by Larissa Ione
She smiled and started a slow slide down his body, her mouth kissing a red-hot trail as she went. Closing his eyes, he let her body caress him, the skin on skin turning his body into a hypersensitive sex toy he wished she’d hurry up and ride.
As she inched lower, her warmth engulfed his erection as it slid between her plump folds. The sudden sensation rocked him hard, jacking his entire body off the bed as he tried to penetrate her. But she would have none of that, and even as he arched his hips upward, she eased backward, breaking contact.
“Blaspheme.” His voice was a combination of snarly and needy. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Good,” she said with a naughty wink. “Because it’s cold in here.”
“Fuck.” He threw his head back on the pillow, pressing his palms into his thighs, willing himself to stay in control. To not circle that waist with his hands, hold her steady, and impale her with his painfully hard cock.
“Hmm.” Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, she teased him by tracing the veins in his shaft with her finger. “Was that an invitation?”
“Yes,” he ground out. “An invitation. An order. A motherfucking plea. Call it what you want, just fuck me.”
“Show me your fangs.”
Instant fangage. He’d show her his freaking liver if she’d just make him come. Reaching out, she touched the tip of a canine.
“Vampire fangs are erogenous zones,” she purred. “They can even come if you stroke their fangs long enough.”
“So?” The idea of her fang-jerking some bloodsucker made him want to slaughter the next vampire he saw. Another finger joined the first, and Revenant found himself getting his first FJ.
“So… is it the same with fallen angels?”
As if his erection was the one getting stroked, he felt the orgasm building in his balls.
“Apparently,” he gasped, gripping his cock again and squeezing until the pain overrode the pleasure. Holy shit, when he finally came, he was going to make a fire hose look like a squirt gun.
“Interesting.”
“Interesting?” he croaked. “You know what would be interesting? If you’d let me touch you.”
“And why’s that?”
His control was slipping. He felt it in the way his heart was beating against his rib cage and his hands were clenched to the point of bleeding. He heard it in the guttural tone of his voice. Tasted it in the blood from his bitten tongue. Smelled it in the arousal that mingled with hers.
“Because I would have you up against that wall, my hands pinning yours so you’d know how this feels, and I would rail you so hard you’d feel me for a month. And after we both came, I’d have you on the floor, pulling a sixty-nine that wouldn’t end until I tasted a dozen of your orgasms. Before you could even think about recovering, I’d fuck you in every way a male can fuck a female. And I wouldn’t stop. Not until you begged.” He slammed his fists into the mattress. “Damn it, Blaspheme, I need to be inside you.” He sucked in a harsh breath. “Let me… inside you.”
Her eyes flared, and for the first time, he understood how False Angels truly lured males. Not with seduction, but with innocence. She was wide-eyed but breathing hard, quivering delicately but coating his shaft in her arousal. Every male instinct inside him screamed to take her, and to do it hard and fast, and then again, slowly, thoroughly. He wanted to learn every inch of her body and how each inch responded to him. He wanted to teach her what made him crazy, and then he wanted to wipe every other male from her memory.
And what the hell was he thinking? This was the False Angel magic at work, because it sure as fuck wasn’t his own brain throwing out all that crazy shit. He’d never wanted to claim a female for himself. Sure, he’d had casual lovers, more than he could count. But the moment he started looking forward to seeing a lover was the moment he checked out of the relationship.
Hell, if he’d been in this position with Blaspheme just a month ago, he doubted he’d be so infatuated. No, he didn’t doubt. He knew. Her ethics and goodness would have repelled him like DEET repelled mosquitoes. But with his returned memories had come new emotions, regrets, and pain, and somehow Blaspheme was tapping into that, making him want more than just sex… when it was clear she only wanted sex.
Blaspheme’s breath heaved in and out, her breasts rising and falling as if beckoning his touch. He reached for her —
No!
