Soul Surrender (22 page)

New Jersey, 1776

 

T
he Hessians had been in Trenton for a week. Their garrison was stationed right off of King Street, a convenient block away from the brothel. And many of our succubi had simply moved into their barracks. But not me. Jack was still adamant about keeping me all for himself.

It was our first night spent at his house in what felt like ages. Even with the fire crackling in the hearth, frigid air crept in through the flimsy closed windows and crawled across my bare flesh until goose bumps covered my body.

I wasn't necessarily cold, despite the gooseflesh and tight nipples. Jack palmed my breast, squeezing and rolling my nipple between his fingers. Though the sensation wasn't exactly disagreeable, I got the sense that it was more for his amusement than mine. And why shouldn't it be? He was paying for the privilege, I supposed.

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon; orange light glittered along Jacob's Creek. All I could do was stare out that window at the beautiful, glistening water as Jack's hand dipped from my breast down my stomach and into the crook between my legs. I bucked as his fingers brushed my most sensitive area and my bottom rammed into his hardened manhood.

Despite the fact that we had just had sex less than eight hours ago before falling asleep, that blasted itch surfaced, flaring itself through my body like a hungry beast. And my body betrayed my heart, betrayed my mind, as moisture gathered between my thighs. Jack's fingers were skillful, that was for sure, and he dipped two inside, my body stiffening at the movement. A moan escaped, and I hated myself for enjoying it.

The creek glittered, the twinkling light hitting my face with the morning sunlight, winking at me as if it approved. I lifted a knee, dropping my foot behind Jack's body to offer him my everything as widely as I could. I throbbed for him. His touch, his erection, his lips, his tongue—all of him.

Snaking his hands under my body, he rolled me on top of him—only I was on my back, lying atop his nude body. His erection cradled between my buttocks and I curled my feet under, bent at the knees. I spread for him. Open. Wet. Needing.

His lips found my neck, nipping at the top of my shoulder while he inserted three fingers, drowning them inside of me. My breath caught, breasts bouncing as my body clenched around his fingers. Oh, how I wanted to hate this. I wanted to hate his touch; but he was too damn good. My back arched into his hand and his thumb circled the mass of curls between my legs while his palm added pressure to the nub above my opening.

A cry echoed in the room and my body exploded, clenching and curling around his knuckles.

He scooped my hair to the side, taking my ear into his mouth and suckling at it. “Sit up, my dearest. I want to see those tight prats of yours,” he said, and trailed his hands to my buttocks, squeezing and slipping a finger from my slit to crack. The other hand gently pressed the top of my shoulders, aiding in pushing me to my knees, facing away from him atop his erect rod.

Lifting myself, I held him firmly at the base and impaled myself on him. His course leg hair scratched the insides of my thighs, and his wiry hair brushed my backside. The itch slashed low inside my belly, and I cried out at the rush of him inside of me. Tears welled, and while I would normally need to swallow them, watering the seeds of self-loathing, I let them fall free this time. One by one they dripped down my face onto my breasts and down between my legs.

I rode Jack. Soft at first, reveling in the feel of his soft head gliding in and out. Then faster, his tip hitting the delicious knot deep inside of me. His hands started on my hips, rotating them in circles as well as up and down—as if I didn't already know just how he liked it. I fell forward between his legs onto my hands, and his finger brushed my bum. The other hand spread my backside as his finger explored into my tightest pucker. I gasped as he entered a finger, and I tightened all over. My body went rigid. How could something so unusual feel so bloody good?

“Don't stop,” I whispered, my tears long forgotten.

“Never,” he husked, pushing deeper inside. I gasped as both penetrations touched inside of me.

I was teetering on the edge of another explosion. On a wall, several stories into the sky, ready to happily leap over the other side.

He pumped into me harder and harder, but all the while keeping his finger in slow, controlled movements.

“Jack—I'm so close. I-I'm going to . . . I'm going to . . .”

“Oh, my pet,” he groaned, lifting his own backside off the bed in a final thrust. His hand gripped my hip bone while the other wiggled against my hole. His fluids spurted hot and sticky inside of me, and I screamed as the rolling waves of orgasm slammed into me at the same time as his life force.

