Azagoth: A Demonica Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (11 page)

Yeah, she didn’t want that, either. “You won’t. You’ve never hurt any of the angels Heaven sent to you over the centuries.” News of that nature would have been the talk of the angelic airwaves.

“I never felt like...this.”

Maybe time travel had an adverse effect on him. “Just focus,” she said softly. “Focus on me.”

His gaze locked with hers, and she saw the moment he went from furious to...well, furious
and
aroused. And she knew, in that moment, that no matter what happened next, nothing between them would be the same again.

Chapter Ten

Azagoth concentrated on the female beneath him, his body a mass of writhing, twisting contradictions. Like the last time he’d come back from time travel, he was reeling from emotions he couldn’t handle.

Now it was happening again, only on a grander scale. The fissure that had opened inside him last time had cracked open further, leaving him overwhelmed with feelings. Joy, sadness, anger, jealousy. He wasn’t even sure what event or person each emotion was attached to. It was just all bubbling out, as if thousands of years’ worth of denied feelings were breaking free of their bonds.

This was what you wanted, asshole. You wanted to feel. Be careful what you wish for.

True enough. He’d been so cold inside for so long. And now he was cold
and
insane.

Distantly, he heard Lilliana talking. Felt her fingers digging into his arms. Felt her thighs clamping around his hips to hold him still. Felt her core pressed firmly against his raging erection.

Focus. He tried gathering the maelstrom of emotions together and forcing them down, back into the fissure.
Focus.
Reaching deep, he tried to separate out each one and associate it with an event, a person, anything to understand why he’d be so angry or jealous, but each time an image started to form, it scattered to the wind and was replaced by a black hole of fury.

Focus!

The female beneath him shifted, tugging him closer, rubbing her sex against his. Whether or not it was intentional didn’t matter. He instantly locked up as his body took command of his mind and did the focus thing.

Of course, the focus was all in his dick. Whatever. He’d roll with it.

Zeroing in on Lilliana, he panted through the gnawing tension that made him feel as if he could explode into violence and death to become the corrupted monster that legend—and a few firsthand accounts—had made him out to be.

As he dropped his mouth to hers, a thread of guilt wove its way through the messy tangle of emotions that were fading to the background. He was using her. Doing to her what all the females before her had done to him. He’d been a stud for hire for Heaven, and demon females only came to him for bragging rights. Oh, sure, he fucked them well, but ultimately, all they wanted from him was sex. For pleasure or for other reasons, he was nothing but a lay and a means to an end.

And now he was using Lilliana to bring him out of an emotional overload he couldn’t handle.

Also...what the fuck. When had he started having regrets or caring about anyone but himself? There was a reason he’d volunteered for Grim Reaper duty, and it sure as hell wasn’t so he could go all Dear Diary about shit like being used.

Lilliana’s hands were stroking his arms now, her slow, light touch soothing his mood but stoking his lust.

Focusfocusfocus...

“Azagoth,” she whispered against his mouth, bringing him right back to the place he needed to be.

He slid his hand under her shirt again, caressing her smooth, taut skin as he kissed her quiet. But this wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

With a growl, he gripped her shirt and tore through it as if it were paper. And glory be, like most angels, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her gorgeous eyes watched him with curiosity and desire as he lowered his head to take one berry-red nipple into his mouth. Licking and sucking eagerly, he cupped the other breast, filling his palm with her warm flesh as he settled more fully between her thighs. His cock was aching like a sonofabitch behind his fly, and he shifted again so he could reach between their bodies and unzip. While he was down there, he yanked open the buttons on her jeans and drove his hand inside.

Lilliana gasped as his fingers found her center and stroked the silk fabric of her underwear.

“How many lovers have you had, angel?” He kissed the swell of her breasts and worked his way down her belly.

“One,” she breathed. “Just one. And I don’t want to talk about him.”

Neither did he. Partly because he didn’t want any other male to be here right now, and partly because he’d just had the strangest urge to arrange for that male’s painful death.