His entire body shook with the force it took to stop his hands. Holy hell, his control had slipped to nothing. She’d set down a rule, and he had been about to break it. He trembled harder, but then warm, soft hands gripped his cock and stroked up and down, working together to massage him into compliance.
“There you go,” she was saying in a soothing voice. “Fastest way to ease out an adrenaline overload is sex.”
Adrenaline overload? Maybe the False Angel ability jacked into the adrenal glands and rendered their partners unable to follow orders. It was as good an explanation as any, and he was happy to lay the blame for his slipup on her.
Feeling better now, he arched into her hands and fucked her fists as they pumped him.
“Hurry,” he growled. “I need to be inside you.”
“For once I agree with you.”
Shifting, she stood his cock up and positioned herself over the tip. Then she paused, and he ground his teeth at the agonizing delay.
“Wait.” She bit down on one kiss-swollen lip. “Protection.”
“False Angels can only breed with False Angels,” he said, and shouldn’t she know that?
“Yes, I know. But you’re some kind of super fallen angel. What if —”
“I’m an angel,” he pointed out. “Angels aren’t fertile in Sheoul. Prevents demons from capturing them and using them to breed hybrid abominations.”
“How is it possible that you’re an angel anyway?” She frowned, losing the saucy, aroused edge, and shit, he had to get back on the sex track.
“I never fell from Heaven. Long story. I’ll tell you after.” He arched up, reminding her that now wasn’t the time for talking. It was time for fucking.
“Should be a good story.” She stroked his cock in her fist, giving it a couple of good pumps before replacing it at her opening.
He held his breath as she lowered herself, head thrown back, lips parted, her sex swallowing his erection in slow, torturous increments. The erotic sight made him groan, his sex kicking hard inside her as if urging her to hurry.
“That’s it. Fuck, that’s so it,” he breathed. “You’re so damned wet.”
A low, hungry moan broke from her lips as she took him to the hilt. She swiveled her hips and rose up until he nearly came free of her tight heat, and then she sat down again, faster this time, but still way too slow for his tastes.
He hoped she was done with the control-freak trip she was on, because it was his turn.
On the next upstroke, he dug his heels into the mattress and arched his hips to buck her, lifting her knees off the bed and forcing her to fall forward. As her palms shot out to brace her body on his chest, he rolled his hips, penetrating her deep.
Her gasp of pleasure joined his as the pace picked up, breathing became frantic, and the sound of slapping bodies dropped them into a maelstrom of ecstasy. Her breasts, flushed and heavy with arousal, bounced as she rode him, and when she cupped one, tweaking the nipple between her fingers, he nearly came undone.
“Show me your wings, Blaspheme,” he murmured breathlessly. “I want to see all of you.”
He thought he saw a flicker of alarm in her eyes, but a heartbeat later, delicate wings spread from her back, extending high into the air. Unlike true angel or fallen angel wings, they were neither leathery nor layered with feathers, were instead shimmery and translucent, like a bride’s veil sprinkled with glitter.
They were so transparent, in fact, that they seemed to flicker in and out of existence until finally, she folded them neatly behind her back and let them fade completely away.
“Beautiful,”
he whispered.
She met his gaze, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. The intensity in her expression, the sultry cast of her eyes and lips… damn, he was ready to spill into her, to make her moan his name from that sexy mouth.
“So are you.” She arched in pleasure, the graceful curve of her body the epitome of False Angel perfection. “You’re a bastard, Revenant, but a beautiful one.”
Never had anyone given him such a precious compliment, and for a few stuttering heartbeats, he froze, committing her words to memory.
Rolling her hips, she clenched her internal muscles and took him so deep he swore he felt the beat of her heart at the tip of his cock. His sac pulled taut with impending release as it met the hot flesh between her legs with every erotic move she made.
Given the intensity of her torture, he lasted longer than he thought he would, but he couldn’t have predicted that when his climax came, he’d hit another damned plane of existence.
