Wicked Nights
Page 44

Uh, just what did “everything” encompass?
Okay, so, maybe she was a little scared. But that wasn’t going to stop her.
“I want you, Annabelle,” he said in a silky tone.
“I want you, too.” An achy whisper.
“Then come the rest of the way.”
Another step, and another…until he was able to wrap his wings around her and urge her the rest of the way. The feathers tickled her in the most delicious way, softer than silk, more decadent than fur.
As if he couldn’t help himself, he pressed his lips to hers, feeding her a soft, decadent kiss of comfort she would never forget.
“I like this,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I think I will like the rest even better.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Let’s find out.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
Zacharel guided her backward and rolled her over, then positioned himself between her legs.
In the ensuing hours…days…maybe weeks…he explored every inch of her, slowly, diligently. He learned her. Nothing was taboo, nothing was wrong. All she could do was cry out at the incredible pleasure. He was hesitant at first, careful with his hands, his caresses soft. But that soon changed, his grip becoming stronger as he kneaded her breasts…as he explored lower.
He used his fingers…and she realized she could do something more than cry out at the pleasure. She could writhe. She could claw at his back, drawing blood.
“Sorry,” she managed to gasp.
“I’m not.” Such a guttural tone. Earth-shattering. “Do it again.”
She wanted…she needed…him, only him, but he’d stilled, she realized. Had ended all contact. He was on his knees, peering down at her…and licking his lips.
“Zacharel?”
He leaned down, and oh, it was like he’d started all over again because he was once again learning her body—only this time he was using his mouth. He kissed every inch of her, managing to wring one orgasm after another from her, until she was begging him to stop.
He stopped, all right—to reposition himself, pinning her to the bed with his weight.
“No words… Cannot tell you… Loved.” A rumble of need sprang from deep inside him as he next devoured her mouth, slanting his head this way and that to taste her from every possible angle. Her pleasure expanded, the fire in her burning hotter. Her entire world became focused on the man so devoted to her body.
“Anna…touch me. Your turn.”
Anna. He’d shortened her name, made it into an endearment, a curse and a prayer. A command. A command she heeded. As slowly and as intently as he’d learned her body, she now learned his. And because nothing had been taboo for him, nothing was taboo for her.
With her every touch, every lick, he moaned his encouragement. His strength delighted her. The smooth texture of his skin tantalized her. He had zero body hair. He was beautiful and perfect and every brush of her fingers against him, every glide of her mouth against him was a revelation. This was the way sex was supposed to be, never mind that they weren’t going that far. This was exactly what he’d talked about. A union of bodies.
Finally, when he could stand no more, he fisted her hair to guide her mouth back to his.
She stretched out beside him, gave him one kiss, two, then peered down at him. As lost to passion as he was, he was no longer the refined, polished angel she was used to dealing with. He was tousled. He was tense. He was snipping and snarling and rubbing against her.
“Want you to feel the pleasure again,” he gritted.
“I’m so close, but I want you to feel…need you to feel it, too.”
“I will. I do.” He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers hot, and she was instantly there, stars winking behind her eyes, her lungs no longer working.
She lost track of everything, even Zacharel, floating away, returning, only to leave and float some more. But he must have gotten there, too, so tightly had she been squeezing him, because his roar of satisfaction brought her back to the bed.
She pried her eyelids apart, that roar still ringing in her ears. Her lungs had started working at least, but her breaths emerged too shallowly. Her body was trembling, a delicious lethargy curling through her.
Somehow she found the strength to lift her head and peer down at Zacharel. He lay beside her, his cheeks flushed, his eyelids at half-mast. His lips were swollen from being bitten, and his chest was rising and falling with the swiftness of his breaths. He, too, was trembling.
“Anna…lie here….” He patted the black spot just over his heart.
“That is a command I will obey without question,” she said, draping herself over him.
Sweaty skin fused to sweaty skin, and their hearts beat in unison, too fast, too hard, yet a rhythm that comforted her.
“That, I liked,” he said.
“Which part?” she teased.
