Flawed Angel (The Fall Book 1)

by J. J. Dean

  His voice cuts off when his eyes connect with mine. I’m staring like a deer caught in the headlights at him, and his face is plastered in shock until he recovers, and a cheeky grin slowly makes its way onto his face.

  "Brother," he finishes. "Never mind. Seems you found him, Flower. Don’t mind me, just going back the way I came. Guess I'll see you both downstairs."

  He's turning and walking back out of the door with an annoying pep in his step before I can make my voice box work. What the fuck just happened?

  My head moves back to face Asher, who is already staring right at me. I go to open my mouth when he kisses me soundly, causing my brain to somehow malfunction and forget what it had prepared me to say.

  He pulls back slightly before giving me one last swift kiss and then says, "Don't make it awkward."

  Don't make it awkward? What in the fresh Hell?

  "Come on, peaches. I need food," he grumbles before flinging the duvet off us, the sudden chill causing me to shiver. How is he thinking about food, right now? I'm still a jumbled mess of hormones, need, and shock. Food isn't even in the perimeter of my mind’s thoughts.

  He's around my bed and walking out the door before I find my voice and splutter, "Seriously, what the fuck just happened?"

  Without bothering to put on pants, because no one needs that kind of negativity in their lives, and doing a quick panty change, I head out of my room and down the stairs. I move straight to the kitchen where the smell of coffee floats through the air. With my nose guiding me and my eyes partly closed in coffee bliss, I navigate myself directly to the coffee machine, make myself a large mug of the glorious caffeine and add the right amount of creamer. With my mug clenched in my hand like a prized possession, I take a sip and sigh a heavenly sigh.

  My eyes snap open when a noise that sounds like a pained groan comes from somewhere to my right. I face the direction in which the noise came, only to find both Asher and Eli watching me intently. Eli's wearing a shit eating grin that I'm wanting to both slap off his face and melt into a puddle at. Asher is sitting with his mug in one hand, and the other arm resting on the marble island. His face is stoic, but I can see the amusement in his eyes as he lifts his mug to take a sip of coffee.

  I don't realize I'm staring until Eli obnoxiously coughs and loudly proclaims, "So, you're spending time with me today, Flower. Seeing as Asher had some... alone time, it seems only fair you grace me with your presence for the day."

  My jaw goes slack, and I almost drop my blessed coffee when he winks my way before heading to his room to get ready for the day. With my jaw still on the floor, I watch his ass in his check print sleep pants as he walks away before I remember Asher is still in the room and watching me.

  I take another sip of coffee to hide my infuriating blush as silence fills the room. We drink our coffee in peace, but when Asher finishes his drink, he walks slowly around the island to the sink that's placed in the counter I'm leaning on.

  His body brushes mine when he reaches over to place his mug in the sink, his leather and mint scent filling my senses. He stands incredibly close to me longer than is appropriate until I look up and stare at him dead on.

  "Have a nice day, peaches," he quietly rumbles.

  He makes to move away from me before my hand shoots out and I catch the waistband of his pants, keeping him in place. He gives me a questioning eyebrow raise and waits for me to speak.

  With a hard swallow, I tell him, "Thank you. For last night. I don't know how you did it, but... I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate it. You have no idea what it meant to me." The last of my sentence comes out a little choked up when my emotions get the best of me. Tears waver on my eyelids, but I hold onto them, adamant not to cry in front of him. I don't need that embarrassment when he's already seen me at my worst.

  Ever so gently, he cups my cheek in his large hand before he whispers, "Don't thank me, Luna."

  My eyebrows furrow in confusion when he doesn't elaborate, his hand falling without giving me an explanation as to why I shouldn't thank the man for making the worst time in my life a lot more bearable.

  He turns to walk out but I shuck off my confusion and ask another question I need to know the answer to. "Why are you suddenly calling me peaches?"

  He stills before turning his face slightly, only part of his face visible before he answers, "Because you taste like peaches."

  With that, he walks out of the kitchen to his bedroom, but not before I catch a smirk tugging at his mouth, giving away his amusement at my newly given nickname.

