Angela one last time - Part I

He walked across the hallway wondering how on Earth did he end up here again. The rain beat down on the thin windows of the apartment block, reminding him of just what a shitty place this was she'd dragged him to again. Why did he always fall for it, he asked himself. Why?

His heavy boots left stains across the carpet - but between the broken bottles and piss stains it wasn't noticeable. His jeans clung to his legs, wet with rain, his shirt and hair did the same. Though the dampness made him shiver, his breath was hot and rose in quickly dissipating clouds as he mouthed ... Angela.

Angela. What a sweet name for such a sharp girl. Or maybe it was fitting, if she was a fallen angel, thrown out of heaven for some sin. I know just which deadly sin it was, he thought. Lust. He knew it as he knew his own sin, for it was the same.

He paused for a moment outside the dirty door, number 44. Wasn't that a lucky number somewhere, was it China? Hell, he thought, I hope so.

At last he knocked. Knock-a-knock-knock, his signature knock. More of a habit than a secret knock, but he knew she'd recognize it and with a mixture of deep excitement and deep dread he imagined her rising from the bed. Clothed? Probably not, not at this hour. Already he could feel the knot of his manhood unravel. Oh man, why did I come again?

The door opened slowly but deliberately. And there she stood, half angel - her bright eyes, smooth skin, golden hair - and half devil - crooked smile, dark red lips, full breasts and landing strip to her love center that no true angel would dare to cut into the letter V.

V for voracious, for voluptuous, for ...