“Oh… I may be good at following orders sweetheart, but who’s riding a ghoul?” He grinned as his chin was grabbed, behind those barred eyes was a glimmer of cocky amusement. “I can’t help the way I look at’cha… how else is a creature of wrath supposed to look upon an angel.”

Keeping his composure to be coherent was getting to be impossible, especially with the increase in pace. Every bounce felt like a strand of fraying rope popping loose, threatening to open the flood gates despite his pitiful whines against it. His claws pressured in again as his breath came in sharp pants, forced between the roof of his mouth and tongue as his lips parted. It was clear this poor bull was losing his battle, his eyes fluttering close again as he slid his hand from Raphaels outer thigh to his inner thigh. His thumb carefully found it’s way to their enlarged clit, adding a little more friction as they rode, hoping maybe… just maybe they would possibly fall over the edge with him if he could hold out.

Kinda pathetic, at-least in the back of his mind it was. Here he was, the foreman of the ranch, head honcho, able to ride out just about anything no problem and back when he road the range he was quite popular with a select few painted ladies… and now the angel who broke his dry spell would would find themselves at the shorter end of his fuse. Who cares if he used to keep himself entertained for hours, or could dazzle the wild women of the west with his energy… out of practice was an understatement when he said it earlier.

“Haa…hhaa…a—ah…f-fuck. fuck… I think- I think I’m too close…” he whimpered, looking up to the creature above him as if to search for permission… or forgiveness.