As his balls throbbed, his entire body seized up, racked with pleasure so intense he could only roar in exquisite agony. Distantly he heard Blaspheme’s soft cries, felt her clamp down around him in rippling waves. Another orgasm rear-ended the first one, and he was launched into the stratosphere again as his body blew apart.
Holy… damn.
When the world came into focus again, he couldn’t move. He felt disembodied, could only lie there, dizzy, boneless, Blas’s warm weight something he would gladly bear all night.
She lay on top of him, breathing heavily, her sweaty skin plastered to his. He wondered if his half of the deal they’d struck was over yet, so he could finally run his hands through her silky hair that fanned over his shoulders. But then he decided he couldn’t lift his arms anyway, so the no-touching thing was irrelevant.
“I can’t move,” Blaspheme muttered, her breath whispering across his throat.
Move? Revenant couldn’t even speak. He managed a grunt he hoped sounded like agreement, and he felt her lips curve into a smile against his skin. That one tiny intimacy, a secret, satisfied smile while they were still connected, wrapped around him like a warm embrace.
The sensation was as intense as it was unfamiliar. He loved females and he loved sex, and he’d had a lot of both. But this was the first time he’d felt like this, as if he couldn’t get enough. Not of just sex, but of a female. Of Blaspheme.
He could lie like this forever. Maybe the Earth would stop spinning, the realms would stop fighting, and everyone would leave him and Blaspheme the hell alone. Revenant had never been one to dream… any dreams he might have had were destroyed on that Megiddo hilltop all those years ago, when Reaver had made it clear that brothers or not, they weren’t family, and Rev didn’t belong in Heaven.
But here he was, dreaming. Which was insane, considering his life was in the worst possible place it could be right now, with both Heaven and hell screwing with him. Neither side was known for being especially forgiving when it came to battles between good and evil, which meant that no matter what he did, someone was going to rain a whole lot of hell down on his head. Literally, if Satan was the one he pissed off.
So yeah, lying in bed and dreaming of a future where he was in any way happy was stupid.
But as Blaspheme let out a contented sigh, he realized he was happy at this very moment. He was going to embrace it. Savor it.
Because something told him it wasn’t going to last.
Sixteen
Revenant woke to the tap of Blaspheme’s fingers on his sternum. He’d fallen asleep? Seriously? He never crashed after sex.
Opening his eyes, he glanced at the clock on the wall, and yep, he’d lost a couple of hours. He canted his head to the side, smiling when he saw Blaspheme facing him, her body stretched against his as he lay on his back, her hand running up and down his chest.
“Hi.” She returned his smile with a shy one of her own.
“Hi.” His voice was shot to hell, but in a good postcoital way.
“So,” she said, not wasting any time, “how is it that you and Reaver are brothers? And why didn’t Reaver ever mention it before?”
Groaning, Rev threw his forearm over his eyes. “You got something against coffee before conversation?”
“Nope. But while you were sleeping I rummaged through your kitchen, and I couldn’t find any.” She jabbed him in the ribs. “So? Spill.”
Figuring he couldn’t avoid getting back to real life, Revenant tucked his arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “Reaver didn’t mention having a brother because he didn’t know until a couple of weeks ago. Neither did I.”
“How can that be?”
“Our memories were erased. Twice.”
Sitting up, she snared a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered herself. Too bad. He could look at her creamy breasts all day. “I’m lost.”
He was lost, too. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to work out thousands of years of memories myself.” Reaching over, he fingered a tendril of her silky hair while he considered how much to tell her. He didn’t trust anyone, but False Angels, with their lying, seductive ways, were even less trustworthy. And Blaspheme, while she wasn’t like any False Angel he’d ever met, was undoubtedly hiding something from him. He might have been drunk when he saw some sort of crumpling aura around her last night at her apartment, but he was perfectly sober now, and he still sensed that there was something not right with her.
That said, he didn’t know how she could possibly use anything he told her against him.
