Chapter 21 #2
Then he lowers his mouth to me, and I stop caring about anything else.
His tongue is clever and relentless, licking through my folds like he's savoring me. He finds my clit and circles it slowly, too slowly, building sensation without giving me enough to tip over the edge.
"You taste incredible," he murmurs against me. "Better than I imagined."
I can't respond. Can barely breathe. I fist one hand in his platinum hair, trying to pull him closer, but he resists, maintaining that torturous pace.
"Seraph. More. Please."
"Since you asked so nicely."
He slides one finger inside me, and I moan at the stretch. He's long and elegant even there, filling me perfectly as he begins to move. A second finger joins the first, curling to find that spot inside that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
"That's it," he breathes. "Let me hear you."
His mouth returns to my clit, sucking gently while his fingers work me open, and the combination is overwhelming. I'm gasping, writhing, making sounds I'd be embarrassed about if I had any capacity left for shame.
"You're close," he observes. "I can feel it. Feel you clenching around my fingers."
"Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"I won't. Come for me, Raven. I want to feel it."
He crooks his fingers just right, sucks hard on my clit, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me in waves, my back arching off the bed, his name torn from my throat. He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks fade, until I'm limp and trembling.
When I can finally open my eyes, he's watching me with an expression of pure satisfaction.
"Beautiful," he says again. "Absolutely beautiful when you fall apart."
"Get up here."
He rises, crawling up my body, and kisses me deep. I can taste myself on his tongue, and it should feel strange but it's just intimate. Another barrier between us crumbled.
"I need you," I manage against his mouth. "Inside me. Now."
"Are you sure? We can stop here if you want. I don't want to push you further than you're ready for."
In answer, I reach between us and palm him through his pants. He's hard, straining against the fabric, and the sound he makes when I touch him is deeply gratifying.
"Does that feel like I want to stop?"
"Point taken." He pulls back just enough to unfasten his pants, shoving them down along with whatever he's wearing underneath.
And then he's naked above me, and even though I've seen him before, during the purge, this feels different.
That was frantic, angry, two people drowning.
This is him letting me look. Letting me appreciate.
He's proportional. Long and thick and flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. I wrap my hand around him and stroke, watching his eyes roll back.
"Raven." My name comes out strangled. "If you keep doing that, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."
"Good." I stroke again, twisting my wrist at the head the way I've learned men like. "I want you desperate. I want you as ruined as I am."
"I've been destroyed since the moment you walked into my house." He catches my wrist, pulling my hand away with visible effort. "But I want to be inside you when I come. I want to feel you around me."
The words send another pulse of heat through me. "Then stop talking and fuck me."
He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Even after the orgasm, I'm wet enough that he slides through my folds easily, coating himself.
"Look at me," he says.
I meet his eyes. Silver and burning and more open than I've ever seen them.
"This means something," he tells me. "I need you to know that. This isn't just scratching an itch. This is..."
"I know." I reach up and cup his face. "I know what this is."
He pushes inside me.
The stretch is exquisite, a slow burn as he fills me inch by inch. He's patient about it, giving me time to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. But there's no discomfort. Just the overwhelming sensation of being filled, claimed, connected to him in the most intimate way possible.
When he's fully seated, he pauses. Both of us breathing hard.
"You feel incredible," he grits out. "Tight and hot and perfect. I'm not going to last long."
"Neither am I." I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and we both groan. "Move. Please."
He pulls back slowly, then thrusts forward, and the sensation whites out my vision for a moment. He sets a rhythm, deep and steady, each stroke hitting places inside me that make me see stars.
"I've wanted this for so long," he pants, his hips snapping against mine. "Wanted you under me. Wanted to hear you moan my name. Wanted to feel you come apart on my cock."
"Seraph." It's all I can manage. His name, over and over, like a prayer.
His wings spread wider, surrounding us, cocooning us in silver feathers. The damaged ones brush against my skin, and he flinches like he expects me to pull away. Instead, I reach up and stroke along one scarred edge.
He shudders, his rhythm faltering.
"You don't have to..."
"I want to." I touch him again, more deliberately this time, tracing the ridge of scar tissue. "I want all of you. Including these."
Something breaks open in his expression. He kisses me hard, desperate, his hips driving into me with renewed intensity. One hand slides between us to find my clit, rubbing in tight circles, and the dual sensation is too much.
"I'm close," I gasp against his mouth.
"Me too." His voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "Come with me. Please. I want to feel you."
He thrusts deep, his fingers pressing just right, and I fall apart for the second time. The orgasm rips through me, stronger than before, and I hear myself crying out his name as my inner walls clench around him.
He follows me over the edge a moment later, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing inside me, a groan torn from his chest. His wings snap closed around us, wrapping us in a cocoon of silver and warmth and ragged breathing.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then he lifts his head, eyes finding mine in the candlelight.
"That was..."
"Yeah."
"Nothing like the purge."
"No." I trace a finger along his jaw. "It wasn't."
"I didn't know it could be like that." He sounds almost wondering. "Without the sin driving us. Without the desperation. Just... us."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's the truth." He pulls out slowly, carefully, and I wince slightly at the loss. But he doesn't go far, just shifts to the side and pulls me against his chest, his wings still wrapped around us both.
For a long moment, we just breathe together. His heartbeat is slow and steady against my cheek, so different from the frantic pounding of a few minutes ago.
"How much longer do we have?" he asks quietly.
I know what he means. Not tonight. The contract. My year at the House of Ruin.
"A few more months. Then I move to the next house."
His arms tighten around me. "Idris."
"Probably." The House of Regret. The angel who speaks only in minds and deals in illusions and truth. I haven't let myself think too hard about what serving him will mean. "Unless the order changes."
"It won't." His voice is carefully neutral. "Idris has been waiting for you. They all have, ever since we learned about what you did to Raphael."
The reminder of the archangel I killed, of Heaven's inevitable response, settles heavy in my chest. But I push it away. That's a problem for tomorrow. For next week. For whenever it decides to crash down on us.
"I don't want to think about that right now."
"Then don't." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "We have tonight. We have the months remaining. That's more than I expected to get."
Through the bond with Croesus, muted but present, I feel a pulse of resignation, or acceptance, or grief. He felt it. He knows.
And he's not screaming through the bond. Not demanding I come back. Just... feeling.
I'll deal with the fallout tomorrow. All of it. Croesus and the contracts and Heaven and whatever grandmother was trying to accomplish with the seven houses.
Right now, wrapped in Seraph's arms, his broken wings sheltering me from the silver light of his perfect, terrible house, I let myself have this moment.
It won't last. Nothing does.
But for tonight, it's enough.