Fallen Angel (Hqn) (17 page)

“Angel…Angel…God.”

He fell on top of her and they were both panting. She had never felt so wonderful in her life. She loved the weight of his body on hers. Their skin, slick with sweat, pressed together.

He loved her.

She’d known it, but to
hear
it…

She had never thought she could feel so happy. That sex could be even more pure and beautiful than she’d been taught.

This was what her life was meant to be. Here, with him.

Declan.

This moment, with him, was so beautiful to her. Precious. She wanted it to last forever. She was too impossibly languid to really think, her body still humming with sensation. With him still inside her.

She hung on, her hands clasping behind his head, his hair like dark silk against her palms. Burying her face in his neck, she inhaled, breathed him in.

Forever. This was where she was meant to be.

CHAPTER TEN

D
ECLAN
PULLED
IN
A
LONG
BREATH
, the night air cool in his lungs. Realizing Angel was still pressed beneath him, he rolled onto his back. She went with him, burrowing into his side, and he took her automatically into his arms, where she laid her head on his chest.

Her cheek was so warm against his skin. Her waist so tiny he could wrap his arm all the way around it. And her hair was everywhere, covering her body and his like a sheaf of silk. He pulled her closer with his other arm, his fingers tracing the scars on her shoulder blades. Whoever had done it had wanted to make space for wings to grow. For her to fly.

He couldn’t think about that now. Too horrible, the reason behind those scars. He didn’t know why he was thinking about it. He could hardly think straight at all. Could still barely breathe. Could still barely believe what they’d done.

And he was thinking things he’d never thought about any other woman.

But it had felt right.
She
felt right. She felt perfect. Scars and all.

Maybe that was how he was justifying to himself that he’d just taken her virginity. But he hadn’t been able to resist. Not anymore.

It was more than the insane attraction he felt the moment he first laid eyes on her, even when she’d been broken and half-alive on the beach. He’d pretty much stopped beating himself up for that. But was it possible he could accept this? That there could be something between them? He couldn’t fucking help what he felt for her. There was no way to stop it. It was too powerful.

And God, he wanted to be with her. He never wanted to let her go. He’d never felt this way for anyone. That to simply hold her naked body next to his, to kiss her,
talk
with her, make love to her again, was all he’d ever need.

Was he some kind of bastard for doing this? For loving her?

He loved her. Goddamn it, he did.

He held her tighter and she sighed, pressing into him. Her plush breasts were crushed against his side, her leg sliding over his.

“Declan,” she whispered, “I never knew…I thought I did. Let’s never get out of this bed.”

He laughed, then, all the bullshit in his head slipping away. He pulled her on top of him and kissed her. Her lips parted, her sweet tongue sliding into his mouth. She took control of the kiss, probing, grazing his lips with her teeth.

He lay back while she explored, her mouth moving down his neck, over his chest. He couldn’t get hard again—not yet. But every touch of lips and teeth and tongue, every soft sweep of her hand or her hair, was pure pleasure.

She moved lower, took one of his nipples into her mouth and sucked, and he felt a new stirring of desire. Impossible. But she sucked harder, her tongue lapping, and when she bit, hard, his cock jumped, wanting to fill.

“Can we do it again, Declan?” she asked.

“Sweetheart, you have to give me a chance to recover.”

“How long?”

“An hour? Maybe less for you.”

“Too long.”

She slid up his body, her breasts against his chest, her warm stomach pressed to his, her cleft against the soft flesh of his cock. She was wet again. Or still.

“Are you sore, Angel?”

“A little. I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You never could.”

He felt a sharp twinge in his chest. He never wanted to let her down. Not here, not now. Not ever.

“Come here.”

He pulled her up, helping her to straddle his waist. Her wet sex was slick on his stomach, and he felt his cock stir again. But it was too soon. And if he tried it again now, she would be too sore.

“Rise up, Angel. Hold yourself up on your knees. Yeah, that’s it.”

She was poised over him; he could see her beautiful body in the dim moonlight. Her breasts were two perfect globes of flesh. Succulent, squeezed together between her arms, her hands on his chest to steady herself. He stroked one nipple and she arched her back, pressing into his hand. He took the nipple between his fingers, pressing and releasing.