With every climax he had, I saw the reel of his life. Saw his life thinning before my very eyes. He would still kill Tom. But he would die minutes after the battle thanks to a gunshot to his temple. I smirked to myself. All it would take is once or twice more with me. And then he would be dead before he could even place a hand on his son.

“C
urious seeing you here.” Jules's golden blond hair whipped around his neck with a breeze from a ceiling fan.

“Don't start with me, Julian.” I snapped the book shut and placed it back on the shelf with others, glancing around the bookstore. “What are
you
doing here?”

He chuckled. “Oh, you know . . .” he said, holding up a book as well. “Just finding a purpose for driving along this life. Like you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Exactly the ambiguous answer I'd expect from you.”

I turned, stomping in the opposite direction, and in the blink of an eye, Jules was standing before me. I slammed into his chest, bouncing off of him. He caught me around the shoulders, steadying me. “Monica—why are you in the spiritual section of the bookstore?” His smirk was gone, replaced instead with rosy lips thinned into a line.

“Leave me alone, Julian. I mean it,” I said through gritted teeth. “I have business to attend to.”

“In the religious studies section? An angel should do anything but cramp your style here.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “Stay. Watch. You'll regret it, though.”

He paused, raking assessing eyes down the length of my body, taking in my cardigan sweater over a pink A-line dress. “You're not about to do what I think you're going to do, are you?”

“You're the lie detector. Does it look like I'm lying to you right now?”

“Monica,” he whispered. “Don't go back to this life.” His crystal eyes widened. “You're better than this.”

“Julian—you have to trust me.” I swallowed. I don't know why I was asking him to trust me when I could barely trust myself with this. But the bottom line was that I needed to know if this whole “giving life” thing held any weight. And the only way to find out was to be with someone I didn't completely despise, like a Hell-bound asshat.

His eyes tipped and his mouth marred into a frown. Without another word, he turned to leave just as I grasped his elbow.

“Wait—”

Hope sparked across his features.

“Jules, I know that angels of death exist. Like the Banshee—and I'm sure there's many others. Are there any . . . I don't know . . . angels of life? Or something?”

Furled eyebrows marred his beautifully chiseled face. “No. God is the only being that can give life. Though many can take it away. Humans included.” He glanced down at my clenched hand, still grasping his elbow. “Why?”

I swallowed, knowing there was no way to lie to him. “I was curious. There's so much I never bothered to learn about both angels and demons.” I looked away, knowing the statement was absolutely true. “It was stupid. Always depending on you and Lucien to take care of me. I guess I'm just regretting my ignorance now with Lucien gone.”

Jules narrowed his eyes at me again, eyes flitting around my hair. Reading my aura. Fucking angels. After a moment, he nodded, one side of his mouth twitching to his eyes a fraction. “It's not the whole truth—but at least it's something,” he said, that smile cracking a touch larger.

I exhaled. He could have grilled that a lot harder, that's for sure. With a
crack,
he was gone.

 

Forty-five minutes and three religious men later, I still hadn't managed to land one of them for even a make-out session. Shit, maybe I was setting my standards too high. Spiritual guys needed time to trust you, know you, maybe even love you. I looked at my cell phone. I had less than an hour. There was no time to fall in love.

Flopping onto the wall behind me, I slid into a crouch on the ground.

“Can I help you find something?” A young man with plastic, black-rimmed glasses, rumpled brown hair, and a golden aura looked down on me.

I climbed to my feet and inwardly smirked. He was cute. More than cute, in a smart,
I read a lot
kind of way. He wore corduroys with a tiny rip on the knee and a fitted Ramones T-shirt that hugged a trim torso. “I think I found it, actually.”

“Oh. Okay.” He shrugged and turned to leave.

“I was going to grab a coffee in the café. Are you almost off your shift?”

His eyes assessed me from head to toe, stopping only momentarily at my breasts. He glanced at his phone. “No, but . . .” He trailed off, then shook his head. “No, not for a while,” he finished with a smirk.

