Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 (5 page)

Rafael leaned away. “No. Her wings are still there, she simply can’t unfurl them.”

“What kind of punishment is that?”

“We’re not medieval up there. The rack’s been in mothballs for a long time.”

“Not in Hell it hasn’t.”

Rafael rested his head in his hands. “You guys have to help me. Think. Where could she have gone? What’s close enough to this place for her and Olaf to have walked or run to?”

Dead silence.

Damn.

“Hold it.” Stefin slammed his fist on the table. The wood cracked. He turned to Anatol and Taro. “Remember when we first got here and Becca insisted we not use our powers so we could suffer like mortals do, learn some humility?”

Taro slouched in his chair. “I’ve been trying to forget the dark days.”

“Me too.” Anatol brushed his dreadlocks over his shoulder. “No money, fun, raising hell, or sex. Murder.”

Stefin smiled. “Things got way better when my Zoe came around.”

“Not
your
Zoe,” Taro pointed out. “She’s ours too.”

“Only when I allow it.”

Anatol chuckled. “Dream on.”

“Guys.” Rafael rapped the table. “Where did you go when you couldn’t use your powers?”

“The Crucible.”

They’d answered as one.

Rafael stood. “Point me in the right direction.”

“Hold on.” Stefin tugged him back down. “You can’t go there.”

“Why not?”

Anatol smiled sympathetically. “You’re a good angel. One whiff of your righteousness and the patrons would scatter like roaches in a spotlight, never to return. The management wouldn’t like that.”

“So?”

“Wynona wouldn’t either. Do you plan to drag her out of there?”

“I thought we could talk.”

“Like you do here?”

Rafael ground his teeth. “What do you suggest?”

“A disguise.” Taro glanced at the others. “He could watch her without her knowing. If she does anything wrong, he could slap on the cuffs and haul her away.”

“Or I could talk to her.”

They laughed.

Every one of them was loony, but Rafael had little choice if he wanted to save Wynona from herself. “What kind of a disguise? What would I go as?”

“Definitely someone less uptight.” Anatol pursed his lips. “You’re positively corporate in that getup. The cord needs to go first.”

The leather tie jerked away and flew across the room. Rafael’s hair swung forward, wiggling from an unseen force. When his locks stilled, he risked a touch. His do was fluffed up and tangled as it would be if he’d cavorted with a lusty reaper.

Before he could indulge in the wicked fantasy, his brown pants morphed into black leather, the crotch tight enough to crush his balls. He tugged to give them more room. His ivory shirt transformed into black silk. Instead of buttons, the garment laced in front, the wide V it created showing skin from his pecs to his navel. “You expect me to wear this?”

Stefin turned to the others. “Should we put makeup on him too?”

“What?” Rafael leaned away. “No.”

“The glittery kind kicks serious ass.” Daemon swallowed three Milky Ways at once and burped. “Heather has some killer blues and greens. She stashes them here just in case we get an urge to visit a BDSM club. I’ll get them from her.”

Rafael grabbed Daemon’s wrist. “Don’t bother.”

“I don’t mind.”

Rafael did. “No makeup. None of this either.” He gestured to his costume. Calling it clothes would be too kind. “I refuse to let anyone see me in this.”

“Why?” Stefin winked. “You look so hot.”

Taro and Anatol bent over laughing.

Rafael held back a shriek. “How would all of you like to go on parole with Xavier calling the shots?”

Taro snickered. “He couldn’t be any worse than Becca.”

“Fine. I’ll get her in here and see what she thinks.”

“Sit down.” Stefin gestured Rafael back to his chair. “We’ve been yanking your chain, all right? However, you do have to wear that to blend in. With us surrounding you, no one will notice what you really are.”

“You’re coming too?”

“Trust me, you may need protection. It’s sleazy as hell there.”

Taro grinned. “Happiest place on earth.”

“Especially tonight.” Anatol wiggled his eyebrows. “Half-price drinks for females. There’ll be a crowd of guys eager to pour whatever they can down the ladies’ throats. Get them nice and relaxed for a night of loving.”

Rafael shot to his feet. “Come on, get dressed. There’s no time to waste.” Wynona was there with Olaf and possibly hundreds of other lust-crazed goons.

Anatol, Taro, and Stefin didn’t move.

Taro shook his head. “Dressed?”

