by Gina Kincade
Layel placed his hand on his breeches where hers had been and stroked himself, slow and hard. “This game can be fun. I want to watch you touch yourself, out here in the alley, while I touch myself.”
He felt a flare of his compulsion, and the woman nodded, though the way her hand had trailed over herself as she spoke indicated his compulsion had no bearing on the coupling.
Slipping a hand into hers, he tugged her around the corner of the building. The oil lamp flickered, ensuring her safety with its bright glow. He would have to compel her not to remember if she saw his wings, but he would not take a moment of pleasure away from her. Pleasure of any kind was a gift, and altering it would be cause to fall. While, moments before, he had not cared, his good sense had returned. He wasn’t ready to fall, but he needed release.
Undoing the buckle on his black breeches, he let them slide to the street, his rod jutting free. His eyes rolled backwards as his hand stroked the flesh of his prick. He heard her murmur across from him, and then a rustling of clothes as she lifted her skirts. He could feel the muscles in his neck begin to tighten as he continued to stroke himself. It hadn’t been long since he’d been buried inside a willing Angel, mere days, but his body was craving this release more than any other he’d ever indulged in.
Layel didn’t even mind that it was his scarred, rough hands, stroking himself to a release. His breathing was shallow as he stroked, tweaked and tugged on his prick. Every touch sent waves of bliss through him. There was no shame in him as he thrust his hips and reveled in the sensation of skin against skin, his body stretching for a release.
Her moan sent a groan rocking through him. His eyes opened, and he watched as her hand moved back and forth, he could picture her fingers sliding in and out of her wetness, and his strokes sped up. He’d never been one for self-gratification, but listening to the woman please herself was stimulating.
“This is—” her voice broke off into rapid pants.
Layel’s hips were bucking so fast into his tight grip that he was amazed he hadn’t lost his balance. Over and over, he squeezed himself as his other hand reached betwixt his legs and massaged his balls. The added sensation sent him over the edge. His balls tightened up against him, and he felt his seed spurt over the tip of his prick. His groan was loud, animalistic even. Her shout was as guttural as his, and, even though he had not touched her, he was pleased she’d enjoyed their strange encounter.
Panting hard, he released his prick and tore his shirt and sword off, before she could see the later. His wings unfurled, and he did nothing to stop the woman from seeing those. He grabbed hold of a newly regrown wingtip. With a sigh, he let it go as well. His feathers were still white. No streaks of grey rippled through them, self-release with a human had not been a sin.
Her eyes were open, a lusty haze in them, but open.
“You will not remember anything more than the encounter itself.” He pulled his trousers off the ground and secured the buckle as he dug in the pocket for coin. “This is your fee.” In truth, Layel had no clue what the currency was for a torrid night with a streetwalker, but he assumed it would do.
She blinked and wrapped her hands around the coin, not saying anything about his wings as he curled them close to his body and pulled his shirt on over his head. With a nod, he flashed to Royal London, his body had released, but his mind still needed to assure that the threat of demons was gone, for the time being.
The scent of blood wafted thickly in the air. Layel frowned, even as his hand went to draw the Angelic sword from his back. He sliced it through the air, so quickly a sharp sound rang out. Every part of him was on high alert as he allowed his eyes to circle over the area. Mere paces from him, a man lay with his throat slashed. Blood pooled around him, and Layel could not miss the clawed, three-toed prints of a Thrasher Demon.
“Bloody fucking hell.”
Moving through the dark street, he saw the body of a man who appeared to be a coachman. Blood stained his fancy gold shoulder tassels, and Layel shook his head. Someone had targeted a carriage, and not one human had woken to see what had occurred. Perhaps it is time to let them fight their own battles. The unwanted thought flashed through his mind and guilt slammed into him. Pure Angels were better than humans.
“Where are you?” he whispered to no one, seeking out the carriage to find the demon, if it remained.