Eager to wipe the bastard from her memory, he reared back on his heels and yanked her boots off, followed by her jeans and underwear. It was all done in a matter of seconds, and then his clothes joined hers on the floor, torn and wadded.

Ah, damn, she was gorgeous, sprawling naked in front of him like a feast to be savored. Her hair fanned out in silky waves on the Persian rug, her kiss-swollen mouth parted for her panting breaths, and her thighs spread just enough to catch a glimpse of the bare, glistening female flesh between them.

Her gaze dropped to his groin, and at the sight of his thick sex, her eyes flared. Oh, yeah, she wanted it.

Smiling, he wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked. The tip of her tongue came out to swipe her bottom lip, and he groaned at the sudden image of those lips wrapped around his shaft, that tongue flicking and laving.

Releasing himself, he leaned forward and cupped her intimately. Fuck, she was burning hot down there, and he groaned again as he pushed a finger between her folds. Every cell in his body was vibrating as he dragged his fingertip through her wet heat to that swollen knot of nerves that made her gasp.

He stroked, lightly at first, avoiding the sensitive tip. In moments she was panting and grinding, arching into him and riding his hand as her taut body chased the pleasure he was giving her. Holy hell, she was a wild thing, gripping him so hard her nails dug into his skin. He had to taste her. It wasn’t a desire; it was almost a biological imperative.

Jacking his body off of her, he reared back, hooked his hands under her hips, and dove between her luscious thighs. He buried his face against her sex, reveling in how slick her flesh was against his mouth. He spread her wide with his thumbs as he used the flat of his tongue to lick right up her center.

She cried out as the tip of his tongue clipped her clit. He did it again, and she cried louder, her body quivering, her fingers clamped on his scalp to hold him exactly where she needed him.

She tasted like sugar cane and passion fruit, clean grass and crystal water, all things he hadn’t seen, felt, or tasted in eons.

“Azagoth,” she gasped. “I’m going to...oh,
yes
.”

She bucked wildly, tossing her head back and forth, her body straining and her hips lifting off the floor as she came.
Beautiful
, he thought. So. Fucking. Beautiful.

Even before she came down, he mounted her, desperate to get inside and feel something besides the cold.

“Wait,” she breathed, reaching for him. “Let me—”

Panting, crazy with need, he started to insert a finger to test her tightness...and froze.

Betrayal squeezed him like a vise, and all the emotions he’d managed to put away began to rise to the surface again.

“You lied,” he croaked. “You’re a virgin.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve joined with a male in the way of angels.”

Some might see the whole soul-sex thing as, well, sex, but even as an angel, he’d preferred the messy, downright dirty physical sex that humans had. So maybe she hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t been completely honest, either.

Sitting up, she palmed his chest, holding him with her gaze. “You’re getting that crazy look again.” She dragged her hand down, over his sternum, his abs, and finally, with a shaking hand, she grasped his cock.

“Shit,” he gasped.

She had him now. He was hers for the taking, and as her hand began to move, so did his hips. He pumped into her closed fist, his hips pistoning back and forth as she worked him.

His head fell back, and he heard himself talking, swearing...he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that stinging, molten heat was building in his balls and shaft, and when she squeezed him harder, sweat bloomed on his skin.

Sweat. He never sweated.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Oh, damn...Lilli...”

She sped up the pumping rhythm, and then her other hand joined the party, cupping his balls and rolling them in her palm.

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, but he didn’t have the breath to tell her a damned thing. What she was doing was just fine.

“Just...ah...yes.”

His climax was a spiraling, hot coil of bliss that, for a single, glorious moment, shattered the ice that had encased his soul for so long. He convulsed with the intensity of it, the absolute joy of truly
feeling
a release.

Watching her as she watched him set him off again, and another searing orgasm blew his mind and body apart.

As it waned, he folded his hand over hers and helped her ease him down as his hyper-sensitive cock jerked reflexively in her palm.

“Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never done that before.”

His hand shook as he reached for a tissue on his desk. “What, you’ve never made a guy come with your hand?”

