Stitch X Angel Novels & Stories

She worried for a moment that he might not be able to hold her, but he seemed very capable of hold her with one arm while playing her like a fiddle with the other. "Damascus, please," she said between pants. "What do you want, Angel?" he whispered into her ear before nibbling on her ear lobe. "Harder," Amara breathed. Damascus groaned and obliged her as he began to pound into her. Amaras back still firmly placed on the wall let her feel all of him with every thrust.

She took one step and two ladies joined her in the living room both in uniforms and so did a woman in a white coat and a gentleman in a black tuxedo. "Er, who are you?" Camila asked staring at the four pairs of eyes looking at her. "I am Mavis," one of the ladies in uniform replied "I am Marian," the other introduce "I am Dr Chloe," replied the next lady "I am Martin, your bodyboard," said the man in a tuxedo "We are at your service," they said in unison "Wow, Mrs Carter got all of this for me," Camila thought with a smile "Thank you," she replied with a smile and Martin took her bag upstairs to what would be her room

He would make it a better place for the unwanted and make a home for himself. Laurent was a stubborn Angel and he would make an even better Fallen.

Itsuki said, which made Marcus frown in confusion. “Angel with devil horns? Why?” he asked. “The girls in our troops are called Angels. But since she’s the coldest and ruthless among them, they called her Angel with devil horns.” Mariko rolled her eyes as she put the weapons they had used earlier from the training back on its shelves.

“She’s Angel.” The room stilled. Angel. The word seemed to hover in the air, sinking into every heart. It felt right. More than right—it was perfect. She was their miracle, their savior in the darkest storm. Alisia’s lips trembled as she whispered it aloud. “Angel…” Her hand pressed over her chest. “Yes. She’s our Angel.” Xavier’s eyes softened, the sharp edges of his soul melting away. He placed his hand over Alisia’s, his voice steady and proud. “Angel Knight.” His gaze swept across the room. “Our little bundle of joy.”

Tears trickled down my cheeks and I tried sniffing it back in. A knock resounded from the door. Did he come back? “Phoenix. It’s Angel.” I sighed, and wiped my tears before telling her to come in. Angel was one of the artist whose work was displayed. She was a very beautiful woman who survived her husband’s domestic abuse. Just like me, she was rescued by the company.