He heard a small splash as he stepped down and saw blood under his boot. Growling low, he began to move quicker down the road, closer to Piccadilly Square. The carriage lay less than fifteen yards away when he turned a corner, and the attack was not over. Two Thrashers were hunched over the overturned carriage, feasting, from the looks of their body movements.
Layel charged and swung his sword in a high arc. It sliced clean through the neck of the first Thrasher, causing the head to drop inside the carriage window it had been feeding through. Layel felt the spray of blood, tasted it on his lips. A certain sense of satisfaction, greater than the release he had just found, rolled through him. When the second Thrasher turned to him with a hiss, blood dripped off the demon’s spiked teeth. Its eyes almost glowed in the eerie light from the oil lamps.
“We have been told to watch for Pure Angels, Seraphina will be most happy,” the creature vocalized as best as it could before it leapt at Layel.
Claws dug into his shoulders, and he felt the blood drip out. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, the blood was all that saved him. A bloodlust shone in the demon’s eyes, and he briefly wondered if Seraphina had been linking them to her. A scaled tongue swept over the wound, and Layel fought back the need to vomit. With the creature latched onto his body, his sword was useless, and he dropped it.
His fingers poked into the Thrasher’s eyes as it licked at the blood. The sensation of squishing into wet mud was all he could focus on as blood trickled over his hands in rivulets the deeper into the demon’s eyes he pushed. Its hiss sent a wave of alarm through Layel, who would have sworn humans could hear it. Driving his knee into the bottom of the creature, he felt its teeth rip the flesh off his neck. He used the moment it chewed the flesh to his advantage, and, with his fingers still dug into the eye sockets, he jerked the demon off him.
Whirling quickly, he bent and pulled out his sword, slamming it tip down into the center of the demon’s chest where its heart lay. The Thrasher’s limbs flailed about as it died, and its blood coated the ground long before its heart stopped beating.
For the second time in one eve, Layel felt exhausted. He wasn’t finished. He needed to be certain none needed his help within the wreckage. Using what little strength he had left, he wrapped his fingers around the window and pulled the carriage upright. His body screamed in protest as his muscles were forced to do work that an uninjured Pure Angel would struggle with. He made short work of unjamming the crushed door and looking inside.
A woman lay bleeding profusely on the dark interior of the carriage. Her dark brown hair was sticky with blood, and her eyes were open but unfocused. There was no way to tell where the injury was, but with how pale her complexion appeared, he needed to heal her quickly. Climbing in, he sat in the seat next to her and cradled her head in his lap. “Bloody hell,” he whispered as he realized he knew her.
It was the woman from a few weeks back. The one who’d spotted him after he’d escaped from Hell. Tension rocked through him as his hand hovered over her chest. He could heal her. He should heal her. There would be consequences if he did, though.
“There will be consequences if you don’t heal her after your behavior this eve.”
The woman gave a sputtered cough, and his decision was made for him. As gently as he could, he laid his hand on her chest and focused. A soft, white glow radiated around his hand. He couldn’t know if the healing was working, as he believed the injury to be on the back of her head, but when she parted her lips to gasp, the problems began.
His lustful urges kicked in, riding him so quickly, his shaft was erect in mere seconds. He desired her and her beautiful gr
een eyes almost as strongly as he’d desired the Incubus he’d bedded. Both were forbidden partners. Almost as forbidden as the two drops of blood that dripped into her parted mouth.
On contact, the blood mingled with the healing powers, and the woman in his lap became lost to anything but her urges. The mixture of magic and blood was dangerous, even to other demons. She lifted her head, and her eyes were alert and filled with lust, as was her voice.
“What are you?” she asked, almost dazed.
“I am nothing. I must take my leave.”
Her hand fell into his lap, squarely on top of his throbbing prick. “You, I’ve seen you before, and you saved me. I must repay you for your actions.” She leaned up, likely intending to place a demure and chaste kiss upon his cheek.
