She sighed at impact, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. He groaned.
“I wish you weren’t so damn noble,” she said. “I wish you were cruel and heartless and were perfectly willing to risk my becoming enslaved… I wish you would touch me everywhere, with your fingers, your lips, your tongue.”
“No you don’t,” he said. “You don’t really mean that.”
Sara peeled down his briefs, on her knees in front of him, and she glanced up at him over the length of his erection. “Right at this moment, yes, I absolutely do. I want you to be a total bastard and fuck me.”
Damn it. The vehemence of her words sent a burst of hot air from her lips straight onto his cock, and he gritted his teeth, dug his fingernails into his palms, released air slowly through his nostrils, fighting for control.
“But I would regret it long term, I know that. You’re right.” Her hand closed around the head of his erection briefly before she pulled it away. “And I wouldn’t love you if you were a total bastard. Which I do.” She licked her fingers thoroughly, then returned to him, stroking lightly up and down, her saliva creating a smooth, slick motion. “I completely and utterly love you.”
“I love you, too. It’s the only thing keeping me in control.” He kicked his briefs off to have a distraction from what she was doing, and to feel the freedom of being totally naked with her.
Her hands ran over his thighs, nails lightly scraping, while she bent over and took him into her mouth. Gabriel let one moan escape at the unexpected rush of ecstasy before he squeezed his lips and eyes shut. There was numbness in his hands from the pressure of the fists he was making, and his abs, thighs, biceps were all clenched tight as he fought for control, her wet, warm mouth over him, sucking slowly and languorously. Fingers tickled his testicles and he clung to his control, concentrating on enjoying her attention, even as he was painfully conscious of what he couldn’t offer her in return.
When her tongue flicked across the tip of his shaft, he managed to say, “Sara. That’s enough.” He couldn’t take any more. It had been so long since he’d felt the touch of a woman, the slick warm sensation of a woman’s mouth sliding over him again and again. The last time he had been with a woman he’d been drunk, like all the times before that, and now he was seventy-five years sober. Everything was also heightened with Sara, sharper, more intense, because of his feelings, his love for her.
It made a difference and he didn’t want to stroll too close to the edge too soon.
Sara sat up, her eyes bright with desire, lips shiny and wet, and she pushed her panties down over her hips and legs and dropped them onto the bed. For a second, she rested there, her hands on her ankles, her knees raised in the air, her back arching forward, hair spilling over her shoulders and chest as she looked at him, wide blue eyes unblinking, filled with love for him. Her body was gorgeous, delicate and feminine, soft curves and smooth skin, a lovely façade for an even lovelier woman. The display of her backside against the bed and her breasts resting against her knees was tantalizing, delectable, and his mouth watered, his fingers twitched, his body ached to touch, to taste, to take.
Gabriel wanted to say something, was struggling for the words to describe how beautiful she was to him, when she turned and straddled him, a knee on either side of him, her warm inner thighs pressing down on his erection, and he lost his entire train of thought. Her hands touched the bed, to the right and left of his head, and he was covered by her, surrounded, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest, and he reached back in desperation, grabbing the headboard and gripping it hard to resist the urge to touch. Not that he thought they weren’t at risk for her to become addicted to him, given what she was doing, but he had to try, had to stop himself from contributing.
She was rubbing herself lightly over his cock, and her body was moist from want already, so that when she poised herself over him, he knew she would slide down easily. His mouth was hot from desire, his entire body clenched tightly, coiled in anticipation, more than ready for her.
Sara said, “Oh, I do love you,” then spread her thighs and pushed, sending her body down over his in a hot wet collision.
Gabriel closed his eyes and let the moan escape, let himself release the vocal burst of pleasure, and then just lay still in the moment of throbbing, intense ecstasy. He was inside her, and he never wanted to be anywhere else.
Sara’s instinct was to close her eyes when she positioned herself over Gabriel and went down on him, her body giving, opening for him, everything hot and tight and sensitive as he filled her, but she wanted to see him. Forcing her eyes to stay open, she watched Gabriel lay still beneath her, his hands clenching the headboard of the hotel bed, knuckles white, his shoulders tense, dewy sweat sheen all over his skin, the hair at his temples damp with perspiration from his efforts to stay in control. She could feel him throbbing inside her, feel the strength and desire in him, knew he wanted to move his hips and thrust into her again and again. But he didn’t. He stayed still and let her be in control, let her own the moment, and she took it slow, savoring the ripples of pleasure that each movement tripped off in her. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she gripped the bed sheet and rocked her hips, moving herself up and down on the length of him.
