Page 4 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Adrian

God, it felt so good when my cock shoved down into a tight pussy on a Sunday Mass.

I never thought I had it this good feeling, a tight, space soaked between my cock since I hadn’t had a good long fuck for…

how long has it been? Last week? Probably three days?

Five days? I couldn’t conjure to what date.

It had been a long time for me. I didn’t care if it was No Nut November.

Porn videos and naked, voluptuous women on a magazine cover I’ve purchased at the adult store online were unmatched to an actual experience.

A heavenly experience couldn’t deny for a guy like me.

For a man like me, who am I to pass up the opportunity for a good fuck into someone’s close-fitted pussy at the precious lavish gardens with angel statues and faded murals?

After all, I’m more of a hands-on experience kind of guy. Seeing is not enough, having conversations wasn’t gratified enough to settle the distraction I’m craving—my hormones were craving.

Although what it made me gratified twice as better is when someone was watching.

I didn’t mind when someone’s watching, careless to whoever is watching.

But if it’s the elderly who are frequent in opinionating on all things personal, I’d tell them to fuck off and think about retirement and the children they neglected, wondering why their children never visited them at a nursing home.

Though the searing hot urges tightened in my red trousers, I didn’t think twice before fucking her wet hole.

No morals or decency. We’re just like animals that cannot control heat between the legs.

Rules meant nothing to me, unless if it involves with a containing luxury.

Luxury managed everything, a number one priority in this goddamn life.

Madison wanted to tag along for meeting with my other buddies, but when she found out I was forced by my parents for a gathering—for an advanced celebration—she tagged along, hoping to join us by herself.

Dad didn’t say much, but my mom was livid through the ordeal, but plastered with a serene smile—so plainly agreeable and cordial.

Not to mention superficially fake. For my older—practically the first born son, the ever-so perfectionist—brother, Bjorn, was immaculate and punctual, didn’t notice Madison, pretending she doesn’t exist to him.

Though I swore Bjorn rolled his eyes every time he sees me with the opposite sex. No major changes.

Thank God the Sunday Mass was over. I don’t have to hear that old man’s speech regarding to loving your enemies or praying for forgiveness or whatever shit he was trying to input and shoved it right onto people’s throats like a food commercial

Attempted, but useless, nonetheless.

This whole event was nothing but a useless sham. Or a scam, depending whichever atheist’s opinions were.

Worst of all, my dearest mom and dad had to drag me over to this event, I found it to be an asinine.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t an event, but more like a ceremonial meeting on a specific weekend.

My friends were expecting me to come to set up the place this morning for an extreme late party tonight for Thanksgiving, but instead I attended the Sunday Mass for a few hours where people hadn’t realized time doesn’t slow down for anyone.

Time hadn’t stopped. Why the church of all places?

Mom and Dad aren’t religious. They’re religious to their professions.

Ah, it might’ve been something else they had in mind but never told me. They’re an expert at keeping secrets, raw skeletons in a closet. If only the skeletons in the closet would catch fresh air to speak their wisdom, but dead man tells no tales.

The church staff distributed the large brochures shoved it towards my right hand since the other occupied with another material.

I inwardly groaned of the red thongs. I feel like Madison tried to match up with my suit.

Regardless of my family uncharacteristic approach for yesterday, the church is nothing but an old building which barely stands tall where it might collapse at any moment—at least the vibe I’m getting.

Being stuck in thick crowd with family didn’t help and it didn’t help when Madison was following, either.

The church smelt like chalk and I was nearly dying.

Sweat and chalk—strong chalk, like being suffocated by a flaming smoke at a burning building.

Mom mentioned it’s a metal censer. Funny how she knows .

I hated it.

As the family headed for the parking lot, I was the last person to follow them.

For such elderly like them, they sure moved fast. Most old people in the church are as painful as a fucking snail on a shitty ground.

Children crying didn’t help. What a fucking nuisance.

The show was over, and people remained in the premise.

We sat at the last row at the church; it meant we head to the exit first. My parents were fast, and when I got up, that’s where I lost them—a nightmare to be suffocated by the crowd.

What a fucking mess.

