The Fallen 03 - Warrior (15 page)

He’d lifted his weight off me, only his hips pinioning me, and he released my wrists, moving one hand down between us, touching my breast. More heat suffused me, and I moaned.

He took his mouth away, and I wanted to cry out in protest as he sat back on his heels, taking all his weight from me. “Take off your shirt,” he said roughly.

I was so disoriented that I looked up at him, uncomprehending, so he simply took the hem of my tank top and stripped it off. I lay half-naked beneath him, my small breasts exposed to his critical gaze. I
didn’t move, didn’t try to cover myself—that would have been a coward’s way. I simply let him look, judge.

A faint smile crossed his austere face. “If I have to fall once more from grace, at least you’re going to make it worthwhile.” His hands encircled my waist, then slid up my ribs to cover my breasts, cupping them, his thumbs brushing against the hard nipples, and I made a soft sound of need that thoroughly shamed me.

He leaned down and kissed me again, a soft, lingering kiss, before his mouth moved down, and I could feel him at my neck, sucking at the vein he was supposed to pierce, and I steeled myself, wondering why the ache between my legs was intensifying at the thought.

His teeth grazed my skin, but he moved lower, and I choked at the first touch of his tongue against one breast. The sensation was almost painful, and I put my hands on his shoulders, not sure what I wanted him to do.

It was the first time I’d touched him without wanting to hurt him. His skin was so warm beneath my hands, warm and alive, and his tattoos danced beneath my touch, moving across his skin with sensuous grace. I couldn’t read the markings, didn’t want to, but I felt their power, and I felt their need. I was clutching him, holding tightly, as his hand reached for the drawstring of my loose pants.

Yes,
I thought.
This is what I’ve wanted, what I’ve
needed, for so long. I want sex, I want life, I want love. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.

His mouth covered my breast, sucking it, and I arched up, my hips reflexively searching for him. He made a low growl in his throat, one of need, one of dominance, but I didn’t care. He could take me any way he wanted, as long as he took me.

He moved to the other breast. The cool night air hit my wet skin, another absurd arousal, and I could feel myself slipping into some thick cocoon of desire where no thought of the future, no worries about repercussions, nothing existed but the moment and the feel of his skin against mine.

He blew on my breast, and my fingers dug deeper into his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, half-terrified he’d pull away. “Please, don’t stop.”

He froze. And then he began to curse, low and foul.

I didn’t move as the cold washed over me, the knowledge that he was going to stop. I’d known it instinctively, and I wondered if I could conquer him in
this
battle, push him over and move on him, take him in my mouth, wipe out any reservations, any doubts.

I couldn’t. I pulled myself together as he drew back, anger on his face, and I didn’t know if the anger was for him or for me.

“No,” he said flatly. He rose in one fluid motion, then tossed my discarded tank top at me before turning away. “Get dressed.”

I was furious. I wanted to hurt him, rip him apart, but I already knew he was stronger than I. “No.”

He said nothing, his strong, beautiful back to me, and the elaborate markings curled around his shoulder blades where his wings should be. I had fooled myself, forgetting who and what he was. An angel, for God’s sake. And I’d been about to give myself to him. Hell, about to force myself on him.

His face was hidden, the shape of his close-cropped head giving no hint of what he was feeling. Without another word, he walked away, out the open door, to the ocean.

I jumped to my feet and ran after him, determined to catch him and haul him back, determined to make him face what he didn’t want to face; but on the doorstep I stopped, staring up in wonder.

He’d taken flight. Wings spread out from his back, dark, graceful, arched, as he soared upward, and I watched him disappear into the night sky, a gorgeous creature of myth and story.

I would have given anything to follow him, up into the sky, carried by the wind. I was a goddess, but all the longing in the world couldn’t make me sprout wings and follow him into the night, no matter how much I wanted to.

I looked at the tank top in my hands, then back up at the night-dark sky. I wasn’t going back to my room to wallow in misery. I wasn’t going to run away, not while everything I valued lay trashed. I wasn’t ready to accept defeat.

His room was easy enough to find, and there was no mistaking it. It was a monk’s cell, a stone floor with no rugs to soften it, unadorned walls, a narrow cot against the wall. I stripped off the rest of my clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the cold floor, then climbed, naked, into the hard bed and pulled the rough-textured sheet over me.

And I waited.

M
ICHAEL FLEW HIGH
, higher still, until the air was thin and ice crystallized on his wings, before he spun, circling, spearing through the night, then spiraling down into the sea. The icy water surrounded him, the familiar peace moving through his body. Healing, calm, the water cradled him, and he floated, his mind a blank.

He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel. He wanted oblivion for a few short hours. But the healing waters of the ocean couldn’t give him what he needed, couldn’t take away the taste of her mouth, the feel of her breasts, the sounds she made. It couldn’t wash away the heated desire that still danced just beneath his skin.

He lost track of time. When he finally emerged from the water, the night was nearing its end, faint tendrils of light appearing over the mountain behind the compound. He still had a couple of hours before training started. He could fall into his bed and sleep.

He rinsed the seawater off in the outdoor shower, stripped off his sodden pants, and walked through
the quiet building. She could have run away again, but right now he couldn’t gather the energy to go in search of her. She hadn’t gone far. He could feel her presence; he’d know in his bones if she’d left. She was probably barricaded in her bedroom, ready to kill him if he came near her.

Which was the way he wanted it. He needed her green eyes cold with fury, her mouth set in anger. He couldn’t fight this on his own. He needed her to fight it too.