“Every part. By the time our month away from the heavens is over, I will know your body better than my own. There will be nothing I haven’t done to you, nothing we haven’t tried.”
By the time our month away from the heavens is over, he’d said, and she instantly sobered. This relationship wasn’t permanent for him. She’d known that since the beginning; he’d made no secret of it. And even she had considered all the reasons they were better off apart. But…
Yeah. But.
She’d come to want more.
“Did I scare you with my words?” he asked, mistaking her reaction. He traced his fingers over the ridges of her spine.
“No.” And that was the truth. He’d hurt her, cutting her deep in her soul, but he hadn’t scared her. Well, she had him now. That would have to be enough. And when the time came to separate, she would be the one to walk away. Too many people had left her, and she wasn’t going to watch another do so.
Not ever again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ZACHAREL HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED anything as consuming as being with Annabelle. No matter what they did, as long as they were together, touching, seeking, he was swept up, undone. Remade.
Afterward, apprehension would attempt to overtake him.
She made him feel too much. He wanted her too desperately. A relationship could never work, not permanently as he craved—as he would have for as long as possible.
When his month on earth was over, he would ask her to move into his cloud. She would say yes. He would accept no other answer.
“So, what now?” she asked him around a yawn.
“We sleep.”
“Nope. Sorry, but I already knew the answer and that wasn’t it. Now we talk. I want to know more about you.”
Such soft, smooth skin she had. Her light, floral scent cast a silken net around him, the gossamer threads somehow stronger than anything he’d ever before encountered. “Such as?”
“Well, here’s what I already know. You were born rather than created. You had a twin brother, but for some reason you won’t explain, you had to kill him.”
He waited for her to continue.
She sighed. “Okay, so you aren’t ready to take my hint and talk about him yet. What else do I know? Oh, yeah. You have a black spot growing on your chest, and it concerns me. You lead an army of angels, and I think you’re just now discovering how much you respect your own men.”
“First, do not be concerned with the spot. Second, what makes you think I respect my men?”
“Nice try. Like I wouldn’t notice you didn’t say the spot was nothing for me to be worried about, only that I wasn’t to be concerned. I’m on to your tricks, buddy.”
“That will not change my response.”
“Anyway. From the day at the institution to the day those three angels found us in New Zealand, your entire demeanor and tone have changed with them. Well, changed slightly. But with you, slight is major.”
Very observant, his Annabelle. “Yes, I do respect my men. When I needed them most, they came through for me. I was told they were unfit for the heavens, that they were too violent, too irreverent to handle their duties, but I no longer believe that is so. They have each suffered in some way, and they have dealt with their pain the only way they know how.” As he had.
“I’m with you. I’ve only met a few of the guys, and granted, they all looked pretty dangerous, but there was something remarkable about them. Something worth fighting for.”
He liked that she defended those under his charge. “What else do you know about me?”
“Only one other thing. That you’re friends with a group of demon-possessed warriors.”
“And you want to know more?” He weighed everything she’d said she knew about him against everything she’d hinted that she wanted to know. “What do you want to know first? The difference between the born and created angels, or how my association with the demon possessed came to be?”
Another sigh left her, this one warm and sweet and ripe with understanding. She understood that he had struck his brother completely from the conversation, yet she didn’t push. “The difference between the born and the created, please.”
He should not share his secrets. And to willingly, happily do so when so much danger surrounded them? Even worse. But he wanted to share all that he was, so that in turn, she would share all that she was.
Haidee’s earlier words suddenly played through his mind. Your woman needs to be one of the most important things in your life. Above your job, definitely. Her brother turned his back on her, and her boyfriend dumped her. She hasn’t experienced unconditional love in so long, you’ll crush her if you keep her without committing to her.
As he’d told Haidee, he was committed. He just wasn’t sure how to show Annabelle how important she was to him. He had to place his army first. He had to place his duty first.
“Uh, Zachie?”
How bad was it that he’d even grown to like the shortened version of his name, as long as it sprang from this woman’s lips? “The born are only part of the Deity’s troops and must be protected the first decade of their lives,” he said. “They are weak, and must be taught to eat, to walk, to fly.”