He turned, trying to leave because, if he flashed with her touching him, she would go with him, and her lips landed on his. Sparks ignited across Layel’s senses, and his mouth opened, deepening the forbidden kiss. His whole body seemed to be thrumming with need as he tangled his tongue with the human female’s, and he heard his own deep growl. Though he knew giving into such a need was wrong, he was tired of fighting. Tired of fighting Seraphina, her demons and himself.
He pulled back from the kiss, and the dainty woman pouted her lips at him. She could be anyone, a wife, even. Layel didn’t care. All he needed was her consent, and he was prepared to face the consequences later. Touching himself as the whore had done the same had not been enough, and he was ready to sate himself entirely.
“Close your eyes and answer one question.” his voice was laced with desire, and he prayed the woman was ready to give all that he was about to demand. Their heavy breathing surrounded them in the small, broken carriage. He chose his words carefully. “Tell me that you consent. Tell me you want me to show you what making love should be betwixt a male and female.”
She was quiet, and he looked at her hand and saw the last thing he wanted, a wedding ring. Fuck. Do not fall so far, Layel. Even as he thought it, his body demanded he take her, all of her.
When she finally spoke, her hand was firmly settled between his legs, undoing the button on his bottoms. “You are an Angel. This was meant to be.”
There was true reverie in her voice, and he wondered what she would say if she only knew how dark the purist of Angels was. Her consent was enough, though.
His mouth latched onto hers again, his kiss hungry and demanding. She was timid, perhaps even inexperienced in lovemaking, but it did not stop her from his tongue stroke for stroke. When he lifted her carefully by the shoulders and placed her in his lap, she ground herself against his maddeningly hard prick. She pulled his shirt up over his head, and the pleasure-pain of his wings pressing into the seat behind him dragged a growl from his lips.
He’d never been with a human before, but the woman was skilled enough, even in her inexperience, to make him understand why Angels fell for this. His body was on fire, his blood simmering so hot, he wondered if it would burn someone.
The woman’s hands skimmed over his bare skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake, and he shook himself free of his amazement to please her. His hands cupped her breasts through the bloodied corseted-top of her blue dress. Her breasts were small, something he found he liked as he seemingly had no preference for men over women. He kneaded them as best as he could through the fabric and let his hand slide underneath the hem of her gown, letting his fingers trail up her legs as he went.
He inhaled the scent of her arousal as it filled the small cart around them, and he wished they were some place more private. Layel wanted to devour her—to taste every meter of her flesh and let his tongue play betwixt her private folds. However, he could not in their predicament and settled for dominating her with his kiss. His head swam with passion as their kiss grew more fluid, more in tune with one another.
His fingers dipped underneath her knickers and thrust into her body with a single motion. The pleasure-filled cry that erupted around them had him seeing brilliant colors as he fought off coming just from the sensation of touching the forbidden human. She was alive, and not simply because he had saved her. Her body rocked on his fingers, taking the two digits he had thrust inside deeper. She bucked against him, and he smirked against her lips, he’d found the spot that would bring her the most pleasure, and he would not let up.
“Female, are you certain?” he asked as he broke their kiss and let his eyes trail over her.
She ground her buttocks into his shaft and leaned back down to kiss him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as her lips devoured his own, while her hand pushed at his trousers. Her body twitched, and she gasped as his fingers brought her to climax. He felt his shaft leak his own release as he thought about how her body milking his prick would feel so much better than it did doing so to his fingers. Her wrist brushed the head of his cock, and he groaned and rolled his hips.
Sliding his fingers free he tugged at her knickers. She rose off him just slightly, and he tactlessly pulled the undergarment off and dropped it on the carriage floor. He used the moment to free himself from his pants for the second time in as many hours and slid them down just far enough for his erection to spring free.
The woman’s eyes landed on it, and she licked her lips, as her eyes seemed to smile at him.
“Fuck, I need your name,” Layel ground the words out as she settled down onto his prick.