  Luna

  "You're not driving my car. She's my baby, my precious. Only I get to drive Nimbus," I sternly tell the persistent Angel who's now standing in front of me with the most pathetically adorable pout known to man. His hands are stapled in front of him in a pleading motion and his lower lip is sticking out comically. He bats his annoyingly long eyelashes a couple of times but when all I do is raise my left eyebrow, he huffs and throws his hands in the air.

  "Please, Flower! Pretty please. It's a Dodge Charger, my favorite car of all time, and you won't even let me drive us to Frenchie’s. What kind of injustice is that?" he pleads.

  "An injustice would be allowing anyone else to handle my pride and joy. Nimbus is not to be handled by an amateur," I quip, swerving passed him and jumping into the front seat of the car.

  With an over exaggerated groan, Eli drags his feet around the car and grumpily plonks himself in the passenger side, crossing his arms like a child. Though it should look petulant, I can't help but find him adorable for having a little tantrum at not being able to drive Nimbus. Who knew a grown ass man covered in tattoos could look cute pouting like a four year old?

  "Suck it up, buttercup." I laugh, nudging him in the knee with my hand before hitting the accelerator and driving us to Frenchie’s for a brief check in and coffee.

  "You'll cave, if it's the last thing I get you to do. You'll let me drive this car. I'm sure of it," he confidently remarks. I can see him staring from my peripheral vision, a gorgeous smile stretched across his mouth.

  I shake my head and huff out a laugh. "I accept that obvious challenge. I don't know if you haven't caught on yet, but I'm as stubborn as a mule. Not even cookies will make me give up the keys to my baby."

  "Mhmm. We'll see," he shoots back.

  The rest of the short drive is filled with bickering, banter and laughing. It hits me when we reach Frenchie’s that these guys make it very easy to forget that I need to keep my guards up around them.

  I may have lied a little to Asher when I told him I didn't know how he just so happened to pop into my dream last night. I do, in fact, very much know. While I was a resident amongst the pearly white clouds of Heaven, I researched every single gift He bestowed on the Angels. I know the most powerful by heart, the weaker I'd guess correctly if I were to witness them in action myself.

  I also know which gifts ended up in Hell with Lucifer and which stayed in the Heavenly realms He watches over, doing as much research as I could cram in before I was asked which side to take. Which is to say I know that Asher, and Eli by extension considering the brotherly bond, are some of Lucifer's advocates. Can't say that didn't suck Hulk balls, though I can't imagine I'd have been any more thrilled that they'd been His cheerleaders either.

  For now, they haven't made any attempts to hurt me, Eli sticking true to his word. While that continues, I'll keep a mile-high guard up at all times, while also playing dumb about their visit to Earth. Somehow, knowing which side they're on and why they're here makes the situation easier for me. I know what I'm dealing with and I get to watch them both embarrass themselves by even trying to lure me to the Underworld. Fun times ahead, if you ask me.

  "Luna? Did you hear me?" Eli taps me gently on my bare shoulder.

  "Uh, no, sorry. I spaced out for a second there. What did you say?"

  He flashes a smile before he says, "There's an old lady standing outside with a bag of cookies. The bag looks pretty full, too."


  He nods his head towards the front door of Frenchie’s, pointing out Ms. Frenchie herself standing in the doorway with a frilly yellow apron and clashing mustard colored cable knit cardigan. He's right when he says the bag she's holding looks filled to the brim with cookies. And I know damn well why.

  Sneaky, bribing old woman.

  We step out of the car and I deposit my car key in my bra, side eyeing Eli who catches the look and the placement of my key. He throws his head back and laughs causing an indulgent grin to form on my face.

  A cough breaks through my staring at the handsome man, and I turn to face the fiend who sold me out.

  "Francis. How are we this fine morning?" I ask sweetly, smiling with my mouth, glaring daggers with my eyes.

  "Oh, just peachy, Loony Toon. Here, I made your favorites," she responds with equal faux sweetness, holding out the bag of triple chocolate and caramel goodies for me.