“Yeah, like me.” Rafael tugged on his crotch again. Didn’t help. His groin and legs were so sweaty the leather adhered to him like glue.

“We can go in with what we have on.” Stefin gestured to their black shirts and pants. “We’re regulars. Even if we weren’t, the flames in our eyes are a dead giveaway for a demon.” He pushed from his chair.

The others followed, except for Daemon, who slapped his hands together, getting rid of crumbs.

Rafael didn’t want him to feel left out. “Would you like to come too?”

“Another time. Heather, MJ, and I have plans.”

Stefin slung his arm around Rafael’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Faster than a blink, they left the break room and entered what Rafael guessed was the Crucible. Metal guitars squealed, drums pounded, banshees screeched lyrics from the small stage, each creature ugly as sin, their killer bods clad in black leather and lace. The walls and glasses shook from the mega-loud music. Smoke plumes pressed down from the ceiling. Numerous patrons screwed on the tables and floors.

Rafael gaped and glanced away, thankful none was Wynona. Someone smacked his hand. He turned.

Stefin bounced his shoulders in time to the tune and said something Rafael didn’t hear.

“What? I didn’t get that.”

“Decent crowd tonight!”

Rafael cringed at Stefin’s bellow and the volume of the music. A little louder and his ears would bleed.

“Hey.” Anatol tapped Rafael’s shoulder and pointed.

The smoke and crowd parted like the Red Sea. Tucked within the frenzy were Wynona and Olaf, sharing a table. Rafael’s mouth went dry. He pushed through the crowd before he realized what he was doing.

She and Olaf weren’t making out as Rafael had feared. They weren’t touching at all, talking either, or even looking at each other. Despite the crowd here, they were in a circle of emptiness, most likely because they were reapers.

Wynona’s face was down, expression forlorn. She nursed her Death in the Afternoon, a potent drink of absinthe and champagne, the combination created by Ernest Hemingway, who would have loved this place.

Wynona didn’t seem to. She sighed again, glanced over at Rafael, and stilled.

He wanted to smile but wasn’t certain he should. Could be she’d misunderstand his intent.

She turned in her chair, stared and then squinted, her gaze zipping over him. She regarded his hair again before checking out his eyes. Her mouth fell open.

She’d either seen through his disguise or thought it was as dumb as he did.

He lifted his hand in greeting.

She tightened her jaw.

Now what? The only way for her to flee, without powers, was the door behind him. Unless she had enough strength to ram through the wall.

He held his breath and waited, prepared to catch her if she ran past.

She pushed from her chair and crawled on the table.

Surely, she wasn’t going to leap past him. He still had his wings and could fly up to catch her.

On her feet, she danced, bumping and grinding to the music, wiggling her booty in Olaf’s face. He grinned. Even for a reaper, he had a disgusting smile.

Rafael shoved two vamps aside so he could get to her before they did.

She threw back her head and wailed in time with the banshees, her hips undulating, boobs bouncing.

He stopped at the table, transfixed.

Wynona dipped, swayed, spun. Waves of lavender and musk rolled off her and caressed him. His need mounted, cock pressing against his balls, both hungry for a loving caress.

Olaf reached for her. Rafael punched his hand away. The reaper shrieked. Too bad. Wynona was Rafael’s to save, protect, guide.

The guitars twanged one last deafening time. The banshees quieted, leaving sounds of heavy breathing, kissing, and fucking to fill the relative quiet.

Wynona slowed gradually and looked down, defiance in her eyes.

Rafael offered his hand.

“Hey.” Olaf stood. “She’s with me.”

Rafael didn’t take his eyes off her, afraid she’d run, disappear, never come back. He hoped she wouldn’t reject him. She had every right. He’d treated her badly without realizing how awful he’d been, more worried about his own turmoil than her feelings.

He prayed she’d be a better person than he’d been.

On a sigh that might have been pissed or weary, she slid her fingers over his, her touch supercharged, delivering riotous pleasure and heat, the promise for more. There had to be more.

Carefully, he helped her down.

Once on her feet, she pulled her hand from his and backed away.

He followed. Nothing else was possible.

She stopped and lifted her chin. “You look ridiculous.”

“I know.”

Her frown faltered. “Why the costume?”

He nearly smiled. Although they were at different ends of the angel spectrum, at times they did think alike. “To get in here. To see you.”