I nodded, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “Okay. What's on the agenda for work today?”

He looked at me curiously and gestured to a rolly cart of books and a printed list. “Moving last week's releases from the front to the back.”

I exhaled, my pheromone seeping out from my nostrils to his, and as he sniffed, his pupils dilated.

“You're telling me
that
can't wait thirty minutes?” I glanced at his name tag. “Elliot?” I ran a finger along the edge of the tag, making sure to brush his chest in the process. “Are you the manager?”

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair, and his hazel eyes surveyed me. I did the same, brushing my fingers through his soft strands until I reached the base of his neck. Gripping the long curls there, I tugged, pulling him into me.

He smirked, a quiet confidence lurking just below the surface. He nodded. “I'm actually the owner.”

I broke character for a moment, stepping back. “You're Elliot Allen? I've been trying to call you for months!”

“Uh, what?” He glanced to the side, adjusting his glasses with pinched fingers.

“Sorry, sorry—I, uh . . .” Shit. “I'm Monica. Over at the GrindHouse. I've been trying to set up a meetup for local business owners.”

He narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “Oh, right. Drew's main girl, right?”

“Drew's—what? His . . .” I snorted, shaking my head. “I mean, we're friends, but I'm not his . . . his anything. Least of all, his gi—”

Elliot chuckled, sliding his hands into his front pockets. “I meant, you're his manager. The main barista, right? But it's nice to know where you two stand.” He held up one hand, palm out to me. His grin was annoyingly haughty.

“Well, it was nice to finally meet you, Elliot,” I said, slapping my hands to my outer thighs as I walked past him. I guess I was resigned to another night with low powers. I'd done it before—I could do it again.

He snatched my elbow, looking down over inky eyelashes at me. “Where you going, Monica?”

“I-I, uh, I thought—”

He licked his lips with a quick glance around the bookstore. “The stockroom is empty right now.” He leaned closer, the tip of his nose brushing my cheekbone. “And even if it wasn't, I'm sure I could clear it out for us.”

Wow. The sparkly souled beta-boy was surprising me with each turn.

“You sure about this?” I batted my eyes at him, and he rolled his eyes with a snort in return.

“Does that doe-eyed shit usually work on guys?”

I bit back my smirk. I kind of liked him. Sarcasm and all. “Elliot—you'd be amazed.”

His grin widened and a nod bobbed his head while he glanced around his store. “You realize how weird this looks, right? You sitting here for an hour, barely looking at any books. Then suddenly coming on to me?”

“You've been watching me?” I put a hand to my chest with delicate fingers and dropped my mouth. “Besides, you stopped
me
from leaving just now.”

He unsnaked his hand from mine. “Hey, if you want to go, no one's holding you here.” He put both hands up in surrender before hooking his thumbs back into his pockets and leaning on the doorframe to the stockroom. A challenging eyebrow arched over a sparkling hazel eye.

A pregnant pause hung in the air, and I shook my head, leading the way to the back room. “You're a lot of trouble already, you know that?”

“But worth every minute of it,” he whispered, shutting the door behind him.

His hands were immediately cupping my ass, and he tugged me into his body for an embrace. Our noses bumped as we got our bearings in the dark, and soon his lips were everywhere. On my lips, my neck, my ear—and damn was he good with that mouth. Tingles ran like rapids through my body. He ripped open the cardigan, raining little pink buttons all over the cement floor.

The itch flared through my body like a raging fire, and I drank in his kisses. With some help from Elliot, he lifted me onto a counter and flipped my dress up around my waist. His fingers circled my silky thong, the moisture pooling between my legs. I groaned, my head falling back on the wall behind me.

He hooked a finger into the panties, pushing them to the side, and he glided over my clit with skilled but gentle movements. My body clenched with desire.

“You are so wet,” he whispered, claiming my mouth once more and nibbling on my bottom lip.

“Wet for you,” I panted. “Please. Now . . .” I couldn't even formulate a full sentence, I was so wrought with need.