“Ah, I love that, Declan. It feels so good. But I need you to touch me. Everywhere. Between my thighs.”

God, that she could say that to him, tell him what she wanted without any inhibition.

He reached down with one hand, stroking her. She moaned, arching into his hand. He found the hard nub of her clit and circled.

“Oh, yes…that’s lovely.”

He rubbed and she moved her hips in rhythm. He watched her as she bit her lip, her teeth coming down on that plush, pink flesh. She was so damn beautiful he could hardly believe it. Really like some angel come to earth.

His
angel.

“Declan, this is so good,” she panted. “But I need more.”

“You’ll have to wait a while for me.” He laughed, loving the stark need in her voice.

“I need to feel you. To feel a part of you.”

“Come here then, my baby.”

He pulled her down, until her sweet, damp cleft was laid over his softening flesh. She felt so good he could almost…but not yet. No, this was for her.

He grasped her hips with his hands, showed her how to slide back and forth. And even though it was far too soon to get hard again, it felt amazing—her slippery flesh against his, the pleasure on her face, the look of wonder in her blue eyes.

“Oh, this is good,” she murmured, her eyes closing, her head falling back.

Something inside him opened and a strange warmth settled in. Something to do with the sheer wonder of her body, of her beautiful response. To see her like this, watching what she felt reflected in the sinuous writhing of her hips, the expression on her lovely face. Her pink lips parted, her quiet moans.

She moved faster, ground down harder against him. Pleasure filled him: mind and body, as her moans grew louder.

“Declan,” she gasped.

“Yes, baby. Come on.”

“Oh…ohhh…”

It was a long, keening cry, her body undulating, her sex like liquid fire against his nearly hard flesh as she came.

For her.

Yes, his own desire was nothing right now. It was all about Angel.

She dropped, burying her face in his neck, and he breathed her in: her scent, her
presence.

She was laid out on top of him, her weight nothing on his body. She was so small, everything except her full, heavy breasts. But he was beginning to realize there was nothing fragile about his Angel.

His
Angel.

His.

He rolled her over, until they both lay on their sides. Her arms wound around his neck, her face pressed into his chest.

He couldn’t figure out this sense of possession he felt with her. But he was too exhausted to think straight right now. There would be plenty of time to think in the morning. To figure out if he’d just done something really terrible. Reprehensible. Or if this was the best thing he’d done in his entire life.

* * *

S
HE
WAS
FALLING
,
THE
WARM
wind whispering over her skin. She felt wonderful, light and loose all over. She wished briefly, in some vague way, for Asmodeus, to share with him what she had experienced. But she was too content to call for him. Too comfortable in the familiar, falling darkness, with the lovely, aching sensations in her body. She would happily fall alone while Declan rested. She knew this empty place, knew it was a place of rest and recovery for her body. When she awoke she would be ready for him once more.

Declan.

Her body lit with need simply thinking his name. Her hands went to her breasts, cupping them through the strands of her long hair that had wrapped around her body in the wind. She thumbed her nipples, luxuriated in the hardening flesh, the urgent pulse-beat of blood in her veins. She pictured his beautiful face, the iris-blue of his eyes, the lushness of his mouth, and she went damp with need.

She spread her thighs, let one hand slip down to stroke her wet cleft. Ah, it was too good. But not nearly as good as when Declan touched her. She could almost come simply thinking about it: the way he touched her, the gentle pant of his breath in her mouth, the heat of his body, the press of his hard flesh inside her.

She pushed two fingers inside, going deep for the first time, since she no longer had to preserve her virginity. That gift had been given, and received. Beautifully.

“Oh…”

Yes, she would come, here. Now. For Declan.

Her hips arched into her hand. She squeezed her nipple, drove her fingers hard into her pulsing sex, pressed her thumb to her clitoris. Her climax rose inside her, hovered. She took in a breath, readied herself.

“Girl!”

“Asmodeus…”

It felt wrong, suddenly, that her demon lover was there with her. Sensation skittered to a stop, faded, her body aching, but unwilling to come in his presence.

She did not belong with him now. She belonged to Declan.
With
him, which was even better.

