s me. The Dark Avenger. Help to the helpless. Rescuer of damsels in distress,” he said drolly, removing the pot from the stove and putting it under the running water in the sink.
Cordelia looked at him strangely. “Stick to the detective thing, grr guy. Being a comedian wouldn’t buy you jack squat.”
He held her gaze for a moment as the pot filled. When the intensity became too much, Cordelia looked away and pushed past him, heading toward her mother in the living room.
As she left, Angel allowed himself a full-fledged grin as he thought about the possibilities tonight held. His grin disappeared as quickly as it came when he remembered the bane of his existence: the damned gypsy curse.
After a moment of self-pity, his smile returned, this time tainted with lustful anticipation. He may not be able to make love to her, but he could still give her the greatest pleasure of her young life.
Part 14
Friday, 8:20 p.m.
Angel sat back in his chair at the head of the table, looking for all the world like the reigning patriarch. He patted his stomach and groaned, then said, “Cordelia, honey, that was a fantastic meal.”
Cordelia blushed demurely. “Thank you, Angel.”
Angel actually hadn’t been lying; she’d made a dinner that was even palatable for him. He’d salvaged her soup but let her finish it. While he’d occupied her mother with inane conversation, Cordelia had got out another pot. She’d spooned some of the soup into the new pot, then added a generous helping of blood, heating it up to the desired temperature. To make the rest look like Angel’s version, she’d added tomato sauce to the first pot. Her mother never knew the difference.
Cordelia began clearing the bowls and Angel got up to help her.
Mrs. Chase sighed in pleasure at the domestic scene before her. “Cordelia, you’re so lucky to have a man who helps with the housework.”
Her back to her mother, Cordelia rolled her eyes. To Angel, she whispered, “This coming from the woman who’s never washed a dish in her entire adult life.”
To her mother, she answered, “I know, Mom, isn’t it great? He’s so helpful.”
After clearing the dishes, the “happy couple” joined Mrs. Chase in the living room.
“Angel, I thought Cordelia said you worked nights,” she asked.
Cordelia jumped in to answer for him. “He does, but today he had a daytime appointment. He’ll probably be out late from now on. Right, honey?” She said, patting Angel’s knee.
“Yup. But not too late. I wouldn’t want to miss Cordelia at bedtime,” he looked pointedly at her, his eyes dark and sexy.
Mrs. Chase grinned as Angel lusted after Cordelia in her presence. “Speaking of bedtime, I’m feeling rather tired myself. Would you two mind if I retired now?”
“Of course not, Mom,” Cordelia said, jumping up from the couch, desperate to get away from Angel and his heated looks. “I’ll go get your bedding. Angel can pull out the hide-a-bed.” She quickly escaped to the bedroom.
She returned after a few minutes with some sheets, blankets, and a pillow. The bed was unfolded and ready to be made up. As Cordelia and Mrs. Chase began to make up the bed, Angel turned to leave.
“Good night, Mrs. Chase,” Angel said. “Cordelia, you won’t be long, I hope?” His eyes held hers, the brown depths making Cordelia shiver involuntarily.
“Um, yeah, I’ll be there soon,” she answered shakily.
She and her mother made up the bed in silence. As she tucked in the last corner, Cordelia felt a rush of cold, then hot, flow over her body. Her feet felt like lead, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to go into that bedroom, shut the door behind her, and crawl into bed with Angel.
“He still has the power to make your knees weak, doesn’t he?” Mrs. Chase asked softly.
“Yeah,” Cordelia sighed dreamily.
“If you’re lucky, that will never go away,” her mother answered, her tone filled with the knowledge of a woman thoroughly worshipped by her man.
She continued when she saw Cordelia’s hesitation. “Go to your husband, Cordelia. You love him. He loves you. Let him show you.”
Cordelia turned angst filled eyes to her mother, then swung them back to the door to her bedroom. She thought about Angel waiting on the other side, and she started toward the door, suddenly wanting to run to get there.
As the door shut behind her daughter, Mrs. Chase smiled softly. What she wouldn’t give to be 20 years old and in love for the first time.
***
Cordelia’s desire to run intensified when she shut the bedroom door behind her, but the desire had splintered in two different directions. One wanted her to bolt for the front door and never come back; the other wanted her to sprint across the room and rub her body against Angel’s. She leaned against the door, trying to calm her fears and keep her inner vixen from jumping him.
He was standing near the window, looking out at the night sky, his back to her. He could sense her elevated heart rate, her fear mingled with the unmistakable scent of desire, and he was torn. She was vulnerable right now, and Angelus was shouting at him to take her. His need was so strong that he had to fight to keep his feet planted and his eyes facing the window.
His soul was more cautious. Now faced with the possibility of making her his own, Angel was afraid of pushing too hard. He knew that if he pounced on her, she’d run and he’d ruin his chances with her. He also knew that if he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity, he might not get another one.