It wasn’t as messy as I brought a weapon and bloodied someone up, but that’s for another time. I had to stop these urges.

Neither of them waited for me. Everyone was gone; heading back to the house.

As I headed out alone, Madison stomped her way through the church entrance; the kids bugged her—screaming, shoving and all. She was pissed. Like her red hair or blonde. Whatever her hair color is, it resembled as a candy I hate.

“Then what the hell are you pissed for?” I asked, steadying my breath.

“You’re such a dick! You left me there with those fuckers.

Didn’t even bother to wait for me, made me as a stepping stone from those stampedes,” she exasperated, walking faster as I headed toward the red sports car, clicking the ‘ Unlock ’ button as the car beeped, headlights flashing, my hand lifted the car door upwards.

“Have you ever once thought on turning around to come and fetch me? I mean, I could be suffocated and died with those stupid kids and those lazy, fat assholes. Do you do this to girls a lot?”

“Careful you’re at the church,” I warned. “And there’s kids watching. They might repeat everything you say.”

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that,” she seethed. Her strawberry blonde hair was getting redder than the reddened part on her features.

Oh, shit. Here we go again. Again with this bullshit, I thought , the stuff in the car was this close to be thrown out.

By then, it’s too late. The kids heard it all, and mimicked Madison’s words to more exaggerated squeal and tone, giggling to themselves.

Madison blushed at the children’s mockery.

“Oh, sorry for my lack of untimely manner, Your Highness ,” I said, rolling my eyes, huffing.

Instead, my finger pushed the button and installed the air freshener inside since my sports car smelled like hot piss and trash. Not that I care as long as nobody gets near to my brand new sports car.

“By the way, you also didn’t bother to ask me if I’m okay or not,” she continued, whining.

“Wouldn’t I like to know,” I said in sarcasm, adjusting the new leather chair. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your high school sweetheart boyfriend by now since you graduated, like what, four months ago?”

Madison’s shoulders shrugged. “He’s very busy going to college. He’s been applying with his thesis and his application. And he’s been taking exams to enter the prestigious institution.”

“Where to?”

Her shoulders bopped. “I don’t know.”

“Have you read his thesis?”

Her tongue clicked. “I never bother to ask.”

“And if you do ask, what do you think of his thesis and his work?”

“Why? Are you interested in his thesis or something? What’s the big deal?”

My shoulders shrugged. “Never met the guy.”

Her brows knitted. “Oh, sure. What’s your point?”

“Well, guess he sorted out his priorities more than you,” I answered.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion,” she spat, mouth curled to disgust.

“And I didn’t ask for your companionship, either. So that makes two of us.”

She huffed, like a wolf unable to huff and puff the brick house. “I thought you’re going to be there for me. I asked you to be my date for tonight’s party. Show you off to my girlfriends.”

My eyes squinted without turning around.

This was getting fucking ridiculous. What are we, in high school?

Madison and I hang out for a month. She couldn’t possibly think I’m serious about her.

It never occurred to me that Madison’s desperation to put a brave face and demand.

It also never occur to me she acted like a little girl whine for an expensive makeup at a beauty store.

I know girls—older women, too—knew what they acquire to suit their personal taste—what they want to do first thing when they wake up, what to eat or drink for breakfast, what perfume they wear or how to style clothes and cosmetics and beauty supplies to accentuate.

Every girl’s reply and emotion varies, but they all shared something in common, one where I can’t fathom.

Their mood swings. Flushed faces and sharpened eyes and knotted brows drew deeper and growling voice.

Cool, elegance in their posture became stiff and rigid.

Grating tones were coming in each time words spilled from their lips, growing louder and louder like Madison’s.

It doesn’t matter how many predominantly women had tricks on their sleeves, they weren’t gratified to what I gifted them.

They were ever so thankless and reckless.

Madison is not far from other girls I conversed with or shared contact numbers with, they’re born and cut from the same cloth, speaking in a same language.

Their unchangeable attitude, just different faces and clothing choices set me off. Whether they’re stunning or intelligent, their minds went on the same route once their emotions ran off into the wilderness. Logical sense went flying off the handle; chaos reigned, like how mothers were.