“You dared,” Asmodeus said to her, his tone low, threatening. He didn’t have to finish his sentence; she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Asmodeus, it was right. It
is
right. I am for him. I know that now.”

“I trained you, girl.” His body, his flawless face, gleamed golden in the dark, heat radiating from him. But it was a different heat than the sensual warmth she was used to. This was a burning heat that singed her skin. But she was not afraid. She was too sure of herself, of what she had done.

“Yes, Asmodeus. And for that I thank you. Truly.”

“I did not teach you these things for a mere man.”

“Yet you agreed to teach me to be irresistible to him. You helped me.”

“I did not teach you for him. Not for
him.
”

“The one you taught me for rejected me.”

“And what of me?” His voice was tight and low.

Was that fear she heard in his voice? Sadness?

Was it possible that all along he had wanted her for himself?

“You were meant to be my teacher,” she told him. “And you have been so much more. Lover and friend and confidant.”

“But no longer.”

It was a statement, not a question, made in a voice laced with bitterness. Still, she had to think carefully about her answer.

“I must be honest with you, Asmodeus. I no longer know what your role in my life will be. Everything has changed.”

“I have not.”

“But I have. For the first time. I have changed beyond your teachings, the teachings of The Grandmother. I’ve grown beyond even the many things I’ve read in books, most of which did not apply to my existence, but was nothing more than information stored in my head, to ponder over, to wonder at. To amuse myself with. And I am having to reevaluate everything. Every single thing. Who I am, who and what I’ll be. Until now, there has never been any question about any of this. Even having to consider these things is…an epiphany for me. Declan is helping me—”

“Do not say his name to me,” Asmodeus growled.

She nodded. “I understand. But I cannot promise you that I will seek you out any longer.”

He looked away. She had never seen this sort of emotion from him. Perhaps there had never been any reason for him to feel anything other than pleasure and arrogance and his own power. She had not given him any reason to. She had only ever given him complete power over her. Reason to exist in her dream-life. In her mind.

In my mind…

She remained quiet, waiting for him to respond. Finally, he turned back to her, his voice still low, but softer now. Seductive, almost. “You do not know how to exist without me, little one.”

“I never have before. But that, too, is changing.”

“And yet, I am here, as I have always been.”

“For now.”

“You need me still,” he insisted.

She shook her head. Her pulse ticked wildly in her throat, but she had to say it. “I don’t know. Asmodeus, I have come to question even your very existence.”

He threw back his head, exposing the strong column of his golden throat, and let out a sharp, barking laugh. “Do not be too confident, little one, in the infancy of your self-discovery. Do not let it go to your head, as it apparently has. I am here before you. You feel my heat. My power.”

“Your heat, yes…”

“Do not doubt me.” Anger in his voice once more. His mood seemed to be shifting from anger to wheedling and back again.

“And yet I do, Asmodeus. I don’t know what will happen now. I don’t know if I will call you again. I don’t know that I need you any longer.”

“You will always need me. You will see that for yourself. And unlike you, my loyalty does not waver. I will be here when you call.”

He said it like a threat. But she could hear the pain beneath it. Felt her own pain like a twisting knife.

“I appreciate that, Asmodeus,” she said quietly.

“Do not condescend to me.”

“I never would.”

He frowned at her. His face was beautiful even then.

“I have had enough of you for now.”

He waved his hand and vanished.

She was left alone, falling. But she let the darkness envelop her, the warm wind carry her, safe for the first time. Safe in her knowledge of love.

* * *

S
HE
CAME
AWAKE
. T
HE
SUN
was shining beyond the curtained window, a pale, golden light casting its rays on the wood floor, across the foot of the bed. Declan was still beside her, his dark lashes resting on his high cheekbones. His mouth looked even more lush to her in sleep. And there was a calm about him that was never there when he was awake.

Twice she had come to him as he slept, but always in the dark. She had never had the opportunity to explore his face, his body, while he rested.

She saw now how the morning sunlight tipped the dark hairs on his arms in amber. How the muscles corded beneath his tanned skin. Saw the small scars on his hands from working outdoors, and from making his wood carvings. Her fingertips went to her own scars: on her thighs, her stomach. To the pentagrams tattooed in red on her palms, where she could feel the raised ink beneath her skin.