“My ex thought physical sex was repulsive.”

“Your ex was a dipshit.” Gently, he wiped his seed off her skin and then lifted her off the floor and carried her to the sofa in front of the fire.

Climbing onto the cushions next to her, he gathered her against him and tugged a blanket down over them both. She stiffened at first, and he understood that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lingered with a female after sex. They came here for one purpose, and it wasn’t to be cuddled.

He’d never longed for any kind of connection after sex either, so this thing with Lilliana...it felt foreign. And yet, it felt right.

And as she rested her hand on his chest, directly over his heart, he
knew
it was right. Now he just had to figure out how to stop the emotional blowouts he kept having when they came back from time travel. Of course, if sex was the key to stopping them in their tracks, well, he supposed he could deal.

He just hoped Lilliana could, too.

Chapter Eleven

Azagoth didn’t know how long they laid on his couch, bodies tangled together as they caught their breath, but eventually, Lilliana, her head on his chest, began to trace lazy circles on his abs. The intimacy of it—of all of this—left him in a state of awe and, truth be told, anxiety. Somehow, she was drawing emotion out of him, and he couldn’t help but wonder how damaging that could be.

“Azagoth?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you volunteer for this job?” Postcoital drowsiness permeated her voice, and he experienced a flicker of male pride that he was responsible. “To lose your angelic status and live among demons?”

He shrugged, knocking one of the pillows off the sofa. “Someone had to do it.”

“Bullshit.” Her fingers skated over his rib cage in an almost playful sweep. “I might be young, but I know that no one sacrifices freedom without a good reason.”

He tucked one arm behind his head and gazed up at the wood-beamed ceiling. “Didn’t you read everything you could find about me before you decided to become my mate? Surely you had an entire term devoted to me in history class.”

“Three terms, actually.” She drew the number 3 on his sternum. “You’re quite the historical figure. The first term was devoted to your life as an angel known as Azrael and the events leading up to your expulsion, and the second and third terms were devoted to your life as Azagoth.”

“I got three terms?” He grinned. “Nice.”

But damn, the name Azrael brought back memories. And how odd was it that he preferred the memories he’d made as Azagoth over those that went with his Heavenly name?

“Yes, well,” she said, “the history I learned painted you as an entitled playboy who chose to lose his wings because he’d rather rule an empty kingdom than follow others in paradise.”

It figured that historians would twist the facts to fit whatever agenda they had. Angels were no more scrupulous than humans when it came to molding the truth into fact-based fiction.

“Then what’s the point of asking why I chose this life if you already know?”

“Because only a fool believes everything they read or are told.” She dragged the backs of her fingers up his sternum, and pleasant tingles followed in their wake. “So what’s the real story?”

He supposed he owed her the truth, given what she was committing to. It was just so strange to owe anyone.
He
was the one who usually held all the I.O.U.s.

“I did it because I was tired of feeling,” he said simply, because that’s what his long-ass story boiled down to in the end.

Pushing up onto one elbow, she frowned down at him. “Feeling what?”

“Everything.” He kept his gaze glued to a rough-cut beam overhead. “Did your history classes teach you that I was an empath?”

Her brow shot up. “But you were an interrogator with the Internal Corruption Investigation unit. Empaths aren’t allowed. How can you torture people if you can feel everything your subject feels?”

“At the time, no one knew I was an empath. And it wasn’t all torture,” he said, maybe a little defensively. “Most of what I did for the ICI was ask questions. Being an empath gave me an edge when it came to detecting lies.”

“Which is why you were the most successful ICI interrogator in history,” she mused. “It was you who uncovered Satan’s plot. You were unstoppable. Until you mysteriously quit and disappeared for a few centuries before returning to volunteer for the Grim Reaper gig.”

Those few centuries had been the worst years of his life, so full of loneliness and regret. Funny how when you had no one to talk to, you relived everything you ever said and did, and when most of it wasn’t pretty, you learned to hate yourself real fast.