“You could have done that at the office.”

“You told me not to.”

She shifted her weight. “Why?”

“You were pissed, and rightfully so.”

Her eyebrows inched up then sank right back down. “That’s not what I meant. Why did you want to see me here?”

“To talk. Actually, to ask a favor, if you can agree.”

She edged back. “To what?”

The truth he couldn’t deny any longer and had known from the moment he’d first seen her. “I want you to corrupt me.”

Chapter Five

Wynona’s vision dimmed. The room twirled. Swaying, she clutched the first thing she could.

Olaf patted the fingers that she’d dug into his bony arm.

She jerked away and staggered back. Weres, bad fairies, warlocks, and shifters scattered quickly before she could touch them.

Rafael alone followed her.

His hair was a cloud of dark temptation, deliciously mussed, his leather pants ungodly tight. Even in the gloom, his ginormous erection and plump balls were obvious. Their musky fragrance hit her with tsunami force, the scent rich and decadent.

She wavered again and drank him in.

Perspiration clung to his powerful chest, the heavier drops rolling to his navel. Short, dark hairs circled the depression and arrowed lower, beneath his waistband.

She’d lied. He didn’t look ridiculous. He was the most magnificent creature she’d ever seen and had surely gone bonkers. Or he was trying to trick her so she’d leave willingly without a fight.

She searched his eyes. Heat and need blazed within, as deep as hers.

Her breath caught. She stumbled back again.

Rafael advanced, pursuing her as no man ever had.

She bumped into someone. The clammy cold said he had to be a vamp, his chill seeping into her.

Warmth poured from Rafael, inviting her closer, proving Christmas had come early this year. For the first time in forever, she was about to get precisely what she’d hoped for. A chance to corrupt him and then hold his fall from grace over his head. He’d have no choice except to let her reap at will, cull the herd, take down any fucker who hurt women, or dared look at her the wrong way.

Too many had. She was as welcomed as the plague, her past horrible, present worthless, future a black hole with no lasting friends, family, or love. The ladies at From Crud to Stud had tried to like her, but they’d eventually snap back to reality and loath her like everyone else had.

She fought hurt and tears. “What is the matter with you? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Despite the noise in here, several patrons glanced over.

Drums pounded, metal guitars twanged, the banshees howled their newest song. Attracted to the coarse beat, the crowd boogied again, forgetting her and Rafael.

Stefin, Anatol, and Taro crossed the room, strutting her way. Crap, they were here too? She gave them the finger. They stopped and kept their distance.

Rafael eased closer, sorrow in his eyes. “You don’t want me?”

He couldn’t be serious. She craved him more than a chance to be the popular girl, finding Prince Charming and a McMansion at the end of her rainbow. “You have no idea what I want.”

“Tell me. I’ll listen.”

Of course, he would. He was perfect. She sighed.

“What is it? I’m not your type?”

If she’d been a sentimental fool, she would have believed he’d been created just for her.

He gave her a puppy-dog look that cut right to a woman’s core.

“I’m not good enough for you?”

She smacked his shoulder. “Now you’re talking crazy. How much have you had to drink?” He had to be wasted. Booze or drugs were the only explanation for his outfit and behavior. She leaned close and sniffed, expecting to smell liquor and pot.

Two scents bombarded her—one fresher than the dawn of time, the other more wanton than her X-rated thoughts…his angelic and male fragrances combined. A bawdy moan caught in her throat.

He stroked her hair. “I didn’t come here to drink. I came for you.”

She threw her arms around him, powerless against her feelings, but also worried about his. “We need to talk. No, wait. We have to get out of here first.”

He wound his arm around her waist. “Hold on.”

Beneath the music and crowd, a familiar rustling sounded as he unfurled his wings. Patrons ducked or skipped back to avoid those babies hitting them, each more than twelve feet long.

Every woman knew what a wide wingspan and large hands meant on a man.

She trembled at his gorgeous feathers, so white they shone. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the best place to show them off. Reaper wings were black. Only good angels had ones like his.

A dangerous rumbling ran through the crowd. The hunkier demons and beasts looked like they wanted to brawl.

She bounced in place. “Better file your flight plan and take off.”

Rafael held her more firmly, his colossal erection snuggled against her pussy. Whimpering, she clung to him. He flew to the ceiling.

