Soul Stealer (26 page)

A shed was fine. He shoved the door inward, and she realized the roof was partially collapsed, letting moonlight fall through. Perhaps it would have been romantic if she’d taken the time to appreciate it more.

Onis thrust off his suspenders and all but tore his shirt off. He was strong, wide in the shoulders. The hair on his chest was a surprise, and as he gathered her to his chest she ran her nails through it. His kiss grew hotter, impatient, and her body responded with a wetness that couldn’t be faked or ignored.

She ground her hips into him, his arousal hard against her lower abdomen. It felt good so she did it again, making him break off the kiss to curse once. Then he lifted her by the backside to his waist, kneeling down on the dirt floor, easing her to her back.

He loomed large above her, but his kisses along her neck were soft and non-intimidating. His hands sliding under her skirt were warm as they met her legs, and as they moved upward over her skin she rolled her hips into him again, making him hiss and stop what he was doing, squeezing his eyes closed and falling still for a moment.

“Onis?” She whispered, worried that something was wrong.

His eyes snapped open, and the heat in them would have scared her before. She gasped, and as she did his hand slid to the inside of her thighs and darted upward, touching the part of her that was hot and damp. At the mere contact she cried out. When he found a particular spot to stroke at her eyes widened, head going back, mouth falling open silently as the most delicious sensation began to slide through her.

His head was to her chest, mouth on her breast, teasing her nipple through the fabric roughly.

“Onis,” she gasped.

“Anael,” he replied on a moan, and she shifted her legs upward and to the side to give his body more room.

He removed his hand and she gave a noise of frustration. Then he was off her, and as she sat up to find him her skirts were torn up the front while his head vanished between her legs.

The first touch of his tongue was terrifying. The second was heavenly. By the third she had no thoughts of her own, she collapsed to the ground panting and crying out while things were done to her she didn’t understand beyond knowing that it was pure bliss.

That orgasm split her nearly in half, arching her back and making her cry out loudly, her own reaction catching her entirely by surprise. She hadn’t known what to expect, and as the waves of pleasure coursed through her almost violently she found herself clutching at the fabric of her gown in her hands tightly, just to get a hold on what was happening to her.

The stillness after was almost as lovely as the gratification of that moment, and when Onis shifted she realized for the first time in a couple of minutes that he was, actually in fact, still there. Anael sat up as he rose onto his knees, unbuttoning the front of his trousers and sliding them down. His sex stood straight out in front of her, and at the sight of it she inhaled loudly, not worried about the act hurting, just at the virility of him. So completely different from her.

Her hands ran down his stomach, playing with the black hair that split around his belly button, nervously avoiding touching the part she was dying to place her hands on. His hands were deceptively gentle, sliding her garment from her shoulders, breathing out a “beautiful” as he kissed her collarbone. Her eyes fell closed, sighing. With movements so subtle he undressed her and when she opened her eyes again to see him devouring her with his gave she was startled to be naked.

Onis’ hands found her shoulders, holding her in place to kiss her, and the relaxation after the previous episode was gone immediately, as though she hadn’t just experienced the pinnacle of enjoyment.

He took her there roughly on the dirt ground. Over his shoulder she could see the full moon shining through the destroyed roof. His body moving against hers was more than intimate, it was like melding with another breathing body. Anael felt that same delicious pressure building again as he churned into her, and she had to stop kissing him just to press her face to the side of his neck, concentrating on how amazing that crescendo alone felt. This time when she mentally flew apart she actually bit his shoulder, still crying out but in better control of her voice and body. He made a similar sound at the same time, jerking and clutching her hips painfully.

They both shuddered through that moment, and when he rose to his elbows and smiled down at her Anael’s brain came back to her suddenly.

What had she done?

She shoved him off of her forcefully, separating their bodies. She noticed the loss of his warmth immediately and mourned it, but her angel-self was coming back in control of her body. He sat on his side, his erection gone, looking utterly ridiculous half-nude.

She’d shared one sad moment of eye contact before spiriting herself back home, shaking the entire time.

So yes, Anael knew that angels and Sin Eaters were well equipped to enjoy each other physically. And sex wasn’t the only thing they could share.

Now, in her quarters she collapsed on her bed, heart breaking all over again as she remembered past errors, hand circling her abdomen, mourning a missing part of herself even more.

Claudia was really going to have to talk to her
neighbor about playing their music with the bass that loud way too early in the morning. She slid to her side, then swung her legs to the side of the bed. Instead of hitting the ground her feet hit a wall and she sat up, startled completely awake.

Big mistake. Her head exploded in a symphonic fireworks display of pounding torture, anguish she could actually see when she squeezed her eyes shut. There was a horrible taste in her mouth, and her stomach was dangerously close to evacuating whatever down there was doing a two-step on her gag reflex.

Lie back down. Immediately.

She carefully eased down sideways, waiting for inner balance to return. The pillow case was cool, lovely really, and smelled completely foreign to her.

She eased her eyes open cautiously, trying to survey the dim room but it was difficult. The bedding around her smelled of shampoo and man. What the hell did she miss?

Her clothes were on, she could tell that. No worries about bad deeds being done while she was out of it at least …

A terrible scene came back; Damien Talon walking away from her, ready and willing in her bed. Her taking a cab to a liquor store. Crying in the cab while drinking JD, telling the driver to take her to someone that would want her.

Saleem.

Fuck. Double-fuck.

