Prologue #2
Her lips part.
Her tongue slides slowly over her lower lip. She knows I’m watching. She’s doing it on purpose. She bites it gently.
“Temptation,” she whispers.
My jaw tightens.
“Show me,” I tell her.
She looks me in the eyes. And for half a second, I give her the choice. It’s my non-verbal way of telling her: you decide.
She grabs my chain.
She doesn't pull. She doesn't squeeze. She caresses it with her fingertips and runs them along its length.
Warm. Sure. Possessive.
“You’re tense,” she says quietly.
“Mh.”
“Nervous?”
I smile slightly. “Not at all.”
“Liar.”
Then she pulls.
I end up close to her, then she pushes me away until my legs hit the couch.
I sit down.
She remains standing.
And damn, the view.
The wings frame her. Her bare, muscular legs. Her curves…
I see where the red lace disappears between her thighs. A finger plays with the little bow at her hip. Head tilted, mouth curved as if she already knows how this will end.
“You’re beautiful,” it comes out spontaneously. I don’t think I’ve ever meant a compliment so deeply.
She is the definition of beautiful.
Her eyes flicker.
Then she climbs onto me.
No trace of shyness. No hesitation. She straddles me, slow, precise. All that heat right where I’m already hard.
Fuck… I’ve never been with a woman like this.
I try to stay calm. I tilt my head back to catch my breath.
But she doesn’t let me breathe. Her mouth rests on my neck. I feel the sticky gloss of her lips and her teeth gently scratching me.
I grab her face. My thumb under her chin, I tilt her toward me.
“Angel,” I murmur.
“Lucifer,” she replies.
And then I kiss her.
Nothing polite or sweet. We are two fires meeting.
It’s a collision.
Her mouth opens under mine as if she’s been waiting for it all evening. Hot, wet, hungry. She tastes like champagne, strawberry gloss, and something that’s only hers. She makes a small sound in her throat—not a moan, more like a broken breath—and that sound races down my spine.
I put a hand on her waist. The lace is soft, but I feel the heat, the tension of her hips moving against me, slow, precise.
She knows perfectly well what she's doing.
She moves over me, exerting pressure exactly where I’m losing it, and my grip tightens.
“Fuck,” I murmur against her lips.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, pleased.
I grab her ass and pull her closer. She bites my lower lip, and I groan, because it’s filthy, it’s perfect. She does it again, probably just to hear me react.
“You like control, huh?” I whisper to her.
“Were you expecting a shy little angel from Heaven?”
God, she’s going to kill me.
“Hands up,” I tell her quietly.
Her eyes sparkle. She raises her arms without protesting.
I run my hands along her hips, slow. Over her waist, the point where it narrows. Over her ribs. The lace is so thin I feel all the heat, every curve. I’m not in a hurry. This isn’t a quick hookup. It's worship.
When my thumbs brush the edge of her breast, she inhales as if I’ve shocked her.
There it is.
I look her in the eyes.
I want to see her yield.
“Tell me if I need to stop,” I say low.
She stares at me. No hesitation. “Don’t.”
Fuck.
I slide my thumbs under the lace and free her.
Her breasts spill into my hands, perfect, and so, so soft. Her nipples are already tight, already flushed, and when I run my thumbs over them, she shivers and makes this small, breathless, helpless moan that makes my vision go hazy for a second.
“Fuck, Angel,” I groan.
She rocks against me, harder now, chasing the friction. Her head tilts back, her wings flare out with the movement, brushing my wrists and chest, feathers stroking my skin as if they were real. As if she were real.
I lean down and take one breast into my mouth.
She cries out.
Not loud, but desperate. The kind of sound that tells me exactly how close she already is. I suck slowly, with wet heat, tongue and pressure, and she clutches my hair as if she might fly away if she doesn't hold on.
Her hips buck as my fingers find her. She buries her face in my neck, her breath hot and fast, her hands clenching into fists in my hair as if she's holding on for dear life.
She's already wet.
Drenched.
My cock kicks hard against the zipper.
“Oh God,” she gasps.
“Wrong side, Angel.”
She laughs – a broken, sinful sound – and then groans when I slowly stroke her clitoris, just enough pressure to make her tremble.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper into her ear.
She sounds like someone who knows exactly what she wants and doesn’t hesitate to ask for it.
I like that. No fuck, it drives me crazy.
Her answer is immediate, confident. “You. I want you inside.”
That’s all I need.
I unbuckle my belt with one hand. Years of practice. Her breathing hitches when she hears the buckle, when she feels me free myself and drop my pants just enough while quickly wrapping myself in protection. I nudge her hips upward, just a little, guiding her, aligning us.
She blinks.
“Are you ready for me?” I ask, voice low and rough.
She nods, frantic. “Yes. Yes.”
I push into her.
God… if I’m dead, this is definitely the best experience of my life. Yes, even if I’m dead.
My brain is thinking about other things now… forgive it.
It's all a swirl of her. Heat. Tight. Wet. Perfect.
Her mouth drops open, no sound at first, just this shocked, helpless gasp that turns into a moan I’ll hear in my head for the rest of my life. My hands grip her hips tightly because if I don’t hold on, I’ll lose control in five seconds.
“Jesus Christ,” I grit out, dropping my head back.
She lowers herself slowly, embracing me, inch by inch, until she’s completely seated and I’m buried in her and physically cannot think.
We just breathe there for a second.
Just breathe.
Her forehead rests on mine. Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips are pink and swollen from my mouth. Her wings tremble.
No, I'm not entirely aware that they are fake wings. I believe they are real and that as I said, she is an angel in flesh, bone, and spirit.
And then she moves.
It's over.
I’m done.
Fuck please no… I have to hold on.
She moves her hips and it's game over. She immediately finds a rhythm, greedy and perfect, grinding on me, fucking my cock as if she’d been waiting all day and refused to waste a single second.
Wet sounds fill the room, slick, obscene, and wonderful.
Her breathing starts to catch in little gasps.
Her breasts bounce in my face, and I take a nipple into my mouth and suck, and she melts against me.
“…oh God, I…”
“I got you,” I mumble against her skin, one hand sliding back between us to rub her exactly where she needs it, small tight circles, pressure and rhythm, not stopping, not letting go.
She shatters.
That’s the only word for it.
Her whole body contracts, then trembles, her wings spread wide, feathers brushing my shoulders, my throat, my jaw. Her cry is muffled by my mouth as I kiss her, swallowing the sound so no one in the hallway hears the way I make her come on my cock.
I feel it. I feel every pulse, every squeeze. It drags me right to the edge with her.
I thrust into her, hard now, chasing her, holding her tight to me as if I’ll never let her go. The couch creaks. The piece of lace that covered her intimacy and which I pushed aside tries to return to its place. But there's no contest. That spot is mine.
I’m lost, I spill with a groan I can’t swallow, my hands digging into her hips as if I could anchor us both to this exact moment and never return.
We stay like that.
Breathing.
Trembling.
Alive.
Outside, the bass keeps pounding. People are still laughing. The world keeps turning.
But in here, it’s a whole other world.
Her head is on my shoulder. Her lips are against my throat. I feel her heartbeat through her ribs, fast and frantic.
I run a hand down her back. Over the lace. Over the curve of her spine. To the base of those beautiful wings.
She trembles.
If I end up in hell for this, I might be okay with it.