Her body stretched to accommodate his girth, and his hips bucked of their own accord when she was fully seated on his shaft to the hilt. His heart pounded in his chest. There was no memory he could access of anything that had felt like fucking the human did, not even having an Incubus Demon driving deep into him.
“Audrey.” The word was a whisper as she leaned back slightly, angling his prick even deeper.
This is one time. He forced the thought out as she began to move.
Up and down, slower, and then faster, she took his shaft over and over. It felt as if she was the one truly making love to him, and he gripped her hips, ready to seek out his release. His hands dug firmly into her supple skin and sped up her thrusts.
Moans and grunts of pleasure came from them both, and he’d never experienced anything as passionate as the rocking together of their bodies. He was truly connecting with her, in a way he' never had with anyone else, demon or otherwise. The speed of his thrusts was so rapid, he was losing the ability to hold on, and when Audrey dragged her fingers over his chest, he exploded.
His growl was loud, and, he suspected it covered up Audrey’s cry of release as well. Her body squeezed his shaft, even as they continued to thrust together, and it wrung every ounce of release from him. Sweat marred his brow as his heart rate began to turn to normal and his cock stopped pulsing with release, and realization dawned on him.
“What have I done?”
The words were not his. He looked at Audrey, still seated upon his erection, and he wasn’t certain what he saw in her eyes. It wasn’t guilt or even horror, but she looked upset with herself.
“My husband, will he understand?” her eyes were wide as she asked.
Layel couldn’t resist himself, he pressed his lips to hers one final time and lifted her off his prick. He missed her tightness and warmth the moment she was gone, but he knew better than to indulge again. He didn’t even dare to look at his wings. There would be no need.
“What we did, it was a combination of my failure as an Angel, and the healing effects from saving you. Your actions were you own, though I suspect, had your husband been here, it would have been simple for you to walk away from me. Your secret is mine, and mine is yours. I thank you for the release you shared with me, but I will trouble you no longer.”
His actions were hardly noble, and he saw no reason to start. He would fall because of the occurrence, and he might have ruined a loving marriage. But she consented. She was wild and alive, and you would fuck her again if you had the chance after falling. He scooted up the seat enough to tuck himself into his breeches, and with a f
inal look at the beautiful Audrey, flashed himself out to his chambers.
“I know what you’ve done. I felt what you’ve done,” Izazal’s lust-induced voice called out to Layel moments after he’d flashed.
Chapter Seven
Layel felt his blood run cold. His head dropped lower, and he inhaled deeply through his nose. Izazal’s words had sounded as if he’d shouted them, but his second had merely whispered the betrayal. Layel squeezed his eyes shut and turned to face his friend.
“The blood link.” It was not a question, he should have known better.
Izazal’s fist connected with Layel’s jaw as he turned, and his head reeled backwards.
“How dare you. How could you sully us that way?” Izazal’s words dripped venom.
“I needed it, Izazal. I cannot begin to explain to you how badly I needed to stop fighting everything.”
Izazal’s mouth was set in a firm line. If he understood Layel’s plight, he was not indicating as such. “Your wings—”
“I know, Izazal. I always knew I would have to answer for my actions. I just am sorry you witnessed them.”
“I was going to tell you that they have not betrayed you. It would appear, for all your years of purity, fucking that male demon and now this human were not enough to make you fall.” Izazal’s lips twitched slightly, almost as if he were fighting off a smile. “Though I must admit, Muriel and I took full advantage of your indiscretions once the need rode us as well.”
Layel hardly heard the last part. He raced to the looking glass and stared at his reflection as he unfurled his wings. Brilliant white feathers gleamed over every meter Layel could see. There was not a stripe or feather of grey or black to be found. He reached behind him and slowly dragged his fingertips over the feathers as if testing to see if the white would flake off with his touch. It didn’t.
“I don’t understand,” he said awestruck, still staring at himself in the looking glass. He’d bedded a human woman and had consorted with another, his wings should have been significantly altered.