“Our mother was a battle angel,” he said finally. “She was pregnant with a potential Radiant, and she was betrayed by an angel to Satan’s forces. Our father was killed in the battle, and she was taken to Sheoul. She gave birth to twins. Heaven worked out a deal to take one of the infants, and Sheoul would take the other.”
“Oh, wow,” she whispered. “So that’s how you’re an angel, not a fallen angel. Heaven took Reaver, didn’t they?”
“Yes. I was left behind, raised in a ten-by-ten cell in a dungeon.” The memories came at him like blows, but he quickly blocked them and got away from that messy part of the story. “Years later, after I learned the truth, I went to Reaver, and it didn’t go well. He’d just discovered that the female he loved had betrayed him and that he had four grown children. He was pissed, I was pissed… let’s just say that between the two of us, we caused a whole lot of destruction.”
“What’s a whole lot?”
“The kind that requires thousands of angels to rewrite history in the minds of humans.”
She swallowed. “They can do that?”
“Apparently they’ve done it several times.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “So I lost my memory. Satan told me that I was a fallen angel, and that I didn’t remember my time in Heaven because sometimes fallen angels lose their memories when they fall from grace. I bought it. I believed it when he told me that I was kicked out of Heaven for assassinating fellow angels.” He snorted. “I toed the evil line like a champ. Fuck, I need a drink. You?”
She shook her head.
“You sure?” He swung out of bed and strode, naked, to the portable bar in the corner. “Don’t think I’ve ever met a False Angel who wasn’t a lush.”
“I have to work later. For some reason, Eidolon frowns on his staff showing up drunk.”
He poured himself a shot of Sheoul’s finest absinthe, made the old-fashioned way, with wormwood grown in the corpses of imps. “Ah, that’s right. You’re a False Angel with ethics.”
“Yeah. Ethics.” She rubbed her temples as if fending off a headache. “So how long did you go around thinking you were a fallen angel? Also,” she grumbled, “you should put on some clothes. You’re a menace to society when you’re naked.”
Ah, his ego loved the stroking. He definitely wasn’t getting dressed now. “I believed I was fallen for five thousand years, give or take a century or ten.” He knocked back the neon-green
liquor, relishing the stinging burn down his throat. “Then, a little over three decades ago, Reaver did something bad again. He broke a huge rule and was punished. Want to guess how?”
“Ah… memory loss?”
“Yep. Well, that and he lost his wings. Went to work at your hospital. And here’s the kicker. The agreement Heaven made with Sheoul when we were born said that whatever was done to one of us had to be done to the other. So my memory was wiped. Again.”
The alcohol sting in his throat turned bitter. Breaking rules resulted in chaos and pain and all kinds of shit, and Reaver’s reckless disregard for the rules had done exactly that.
“Jesus,” she whispered. “So you lost five thousand years of memories in an instant?”
He nodded. “Reaver at least knew that he was being punished. Me? One minute I was… ah… doing fallen angel stuff, and the next I was wondering why the hell I was standing in Sheoul’s Horun region, covered in blood, and standing over the body of some vyrm.”
The color faded from Blaspheme’s cheeks. Her physician self must be appalled by the killing Revenant had done.
He poured another drink. “Like I told you earlier, hunting vyrm and other undesirables was my job. I was Satan’s little assassin helper. I didn’t know that at the time. I only remember now.”
He’d been a straight-up badass hell-bent on destruction, and he’d been proud of it. Now, knowing he had Satan’s blood running through his veins, corroding his body and soul like Drano, the memories left him confused. He was evil – how could he not be? But he was also an angel whose mother had loved him.
His fingers curled around the shot glass so hard his hand shook. Fuck, he was lost.
“I wandered around for a year after the second memory wipe, scrounging out a living in Sheoul, turning myself into a hired hand. And then Satan’s minions came for me. He told me the vyrm must have erased my memory before I killed him, and that I had been a fallen angel for thousands of years, blah fucking yadda.”
Blaspheme’s skin was still pale, but some of the color had started to return. Good. He didn’t like seeing her upset.