Oh, screw it, Cordelia thought, pushing away from the door and crossing the room toward the bathroom. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I’ll leave it up to him. If he tries something, I’ll deal with it then.
Angel heard the bathroom door close behind her and he sighed, running his hand through his hair. You’re such a wus, his demon mocked. She’s practically dripping, she wants you so bad, and you stand here like a virgin schoolboy!
“This is Cordelia,” Angel argued back. “I can’t afford to screw this up.”
Oh, jeez, can I throw up now? Please? You finally have the opportunity to get a piece of that luscious ass, and you have to bring *love* up and ruin it. This isn’t about love. This is domination. Power. Pure and simple.
“It is not!” Angel hissed, annoyed to be arguing with his alter ego but unable to stop himself. “I do love her. If I hurt her, that ‘luscious ass,’ as you so suavely put it, will be miles away from me, and not likely to return no matter what I do.”
Fine. Be the gutless wonder and ignore what’s right in front of you. But you know as well as I do that tonight will be really painful, and your cold hand is a sad replacement for her hot little body.
“Whether I make a move or I don’t, it will be painful, because I’m not about to ‘get groiny with her’ as she would put it, and let you out to terrorize her.”
Oh I know where she could put it, soulboy. Right on my—
“Shut up!” Angel angrily interrupted his demon. “I am not going to let you ruin this for me.”
He paused, debating his course of action as the voice inside him retreated back to his cage.
Coming to a decision, he said aloud, “No. I can’t take that chance.”
“Did you say something to me, Angel?” Cordelia asked, exiting the bathroom.
“No,” he said tersely, looking at her intensely for a moment, then heading toward the bed. Getting under the covers, he lay on his side, facing away from her.
“Good night, Cordelia,” he said, his voice dispassionate.
Cordelia was stunned. She’d expected to come out of the bathroom and have him attack her, his eyes liquid heat and his hands insistent. She’d never considered a stony silence. Disappointment flooded her.
Damn him. Enough with the mixed signals, already. she thought, climbing into bed herself. She snapped off the light.
“Good night, Angel,” she said softly, her voice betraying her disappointment and confusion.
***
Saturday, 4:27 a.m.
Angel woke slowly, feeling warmer than he had in a very long time. Hair tickled his chin and he inhaled, the smell intoxicating: a hint of peaches and Ivory soap, but mostly just the simple, clean fragrance of Cordelia. He looked down her body, only to find that he was sprawled half on top of her, his leg curled around hers, his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her close to him. Her head was buried under his chin, her warm breath grazing his chest.
His arm had worked her tank top up, exposing her stomach to his view, his skin warmed by hers. Her chest rose and fell with each slow breath, and he marveled at the perfection of her form. She was so beautiful.
And she was his.
He adjusted his position downward, placing his face near hers. Reverently, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then drew away. Amused, he watched her crinkle her nose in her sleep, then press her lips together as if to keep the feel of him with her. He kissed her again, this time lingering there. In her sleep she responded, turning her body and pressing into him. He darted his tongue out to touch her lips, running the tip along the seam between them. She opened her mouth slightly, and he took the opportunity to deepen the contact, slanting his mouth over hers and thrusting his tongue inside.
She whimpered as his tongue rubbed sensually against hers and her hand came up to touch his face. He pulled back, separating them, giving her time to breathe, and she sleepily whined her protest. She moved her hand to the back of his head and pulled his lips back to hers. This time, she was the aggressor, seeking his tongue with her own. Angel’s body responded, hardening at her drowsy attempt at dominance.
Angel’s hand strayed from her middle to travel up her torso, pushing her tank top further, uncovering her breast for his touch. He rubbed her nipple with the backs of his fingers and it hardened instantly. Enjoying the stimulation, Cordelia pushed her breast more firmly into his hand, and he cupped the soft sphere, molding it and shaping it, stopping only to pinch the sensitized tip between his fingers.
As the kiss grew more passionate, so did their caresses. His mouth moved to her neck, lightly kissing, nipping the sensitive skin. Cordelia’s hand traveled the length of his back, reaching down to graze the top of his top of his butt with her fingertips. The fingers of her other hand curled tightly into the hair at the back of his head, pulling the short strands as he teased her with his touch.
Angel’s head lifted from her neck, and he looked down at her face, a study of passion personified. He paused for a moment, dwelling on how much he had come to love her, then moved his fingers down her body slowly, softly grazing her belly, then her hip, and finally diving beneath the waistband of her pajama pants. The moment his fingers grazed her wet heat, Cordelia’s eyes shot open and her jaw dropped, her breathing heavy in the stillness.
He became completely still, his hand cupping her gently. Her eyes changed from hazy desire to confusion and finally to anxiety as she awoke completely and realized what she was allowing him to do to her.
“Angel?” she said shakily, her eyes laced with growing panic. What had she gotten herself into?