Not an Angel

Angel is trouble, and she wants it that way. The redhead keeps pushing until someone puts her in her place, and tonight that someone is her teacher. She drops to her knees without being told. Her lips part, eager, and he feeds her every inch. She takes him deep, saliva running down her chin, eyes watering but never looking away. He grips her hair and uses her mouth, slow at first, then harder, until her throat flutters around him and spit coats his shaft. When he pulls free, he paints her face with thick, hot ropes, covering her lips, her cheeks, her lashes. She stays on her knees, breathing hard, come dripping from her skin, already wondering what she’ll do tomorrow to earn it again.