“Hey.” Olaf glared from the floor. “You’re leaving?”

Well, duh. “Hold it.” She gripped Rafael’s shirt. “I can’t go through walls or ceilings any longer. SACS cut my power.”

“Not a prob. You’re with me now.”

Indeed she was. Effortlessly, they slipped through plaster, wood, insulation, and shingles to the outside. The breeze swept past, cool and moist, not yet gusting from her presence. Trumpets wailed sensually. Laughter rang out. Conversations rose and fell.

No one looked up. Rafael had made them both invisible to man and beast. Stray dogs lifted their muzzles and sniffed but finally gave up and searched the ground for her scent.

He soared upward, away from the wind’s grip. Stars twinkled above them. Lights shimmered below.

Wonder filled her. The last time she’d experienced such freedom was when she’d been able to fly and teleport. She’d not realized until now how much she’d missed the power. She should have been pissed at SACS for every cruddy thing they’d done, but couldn’t help but embrace this small slice of happiness. It wouldn’t last. Never did. “Where are we going?”

Rafael looked at her, his irises glinting, the blue shockingly beautiful. “To talk.”

“At your place? Heaven?”

He stopped ascending and hovered instead.

He really needed to work on his poker face, his discomfort far too obvious. He didn’t want her in paradise. Who could blame him? Taking her there was no different from a crown prince introducing his druggie girlfriend to his mum, the Queen.

Rafael lifted his shoulders. “Your place?”

She hadn’t straightened up before leaving for work, but what the hell, it was either there or a treatment room. “It’s not much.”

“I don’t mind.”

He wasn’t putting her on. Not because good angels couldn’t lie, his tender caress and touching expression spoke volumes. They really needed to have a chat. “Do you need directions?”

“No.” He banked west to her place. “The address is in your file.”

Right. She’d forgotten he was her PO. Blame it on how he’d dressed tonight and currently nuzzled his colossal rod against her cleft. If she got any wetter, she’d embarrass herself.

Silly fool. A badass reaper would have given him the cold shoulder at the club, raised hell and then run like mad when he’d tried to take her into custody. She’d caved faster than a pre-teen in the throes of her first serious crush.

When would she ever learn?

She rested her face against his neck, her nipples poking his chest.

His cock got harder than reinforced concrete, maybe even steel. A woman could get hurt from that kind of masculine power.

She gripped him even tighter.

They neared her Victorian, a pink-and-white confection with ornate moldings, a widow’s walk, and lacy ironwork balconies. No need to tell him she rented the attic. He already knew and made a perfect descent into her place.

She didn’t bother to turn on the lights. The moment he touched down, her cheapo lamps flickered wildly from her presence and finally settled, casting the cramped space in a dull yellow glow.

Rafael’s wings slid inside his back. He turned a slow circle, taking in the discipline straps hanging over her lone chair, one-and-two-headed dildos on her shabby nightstand, crops, whips, manacles, chains, slave collars, masks, and other BDSM stuff scattered throughout the room.

His cheeks colored but he didn’t glance away or bolt. He focused on the brass bed, her nicest furniture. A lavender-and-black satin comforter bordered with ecru lace covered the king-size mattress.

She was a romantic at heart. So sue her.

Before he could comment on the enigma of her soft side and obvious depravity, she pushed the chair into his legs. He dropped into the seat.

She paced, stepping over her stuff. “You can’t possibly want this.”

“Would you rather we go to a hotel?”

“What?”

“If you don’t want to stay here, we can—”

“I’m talking about me corrupting you. Did Stefin put you up to this?”

“Absolutely not. He and the other guys tried to convince me to get rid of you. No freaking way.” Rafael bunched his shoulders, fisted his fingers, and thrust out his bottom lip.

A little more of this and she’d be in love. “You do realize how wrong our screwing around is, downright depraved, in fact. Once the deed is done, you will have gone where no good angel has before. You are aware of that, right?”

“I was counting on it and more.”

She shook his shoulders, hoping to snap him out of this lunacy. “Good God, man, what’s gotten into you?”

“You.”

He hauled her onto his lap, legs straddling him, her pussy touching his balls and cock. A rush of heat flowed from him, warming her faster than the depths of Hell. He was beyond hard, his kiss more than wicked, well past the far side of debased.

Where had he learned this? What did it matter?