It was everything she had expected and more. She had never been the one completely in control, had never taken with such single-mindedness, never loved a man with the entirety of her body, heart, mind, soul, the way she did Gabriel. Normally she liked to ride a man sitting straight up, but she wanted more of a connection with Gabriel, wanted her skin on his, wanted her breath intermingling with his, so she leaned forward, let their chests collide. She dropped her head by his chin and panted, the sensations acute and overwhelming and amazing. She loved the way her hair covered his, the blonde and brown strands tangling together in a messy heap. Letting go of the sheet she gripped a fistful of his hair instead, holding on as she moved faster, hips thrusting desperately as the tightness built inside her and the hard, slick slam of him into her body had her teeth tearing into her bottom lip.
It was good, so damn good, and she ground onto him, as her panting turned to moaning, which accelerated to yelling as she drowned in sensations, frantic and desperate, loving every second, but wanting more, harder. Then she paused, knew she was going over the edge, and gave one last thrust of her hips down onto him, and came with a soundless shudder.
Sara snapped her head back and rode out the waves of pleasure as she looked down at Gabriel. Something about the look on his face, the love she saw, the desperate clawing for control, the edgy darkness in his eyes, made her instinctively pull almost all the way off of him, then push down, as far as she could, and she saw and felt his own orgasm trigger. Together, it went on, and she gripped his hair and fought for breath, relaxing onto his shoulder.
They lay there, panting, her legs around him, bodies intimately connected, skin hot and flushed, her heart pounding, mind blissfully blank.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice low and rough, his words punctuated by his heavy breathing.
Sara couldn’t move, limp and satiated on his chest. “Oh, actually, I have a pretty good idea.”
* * *
Gabriel knew that she wasn’t going back to New Orleans with him. He felt it in the way she clung to him, the softness of her eyes, the anxiety that slowly crawled up and overtook her languid post sex contentment.
When she said, “I don’t know how to say this…,” Gabriel put his finger on her lip.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know.”
“Know what?” She had pulled off of him and had slid in alongside him on the bed, her arm across his chest as she stroked his skin lightly.
“That you have to stay. I can feel your thoughts.”
“Feel my thoughts?”
“Yes, it’s kind of like an aura. I understand why you need time to think. It’s okay. I don’t want you to do anything impulsively or that you aren’t comfortable with. Take all the time you need to
think about us.” He wanted to kiss her, but didn’t dare. “I know I’m asking a lot of you.”
She propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at him, frowning. “Look at me.”
“I am.”
“Tell me what you are.”
Gabriel brushed his fingers over the tips of her hair and swallowed. “I’m a demon.” It hurt to say that, but he had to own the truth.
She nodded. “Yes, I do need time to think. Go ahead and buy your ticket and head back tomorrow and I’ll call you in a few days.”
Only she wouldn’t. He knew it as surely as he knew he was fallen.
Her decision was already made whether she even knew it or not, and her future didn’t include him.
It was something he had to accept.
And he owed her a huge debt for showing him how to love again, for facing who he was and what he needed to do.
So he cupped her cheek with his hand and let her eyes lock with his, let her inside the remnants of his palace, let her see the color and shine and strength of his love.
Her eyes went wide and lost focus as she embraced his gift, and fell into a sleep that would be filled with dreams of everything that made her happy, where there was no murder, no suffering or pain or hatred.
Tomorrow she would wake up and start her life over again, and he would be gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Walking hadn’t helped. Gabriel had paced down Dumaine to Chartres, across the square, down by the river, walking on and on trying to shake off his feelings, trying to exhaust his body and quiet his thoughts, but it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sara, couldn’t stop missing her, wanting her.
The past, his mistakes, were struggling to hold him, and he was fighting to forgive himself, to look ahead to a future that was no longer isolating and self-deprecating. Tired of the anxiety, of the restless wandering, Gabriel stepped into a bar on Conti Street and made his way to the back, where it was dark and quiet.
He ordered a whiskey without hesitation. He smelled it, breathing the sting and tang deeply into his nostrils. He stared at it in his hand, than he set it back on the bar. He watched the ice gradually melt into the amber liquid and he studied the signs on the dingy walls that advertised liquor and beer. He glanced at a waitress moving around the room collecting empties.
Gabriel was amazed at how much he hurt, how he ached and burned, how the thought of Sara made everything in him convulse and squeeze in agony.
But he also knew that if there were no pain, there would never have been pleasure.
That was what living with mortals had taught him. To appreciate the beautiful moments, the joy, the love, the now.
The bartender was wiping down the counter, her thick brown hair falling across her face. She tucked it behind her ear and Gabriel saw a scar on her cheek, running from the right ear to her chin, a jagged white line that was shiny and bright against the rich end of summer tan glowing on the rest of her face. She must have sensed his stare because she glanced up at him and smiled, even as her fingertips brushed her scar, like she was conscious of the fact that she had exposed it, that he might be looking at it.
“You going to drink that or just look at it? You’ve been here an hour and you haven’t even taken a sip.” She pulled her hair forward again, covering her imperfection.
He had no intention of drinking his whiskey. It was sitting there to remind him of who he had been and what he was now. To show him that he was a man, master of his own destiny, owner of his actions, and unworthy of pity. He had been granted gifts that he intended to use again.