Mortification was too weak a word. What was the word for oh-my-fucking-god-please-let-a-piano-fall-on-me-from-a-great-height?

No, no. She didn’t do that. She couldn’t have. It was a nightmare …

… so why are you here then?

Claudia rolled onto her back, her stomach doing that old HEY-how-are-you with the movement. Yeah, she remembered this quite well.

Good job, Bauer. Only sober for … eleven years? Go ahead, throw it out the window.

Her eyes were wet. What was worse than crying when you felt like death warmed over?

Claudia came to a new realization. She was alone. It was her fault that she w
as this isolated. And she was alone.

Iola was going to get married to Vinnie, go off, have babies and be bestest friends with all the other doctors’ wives. Megan had never intended to be with her forever, it was a teenage relationship that she shouldn’t have even entertained the thought of. And even Damien Talon, man-slut, didn’t want to have anything to do with her when she was naked and consenting.

Then what did she do? She threw herself at someone that had treated her with respect and might have been a viable candidate for some kind of relationship: friend or maybe more.

Fucking degenerate.
Thankfully you saved them all from actually having to deal with you …

She had to stop crying. It was killing her head.

Get yourself together,
she scolded herself, sniffling and wiping her nose with her hand.
Get yourself together and get the hell out of here before Saleem comes in here and has to throw you out.

She had the obscure thought that she’d have to change gyms now.

A door opened, hinges squeaking on the opposite side of that bedroom door. She froze, held her breath even. Footsteps came to the door, paused, then went the other way.

She looked for an alarm clock, found one right next to the bed. Quarter after twelve, noon. He came home for lunch.

She sat up very carefully, her head still protesting anything other than more sleep. She had that awful, lingering need to vomit. It made every movement tentative.

Her shoes were on the ground, neatly side-by-side. It made her feel even worse.

As she stood she didn’t even check that her clothes had been left as they were. She knew they were un-fussed-with.

As she neared the door, shoes clenched to her chest, she stopped at the sound of low, rhythmic chanting from the living room. It struck her stupid, and she strained to hear better. It was like singing.

Booze and embarrassment were making her mentally slow and thick. The realization came slow, like the dawn. That would be a dawning realization, she supposed. Saleem was Muslim.

There was no real shock. She’d never considered what his faith might be. It should be obvious, or maybe not. Jesus, she’d never personally known a Muslim before. She felt guilty for not knowing. But why would she feel guilty? How could she know? Why would someone assume such things?

While she debated what she should do, the prayer continued. She decided her concern was ridiculous. Nothing was more awful than what she’d thrust into his life last night, and he hadn’t tossed her into the street.

She still knew enough to keep quiet and not interrupt. This was certainly not any of her business. Her interloper status was booming along with her pulse in her temples.

She closed her eyes, willing her stomach to settle and calm down. Deep breathing helped. Then she realized the singing had stopped.

Now the big decision; just duck out and not say anything, or face him and apologize.

Lord, how she wanted to run. Just bolt and never look back. Move away. Change her name. Get a job as a waitress in a truck stop and shave her head.

Claudia would do what was right. If there was one thing her mother taught her it was manners. That was likely the only thing her mother taught her, come to think of it.

She opened the door with all the enthusiasm of a meter-reader entering a yard with a “beware of dog” sign when no canine was in sight.

As the door came open Saleem appeared at the opposite end of the hall, dressed in his
favour of work clothes: white button-up, navy slacks. Shirt open at the neck. It must be warm outside. He looked fantastic.

She waited for him to look disgusted, but of course he didn’t. His brow furrowed with concern. “How … how are you feeling?”

Worse now, thanks.
She put a hand to her head, dropping her eyes to the floor. “I feel like absolute shit.”

He gave a short burst of chuckles, but she still couldn’t look at him.

“Umm … we don’t know each other very well but … I’m guessing you have a bit of a … well, I guess, problem with alcohol?”

She nodded. “I thought I was past it. Eleven years sober.”

There was a pause, which luckily he broke. “So … do you want to tell me what happened?”

She shrugged, breath catching on a sob. “Something I should have told you about. I’m sorry. I … I have the tendency to date women. Usually do. The woman I was dating dumped me. She just … she died. Mysterious causes. Couple nights ago. I had no business being on a … date with you. With anyone. I thought I was okay, but clearly I’m not.”

She risked a look. His arms were crossed and he looked so worried about her. Her guilt was quickly passing her hangover as her greatest discomfort.

“Claudia … I wish I knew all this.  I never would have asked.”

“I know you wouldn’t. There is no way anything is your fault, and I barely remember why or how I came here. I just have to say I am so sorry for dumping this on your doorstep, literally. You’re a great guy, Saleem, you don’t deserve my shit show. And I’m … just so fucking sorry.”

Yeah, she was crying now. Just to make everything even more perfect.

He waited the perfect amount of time to see if she’d pull herself together. She didn’t. He came forward, causing her to throw up a hand.

“No. Please. That’ll make me feel worse -”

The rest was muffled by his immaculately pressed shirt as he wrapped her up in strong, warm arms. She dropped her shoes and held him in return, crying on his chest. His hand made large circles on her back, and she clung to him as tightly as she’d ever hugged anyone.

“I’d never think less of you, Claudia. I know you’re strong.  Everyone stumbles. Doesn’t make you a bad person, I know that.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Maybe … maybe you came to me for help.”

They let that sit there while she calmed down. When she had finally stopped the waterworks he kept a hold on her, those circles on her back continuing.