He pushed open the door to his tiny room and shut it behind him, not bothering to turn on the light. The small window set high in the wall let in more than enough light to see the outlines of the few pieces of furniture he allowed himself. He could see his bed in the corner.

And then he could see the figure lying in it, huddled between his sheets, her long black hair spread out on the pillow. Flight had availed him nothing. The cold sea hadn’t cooled his blood; the night air hadn’t banked the heat that surged through him.

She must have heard him come in. She rose on one elbow, looking at him, and the sheet fell away, exposing one small, perfect breast. And he needed to suck at it, to slide his hand between her legs and feel the wetness of her desire. He’d tried everything he could to fight this.

For the first time in his limitless existence, he had lost a battle.

Her eyes ran over his nude body, and he saw
her reaction to the jutting push of his cock before she hid it. “I always pay my debts.” Her voice was deceptively calm, but he could hear the faint tremor beneath it.

He kept his expression unreadable, helped by the shadows in the room. “When did you last have sex?”

The question startled her, and she had to think for a moment. “Seven years ago.”

“And how many times have you had sex? How many partners?”

“None of your—”

“How many?”

Her mouth tightened, when he wanted it soft and giving. “One partner. Three times.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I could lock you in your room again. I’m stronger than you are.”

“You could. But I’d escape again.”

“I could let you go.”

“You’re that desperate not to have sex with me?” she said. Her eyes lowered to the middle of his body. “It doesn’t look like it.”

He walked over to the bed and pulled the sheet all the way down. She was naked, of course, and her pale skin was perfect in the early-morning light, the small patch of curls between her legs sweet and enticing. The room was too warm, yet her nipples were erect.

“You’re not paying a debt,” he said. “Are you?”

She hesitated. “No,” she said, and leaned back against the pillow. “And you aren’t doing your duty, are you?”

“No.” He knelt on the bed, straddling her carefully. There was barely enough room for the two of them. It didn’t matter. They were going to be so close they wouldn’t need extra space. “No,” he said again, moving between her legs, lifting them. He took her mouth, her sweet, inexperienced mouth, with his, and then simply pushed inside her, hard, knowing she’d be wet and ready for him.

He slid deep, her body clutching at him, and he groaned at the sheer, celestial pleasure of it. This was perfection, this was creation, this was everything he needed, everything worth living for. He pushed deeper still, and her legs wrapped around his hips, and he savored the shivers of response from inside her.

He broke the kiss, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them then, looking into his with a connection as deep, as intimate, as his cock inside her. Her hands cupped his face, her thumbs brushing against his mouth. “I told you not to stop,” she whispered.

“My mistake,” he said as he began to move.

He knew women’s bodies so well, and he’d forgotten nothing. He was acutely aware of her response as his own fiery need fought for control. She was resisting it, he realized, trying to clamp down on each burgeoning peak, struggling to stop her climax, and
through his blind haze of lust he wondered if she was holding off to maximize her pleasure. Or was she regretting her choice?

He pushed in deep, holding still. He couldn’t keep driving toward completion while she fought it. She was frightened, he realized suddenly.

He straightened his arms, looking down at her. “What are you doing?”

His wife, his fierce warrior, looked almost tearful. “Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with my body.”

“Am I hurting you?” If he was, he would have to stop. But it wasn’t pain lashing through her, he was sure of it. It was frustrated desire, fighting to get out.

She shook her head. “It just feels . . . upsetting.”

He didn’t smile. She wouldn’t thank him for his amusement. He moved down over her, relishing the stab of her hard nipples against his chest, and kissed her. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and he could feel the shivers racking her body.

He pulled out almost completely, and she let out a cry of loss. He slid his hand down her stomach to her clitoris, touching her as he suddenly slammed into her, and she shattered, her body clamping around him. She shrieked against his shoulder, in shock, in pleasure, her fingers digging into him so tightly he would have thought she’d draw blood. That was another arousal, and he thrust, again and again, hard, riding her orgasm, prolonging it, and when she finally fell back, limp, he let himself go,
releasing his seed into her, filling her, his head dropping to the pillow beside her as his wings unfurled to lock around them, cradling them in softness. Her neck was before him, soft and vulnerable, and he was overcome with the need for her. He nipped it just lightly enough to draw blood, which he licked from her sweat-damp skin, the taste of it better than the ambrosia he’d once known. He felt his fangs elongate, just as he felt his cock harden again, and he knew it would take nothing to sink through her skin to the vein pumping beneath the flesh. But he didn’t.

He kissed her neck, savoring it. And then he rolled off her, pulling her with him on the narrow cot, keeping her tight against his body, his cock hard inside her. He liked that. He could sleep like that, safe in her body, her blood in his mouth, his arms around her, the sweet scent of her all around him. He could sleep like that, when he seldom allowed himself to sleep. He could be at peace for the first time in his memory.

And he slept.

I
LAY IN HIS ARMS, UNMOVING, AS THE
pounding of my heart slowly returned to normal. The room felt cool, but he was warm, so warm, and I wanted to burrow closer. I wanted to lick the sweat from his shoulder, to rub my skin against his. The explosions that had rocked my body were still simmering beneath the surface, and I was ready to explode again.

I hadn’t realized it could feel like that. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t pleasured myself, locked up in my prison, but something had always stopped me after that first little peak of pleasure. I’d turned over and gone to sleep, edgy and unsatisfied, figuring I wasn’t doing it right.

I’d needed a man. And not just any man—I’d thought I loved Johann, but what I’d done with him had no connection to what had just happened with Michael. My breasts were acutely sensitive, my womb ached, and I still wanted more.