  When I get close enough, I whisper, "You're lucky I love your wrinkly ass, or else I'd have shoved you in the dumpster already."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," comes her innocent but not really innocent reply. She knows what she did. She's just worried I will actually steal her dog.

  "So, who's your friend?"

  "Like you didn't already meet him, you sell out," I say sarcastically.

  Her face remains stoic, trying really hard to remain the epitome of innocence. With a roll of my eyes, I tell her, "this is Elijah. He and his brother, Asher, are staying with me for a while."

  Eli walks closer to my back and reaches a hand around me to shake Ms. Frenchie's, "pleasure to meet you... again."

  The traitor I call my best friend laughs and shakes his hand in return. Eli doesn't move back once she lets go; if anything he pushes himself closer to where I'm standing and places a warm hand on my lower back. It's comforting as much as it is an odd feeling. Not uncomfortable, just... unexpected.

  "Well, come on inside. Let's get some coffee in you before you go into zombie mode," Ms. Frenchie ushers us inside and lets the door shut on its own. "I'll bring your coffee to you."

  She shoots off like a bullet from a gun, so I turn to Eli and shrug my bare shoulders before making my way to my spot. My long sleeve, black off the shoulder skater dress swishes as I walk, my toned legs striding towards my arm chair, the artwork on my left leg visible for all to see. The longer legged Angel, however, beats me to my corner and sits in my seat, resting back comfortably.

  "This has to be the comfiest chair I've ever sat in," he groans, folding his arms over his abdomen in contentment.

  "Yeah, it sure is. Now move," I bite out, placing my tatted hands on my hips, waiting for the pain in the ass to get out of my seat so I can bask in the comfort only that chair and one other can bring me.

  "Why would I move from this amazing chair?" He looks at me as though I'm an idiot for demanding such a thing.

  My eyes narrow on him and I step closer before explaining. "That's my chair. Ever since this store opened, that's the only seat I take when I'm here. I've claimed it. You're in my seat."

  A Cheshire grin crawls across his face, a mischievous glint appears in his eyes. He gets even comfier in my chair before he talks. "I'll give up the seat. You have to agree to let me drive Nimbus before I get up, though."

  I stare at him for a moment, my face blank. He... he wants me to agree to let him drive my baby if he gives me my seat back? Is he deranged? I should really check Google for the answers to my Angel mental health questions.

  Not being one to hold back, I ask him as much. "Are you deranged? You're not driving my car, but you are going to give me my seat back."

  "I don't see your name on it," he cockily shoots back. Ha. Little does he know...

  "Check the left arm rest," I tell him with a smirk. I fold my arms over my chest and wait for him to comply. He stares at me for a moment longer, his own smirk resting on his mouth before he leans up and checks the arm of the chair. Sure enough, he finds a very neat calligraphy of my name stitched into the fabric of the chair. When he looks up at me with an amused expression, I give him a triumphant grin.

  "So, you see, that is, in fact, my chair, so you need to move your booty into another one so I can sit there."

  He doesn't move.

  He leans back in the chair and closes his eyes as though preparing to spend a few hours in that very chair relaxing. "If you want the chair, you'll have to move me yourself. I'm way too comfortable to willingly move."

  I give him a look of shock, one he can't see because his damn eyes are still shut. His smile only grows, however, making it known that he can feel my frustration building. I stare at him a little longer, but he makes no move to allow me to reclaim the seat he stole, so I threaten him with the only thing I can think of.

  "If you don't move, I'll sit on you." I'm inwardly rolling my eyes, because we all know that's a pathetic excuse for a threat, but I want my damn chair back.

  He snorts out a laugh before telling me, "If that's the best you've got, Flower, I'll be here for the duration of our stay. Feel free to find another seat, though."

  With a menacing growl, I stomp off to the counter and point an offending finger as Ms. Frenchie before proclaiming, "This is your fault! You and your meddling ways. You're like those meddling kids in Scooby Doo that always interfere with the villain's plans."

  "And what plans did I meddle in, exactly?" she asks, amusement lacing her words. She doesn't look up from her coffee making, looking down at the mugs in front of her, but I can see the smile she's poorly trying to hide.