“I’m here for the company, not the alcohol.”
Her brown eyes went wide. “Are you kidding? Here? Nobody’s good company here, sweetie.”
It was true the clientele was a bit tired and eccentric. Most of the people in the bar seemed to be propped up against the counter, with little conversation or interaction other than that with their glass.
“Do you have a pen and paper?” he asked.
“Here’s a pen.” She tossed one his way, than reached under the counter. “And here’s a paper bag. That’s the best I can do.”
“Thanks. That will work.” While she got someone a beer and emptied ashtrays, Gabriel sketched her, capturing the lushness of her lips, the thickness of her hair, the wide eyes and high cheekbones.
When he was done, he gestured to her.
“You want another one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at his still full glass. “Or how about a soft drink or something?”
“I just wanted to show you.” He pushed the bag over to her, wanting her to see her the way he did, as a work of art, a thing of beauty, a woman with a lovely smile, and a cheerful approach to a thankless job.
Her curious gaze turned to shock, then pleasure. “It’s me,” she said in wonder. “I think.”
“Of course it’s you.”
“You made me look… sort of pretty.” Her fingers touched the paper.
“That’s how I see you,” he told her.
Her mouth rounded into an “o” shape. “Wow. Thanks. Can I keep this?”
“Sure.” Gabriel lifted the glass of whiskey and drew in a deep breath, smelling its rich aroma again.
He set it back down. He didn’t need it. Didn’t crave it. Didn’t want it.
He was free.
* * *
Sara was alone again. Gabriel had left, which he’d had to do. Which she had told him to do, because it was necessary. She had encouraged him to leave without her.
He wasn’t human, wasn’t mortal, or a man in the sense of what she had always understood. He was from another world, with different rules, and he had to go back.
She knew that.
Yet she was conscious of the fact that she was alone yet again.
It seemed her path in life, no matter which way it weaved and turned, was to be walked in solitude.
Sara drove to her mother’s house and parked in front in the dark. There were lights on all over the house and she could see two small girls running around in the family room since the blinds hadn’t been drawn. She had sold the house to a young couple who had needed the reasonable price for their growing family, and were willing to overlook the fact that someone had been murdered in it. It was nice to see the hustle and bustle of a family moving around the rooms, a plastic play set in the back yard.
Getting out of the car, Sara stood in the dark, leaning against her door, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. She had grown up on this street, had a few fond memories, but was surprised to recognize, admit to herself for really the first time, that she hadn’t had a traditional childhood, that she’d seen too much too fast, and had spent far too much time alone, taking care of herself. She could forgive her mother for that now. But she didn’t feel any pangs of regret for selling the house either.
She was proud of herself for standing in the silence, for not letting fear of the shadows, potential dangers force her back into her car. Tears trickled down her face, though she didn’t cry for her mother, but finally, for the first time, she cried for herself. For Gabriel. For what they had both endured. For their mistakes. For the future together that seemed daunting and insurmountable.
For a person who liked definites, the logic of science, the hardest lesson Sara had to learn over and over was that there were no answers. No such thing as black and white. She needed to trust herself to understand what was right for her.
Gabriel was Gabriel, demon or fallen angel or whatever it was he really should be called. He was still just Gabriel, the man she had fallen in love with.
On impulse she pulled out her phone and sent him a text. Are you the Gabriel who came to Mary? It was a weird question, but one that had been gnawing at her. She didn’t know what she believed exactly, or why it mattered, but she needed to know what he would say.
Her phone chimed two minutes later. He had replied already. No. I was a lesser angel.
Relief seemed a strange emotion, but it was there, intense and imm
ediate. That would have been too much, too difficult to accept, too unnatural to think of what she felt for him in such an extreme context. Manners dictated she answer so she just typed thanks and left it at that. He wouldn’t question her or respond back. She knew that about him. He would let her have the time and space she needed, and she appreciated that.
The scene in front of her tantalized, beckoned her. The lure of hearth and home and children. If she went to Gabriel, she would never have a family, never have babies to raise.
But who was to say she would if she didn’t go to him? Who was to say that she would ever find a man she loved enough to share her life, children with?
No answers.
Except she did know that she wasn’t afraid of being alone anymore.
She wasn’t afraid of anything.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Foreword to The Stain of Crime by Gabriel St. John
When a murder occurs and a suspect is in custody, media attention quickly shifts to the accused. What kind of person are they? Why did they do it? Most people are incapable of understanding what motivates a criminal, yet that is always our focus. We want details, explanations, answers. They don’t exist. They kill because they are murderers. It isn’t our responsibility to evaluate individuals or their motivations, but to ensure that they are punished for their crimes, and that the focus remains on the victims.
I have tried to do that in the cases of Anne Donovan and Jessie Michaels, but ultimately, their deaths are overshadowed by the investigations that failed to guarantee justice for these women.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 59
