The Angel's Sin (Mafia BL) - Prologue

Violet eyes met silver ones.

And then, the time stopped.

You can cut the tension with a butterknife.

There was no God in this room.

Only a gun.

A sinner.

And an 'Angel'.

The air in the suite hummed with a silent extravagance—mixed with the smell of sweat and sex.

Thick, velvet drapes, the color of plum, were drawn against the city's night light.

Muffling the sounds of the world outside.

Creating a suffocating intimacy inside the room.

Tony was kneeling. And Angel was standing.

Eye to eye. Face to face.

The sinner was looking up. And the 'Angel' was looking down.

And the gun?

Inside the sinner's mouth.

Being pointed by the 'Angel'.

There was no distance between them.

Their skin was in contact with each other…

This was the second time tonight that Tony found something shoved past his lips.

But this time, it wasn't pleasure that stole his breath—it was of how goddamn sexy the 'Angel' was.

'Angel.'

The name flowed smoothly on his tongue.

The name suited him.

'My 'Angel'. Mine.'

Tony found himself salivating more. Wanting more!

Angel had sides to him that Tony hadn't tasted yet.

He gulped.

The cold metal was wedged between his lips.

Making it hard to breathe and to swallow.

Slick with his own spit and the taste of the man who held it.

His knees ached from kneeling.

Joints screaming in protest.

But still, he didn't move.

Couldn't.

Wouldn't.

No.

'Never gonna let go.'

His hands were still touching Angel's hips.

Like a devotee that's worshipping his God.

The vision in front of Tony—looked like 'Angel' had fallen from heaven—just to ruin him.

To deliver justice or wrath, in silk and bruises.

The 'Angel' stood tall.

Trembling.

Defiant.

Desire.

His royal blue robe hung loose from one shoulder.

Barely clinging to the sharp edge of his collarbone.

It was scandalous.

Erotic.

Obscene.

A battlefield of a body on full display—thin, supple and graceful, with smooth porcelain skin that would bruise easily when grazed.

Flawless, hairless—every inch was begging to be touched.

It was flushed in blotches from rough touch and harder love.

Tony's member stirred again—harder than earlier.

Raring to have another taste.

He never knew that he would crave a man's body like this!

He had always been straight as an arrow.

Angel's chest rose and fell rapidly.

Breathless and shaking.

Nipples tight and erect from the cold—or from an afterglow.

Tony desperately wants to know.

Angel's lips.

'God those sinful lips!'

Red. Wet. Swollen.

The kind of mouth you'd die to have a taste.

The kind Tony had just devoured before going down on him.

And there was no hiding the evidence.

Tony's chin was slick with it.

He did not feel any shame for what he did.

Only lust and reverence.

The taste of the 'Angel' still lingered on the tip of his tongue.

Addictive.

Bitter.

Sweet.

Tony's eyes stared up at Angel.

Not with fear—but hunger.

The gun between his lips trembled.

Angel was breathing heavily.

Shivering.

He cocked the gun with a soft click that echoed like thunder.

There was a hint of determination in Angel's eyes.

He was finally delivering his judgement.

"I said," he whispered, voice like velvet, laced with venom.

"I'm not an object."

It was an answer to Tony's statement earlier.

Tony exhaled slowly, the barrel was nudging against the roof of his mouth.

Angel's hand was now steady.

Fingers long and elegant, clutched the weapon like a divine object.

The 'Angel' refused to give in.

Even with the evidence of pleasure still dripping between his thighs.

"Nobody owns me," he continued.

Violet eyes narrowing.

"Not you. Not them. Not even God himself."

He lowered the gun just an inch.

To let Tony speak.

But Tony didn't.

He bit the metal instead.

Hard.

The crunch of his teeth against metal sounded painful.

'This crazy son of a bitch!' the 'Angel' cussed.

A sick grin crept up Tony's face.

He licked the tip of the gun.

Angel's lips twitched.

It wasn't a smile.

It was him declaring war to Tony.

"I own myself," he finally hissed.

Angel stepped back.

Letting the hem of his robe fall completely open.

Moonlight shone across his naked body.

Glistening with sweat, and bruises.

His thighs were full of bite wounds down to the sole of his feet.

A testament to the way Tony had claimed him not ten minutes ago.

But he wasn't the one conquered.

Angel refused to believe it.

He was the one holding the weapon, did he not?

So why is it that he still felt threatened by Tony's presence?

The hair at the back of his head stood up, as if screaming at him that Tony was dangerous!

Tony's hand, resting lightly on Angel's hips, twitched—then slithered around him like a snake.

Cold.

Possessive.

Unrelenting.

Two hands on his ass cheeks, Tony pressed sensually to it before placing his hands.

Gently cupping now.

It fit perfectly into his hands!

Not letting the 'Angel' step back.

Holding him in place.

'Where he belongs.'

Angel's movement stopped.

Tony ached to drag him down onto the carpeted floor.

And have his way with him.

To claim him all over again—slow, filthy and without mercy.

He imagined Angel laying down on his back to the soft carpet.

The sea of deep sapphire contrasting to his milky white skin.

'What a sight!'

Then kiss him until they both forgot that they were running for their lives.

Angel pulled the gun out of Tony's mouth with an annoyed 'tch'.

'Threatening him with a gun was useless.'

A long saliva dripped down the gun.

"You said you loved me." Tony murmured, lips curling upward—dangerous and knowing.

Angel scoffed.

"You must be hard of hearing. I never said that."

"You said I'm yours." Tony insisted.

"No!" Angel pointed the gun at Tony.

While his other hand reached for Tony's face.

He wanted to tear it! Claw it!

But unable to hold anything on the bastard's face, he reached for Tony's dark hair instead.

It felt silky between his fingers.

Then he pulled—lifting Tony's head.

"You were the one who said that! I never! I-I just moaned!" Angel could feel his face reddening.

The weight in the air thickened.

Tony's silver eyes darkened.

A storm behind glass.

Still on his knees.

Dripping in sweat and Angel's taste.

Mouth was bleeding a little on the corner.

'Maybe from the gun,' Angel felt guilty.

And yet, even kneeling, with only his tight jeans on, Tony looked like a king.

'A barbarian king,' he groaned inside his mind.

Angel hated him for that.

And craved him all the same.

"I'm not a masochist or a sadist," Tony whispered, smiling.

"But I like it. I like how you hurt me."

His hands gripped Angel's ass.

Fingers were brushing over his bruised hole.

Angel flinched.

In pain and in hunger.

He could feel the thing between his legs—hardening.

Again.

'He already wrung me dry earlier!' he groaned.

"Fine. You're not an object," Tony finally relented.

Voice was quiet and raw.

"But Angel…"

He paused.

"You're still mine."

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