  "My plan to sit in my chair and read a book and drink coffee. My plan to have my home to myself where I can walk around pantless and drink wine without being watched," I rub my forehead in exasperation. "Thanks to you, I have two guys I barely know living with me, one of which has stolen my seat. This is not cool, Francis. I expect the same number of cookies for the next week to rectify your traitorous ways."

  I don't give her a chance to respond when I turn and make my way to the bookshelf and pick out a short story to read while we drink our coffee before going on more adventures Eli has planned for the day. I walk back to where Eli lounges, watching my every move. I move to stand right next to his knees, raise my left eyebrow at him which earns me a smirk, before twirling around and falling backwards, putting all my weight into the fall.

  Eli grunts when I land, his air expelling from him with an oomph. I snigger as I get comfy, wriggling around on his lap before leaning my back into his chest. His face is surrounded by my wavy locks, so when he speaks, it comes out muffled. "Okay, I didn't think you were actually going to sit on me. Or, rather, fall on me."

  “You should always expect the unexpected,” I mutter the loaded statement while I shrug my shoulder with a smile he can’t see and decide to ignore my now breathing and talking chair. Surprisingly enough, Eli's lap is almost just as comfortable, so I settle in and open my book.

  "Here's your coffees," says Ms. Frenchie, who deposits our mugs down on the little coffee table. There's more amusement in her words, but she stifles her questions when she sees me perched on top of Eli and meanders off to attend to the other customers milling around the store.

  I feel Eli shuffle beneath me for a moment before he settles. A gentle hand comes up to my neck as he sweeps my purple waves off my shoulder. His head leans down until he's resting his chin on my shoulder and his arms wrap snugly around my waist.

  Despite my bravado earlier about this mile-high wall of mine, I feel a sudden crack in the cement when Eli tightens his hold on me, and we both settle into my stolen chair. We sit like that for the entire time we're there, and I realize he's reading along with me when he chuckles at the funny parts and snorts at the romantic, or "cheesy" as he grumbled under his breath at some point, parts of the novella.

  Ignoring the warning bells telling me I shouldn't feel this comfortable and content with him, that I should be wary because of his reason for being here, we spend our visit at Frenchie’s with him holding me
in his lap while we both read and drink our coffee.

  I've never felt more relaxed, other than when I was in Asher’s arms.

  I've never felt more at home.

  Eli

  Spending just over two hours with Lunas finely sculpted ass pressing into my groin has been nothing short of torture. With every wriggle of hers to get comfy, the harder my dick gets under my all too tight jeans.

  Regretting putting on these particular jeans today, I stifle another groan when Luna's ass shifts in my lap again.

  "Did you not like the book? I thought you were enjoying it? You can't deny it, either, because you laughed at the part where she got her foot stuck in the toilet bowl." There’s confusion in her tone. She's finished the book? I won't lie and say I haven't been distracted for the latter end of the story, so I've no idea what the fuck happened. I'd been enjoying the book, but I'd been enjoying her ass rubbing against my now aching dick more, even if it was torture.

  "My bad. I lost focus at the end there," I tell her, biting my lip to stop another groan from escaping when she brushes against me just right. I need her to move, or I'll be no better than my brother, and blow my load right here in the coffee shop if she continues.

  I tap the side of her distractingly bare thigh where her dress has ridden up and displays a collection of beautifully designed tattoos, all black and white. One is a gypsy girl surrounded by flowers and skulls. Attached to that is an incredibly realistic looking wolf. Her arms are filled with the same types of tattoos, but with her plump rear end pressing into my groin, I'm still struggling to think with the head that contains my brain.

  "Come on, let’s go. We've got shit to do, things to see," I promptly tell her, gently nudging her off my lap.

  "I'll move if..." she trails off, shaking her head and making to move off from where she's seated.

  "If what?" I question, intrigued as to where she was heading with that sentence. I mean, she can't start a sentence like that and not finish it. That's a whole new brand of torture. I'll be thinking about it all day.