He chuckled and plunged two fingers deep inside, continually adding pressure to my clit with the heel of his hand. “You didn't even know who I was ten minutes ago . . . and now I have you begging for it.” He withdrew his hand, placing the wet fingers into his mouth and sucking me off of them.

I tugged at his pants, pulling the button free and unzipping the fly. His boxers were covered in bright yellow smiley faces. “Really? Smiley faces?” I smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“Really? A cardigan?” he countered.

“Touché.” I pushed his boxers to the floor, and his erection bounced free.

I gripped him with one hand, pumping him until he was solid steel in my palm. He grunted and smacked a palm to the counter. “You gonna make
me
beg now?”

“It'd be nice. . . .”

He lifted his gaze to me, holding eye contact for so long that it made my hair stand on end. Lowering his lips to mine, he took me in another kiss, the kind that you watch in movies with envy. He cupped my jaw, running tender fingers down my neck to my breasts. When he pulled away, his eyes blinked open, meeting mine once more. “Please,” he whispered.

I wanted to laugh and cry all at once. I could count on two hands the number of people with whom my sexual experiences had been meaningful. Pleasurable. And with someone whose company I actually enjoyed. I closed my eyes and thought a prayer to whatever God would have me that Elliot would keep his life. Keep his soul. And not perish at my vagina.

With a firm hand gripping his dick, he positioned himself at my opening. The itch burned, and I winced as the beast spiraled down, like a fiery drill tearing through my guts. Elliot pushed inside, and I stretched around his girth. I moaned, and he placed a finger to my lips with a quiet “Shhh.” The other hand palmed my clit, applying pressure to the sensitive nub.

His grin widened as he purposefully attempted to make my moans louder. I squeezed myself around him, and he echoed my moans.

“Not so easy to keep quiet, is it?” I panted, and trailed my thumb across his plump bottom lip.

He nipped the edge of my nail. The sliver of light from beneath the door caught a glint of perspiration on his temple and at his hairline. He pumped into me faster, alternating between pulsating pressure and light flicks to my clit.

Wow, was he good at this, I thought, and studied his face. Pressure built, and beneath the painful itch an even more pleasurable sensation swelled. With each thrust, his glasses slipped farther and farther down his nose, and with a finger I pushed them back up just before they slipped off the edge. His lips tipped into another smirk, and with his free hand he scooped my hair back away from my shoulder and pressed a kiss to the crook of my neck.

Our bodies rocked in unison, and the swell of pleasure burst through the itch, exploding, convulsing around his erection. He groaned, and his strokes slowed as the heat spurted inside of me.

It was a high like no other, the sensation no less shocking each time. Pins and needles pricked all over my body; it was like jumping into an icy river.

A burst of white light blinded me. The reel of his life was fast: images of him and a girl having coffee at the GrindHouse. Elliot, a few years older at what looked like a meeting of local business owners, sitting across from Drew and me holding hands. The final part of the vision was an older Elliot . . . in his early seventies, maybe. He grabbed his chest, falling to the ground, and a woman—his wife, I assumed—ran to his side to help.

For all of a moment, I thought hope was lost. I'd taken his life—the life of a man who was to become my friend, apparently. But then, the vision continued—and his seventy-year-old eyes popped open. He sat up, breathing heavily.

The present rushed back to me like a frosty gust of wind. I blinked, staring into Elliot's eyes. For the first time that I could remember, one of my visions hadn't ended in death. Had I given him his life back? It seemed that way. The smell of rose water and hibiscus filled my nose. I knew that scent . . . but from where?

I gathered up my sweater's remnants and tossed them into an industrial-size trash bin as Elliot situated his pants. “About that meetup . . .” he said.

“Um, can we discuss that another time?” I interrupted. “No offense, it's just . . . I'm not feeling at my most professional right now.”

“No worries,” he said, though his smile wobbled.

I grabbed my purse off the floor. The corner of a white notecard poked out the top like a steeple. Slipping out the stockroom door, I tugged on the note, flipping it open.

My back room. That meant only one thing. Mia was calling a meeting between us.