She savored his unparalleled taste, lost in their passion. These last weeks without him had been worse than lonely. The endless hours had been cruel. She’d never expected much from existence except endless reaping, along with a few laughs and some mediocre orgasms.

Being in his arms went beyond her wildest fantasies. Which this was. Drowning in his lust wouldn’t change reality. He’d been out of her life longer than he’d ever been in it. What they were doing wasn’t worth the trouble or grief.

She couldn’t let go.

He cupped her ass, stood with little effort, and strode to the bed. The frame groaned from their combined weight, the mattress shimmied, her breasts popped out of her top. He latched on to one nipple and squeezed the other.

Too many feelings rose to the surface. Desire, happiness, fear, confusion, sorrow, need. She pushed the bad shit aside and concentrated on the good. This represented a once-in-a-lifetime chance she didn’t want to miss. Paradise couldn’t be better unless he was there with her, smiling, scolding, sharing, loving.

Impossible. They only had now.

She tugged his shirt, wanting it off, him nude and inside her.

He lifted his head, eyes dazed, lips damp. Without comment, he swooped back down and suckled her neck, tickling her.

She squealed. “Take off your clothes.”

He panted, his breath warming her throat. “I thought you liked my costume.”

“I prefer skin. I want to see yours. I want to see everything.”

His clothes flew in all directions, his boxer briefs landing on her lampshade, his shirt on the floor, its laces torn away, back ripped. He’d also broken his fly during his enthusiastic striptease. On his knees, he faced her.

Her belly fluttered.

His tiny nipples were the same color as fine cognac, pecs and abs nothing but hard slabs of bronze muscles. Dark, silky hair peeked from beneath his arms. Male fur trickled in a thin line from beneath his navel to his groin, and his cock jutted from a thatch of thick black curls.

He was even larger than she’d suspected, simply exquisite, his meaty crown scarlet with passion, pre-come shining dully on the slit. Ropey veins snaked up the thick column. Short, dark hairs dusted his succulent balls. His powerful thighs and calves were wonderfully hairy too. All man.

He searched her face. “You like?”

“Are you kidding? You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

He smiled self-consciously. “Now you. I want to see every part, nothing hidden.”

She put out her hand, stopping him from touching her. “Not so fast. You’re not done.”

He glanced down then over. “I took off my shoes and socks.”

“You did, but I want to see everything.”

“What else is there?”

“Show me your wings, and I’ll show you the way to Hell and back.”

Laughing, he unfurled the things. Thankfully, her room was wide enough that the tips stopped before touching the walls. She pressed her hands to her chest. “Wow.”

He flapped them and
flexed his cock.

“Now you’re showing off.”

“You know me too well.”

She didn’t know him at all but wanted to, desperately, foolishly.

He stroked her thigh. “Your turn. Please. I’ve been fantasizing about you for weeks. I tried not to but couldn’t help myself. No, that’s not right. I didn’t want to stop. Thinking about you was the only thing that made my days bearable.”

All the praise in the world couldn’t have touched her more deeply than his sweet confession. He wasn’t someone who could con to get what he wanted. The truth meant something to him.

Humbled by his desire, excited too, she tugged off her boots and struggled with her zipper, finally breaking it as he’d done with his. Slowly, she peeled off the leather, suddenly shy that she hadn’t worn underwear.

She chanced a peek at him.

Acceptance shone in his eyes, along with enchantment. He beamed.

She pitched her pantsuit past his wing. The garment landed on her whips.

He took in her breasts, mound, eyes, mouth, and then journeyed back to her cleft. “I had no idea anyone could be so perfect.”

“I was aiming for the chair.”

“You know what I mean.” He gestured from her head to her toes. “Perfect.”

“No, you’re wrong, I’m not.” Millions had proven that by avoiding her. “I’m a reaper.”

He smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

“That’s not good.”

“You want to debate this and lose, because you will with me. Or do you want to move on?”

She kissed his hand. If they’d been standing, she would have knelt to him. “I’m all for making love not war.”

Grinning, he pushed her onto her back, spread her legs, and pressed his face to her slit.

Her breath spilled out and his whispered over her damp folds, mouth possessing yet also honoring. Rather than rush or use her as though she were nothing but a warm body, he licked her clit lovingly. No one had ever done that. Reapers mated like Tasmanian devils, vamps were into stinging love bites, zombies were dead meat.