by Amber Morgan
"I don't want to upset you, Thea."
"I'm not upset." She was spellbound. He was no Louis Lee, that was for sure. She wanted to wrap her hands around his thick cock, wrap her lips around it, taste that silken, golden skin. She wanted it with a fierceness that was too much to handle and yes, it troubled her.
"I can leave," he said.
"You still don't have any clothes," she said.
"Does that trouble you? You seem preoccupied by it."
He was teasing her. There was a studied insouciance in his voice and she found herself smiling. "I am hopelessly preoccupied by your lack of clothes, absolutely."
He bit his lip and reached out for her. He took her hand in his and guided it to his waiting shaft. Thea gasped, breathless, as her fingers closed around him. Velvet and warm, he was, like a well-aged whiskey made flesh, and she closed her eyes as she stroked him, enthralled. She felt reckless, careening toward a cliff-edge with every touch. This was the madness that would take her, she decided. Not alcohol or paranoia, but the searing touch of angel's flesh.
He closed his eyes, expression rapturous. "You will make me mad," he murmured.
She said nothing, growing bolder and firmer in her strokes, reveling in the knowledge that she was pleasing him. This work of art, this divine creature, who surely could have fallen anywhere in the world and had men and women flock to him, he was here with her, and it was her hand, her touch putting that shine in his face, stirring his body. It was a powerful knowledge and it led down a dangerous path. What else could she do? What else did she dare do?
It might have been enough to stay like that forever, him kneeling in a tangle of bed sheets, Thea laying alongside him, her hand caressing his cock with an ever-increasing possessiveness.
Turiel sighed and whispered in that fluid, alien language, and she had a sense of time crystallizing around them like sap into amber. They would stay perfect and preserved like this forever, and that might be enough ... but he made her hungry and he wanted to feel, to touch, and there was so much more she could show him...
She raised herself up, reluctantly releasing his shaft, and placed her hands delicately on his shoulders. He cupped her face in his hands again, his long nails lightly pressed to her skin. She felt the thrill of risk. He could cut her so easily, but he held her so tenderly there was no real fear.
"I would not take what you don't willingly offer," he said, painfully earnest. There was a fire in his eyes though that told Thea he longed for her to offer.
Her answer was a kiss, tentative and light. His lips were soft and as warm as the rest of him, and her heart fluttered when he kissed her back. He conjured a heat between her thighs, a delicious, slow-building fire that he stoked with each stroke of his tongue on hers.
It would not be enough to just kiss. He'd melted her reservations away and now there was only need.
And then the knocking started. The hammer of bronze on wood echoed persistently through the Old Clayton House, shattering the spell between Thea and Turiel. They jerked away from each other. Turiel's expression turned panicked, and Thea felt an answering alarm beat in her own chest, for all that she knew it was probably the mailman. Nobody else ever called here, after all.
"It's fine," she said, resting her hand on his chest, over his heart. It thudded wildly, making her picture caged birds and pinned butterflies. "It's fine, it's nothing. It's just someone at the door."
"A visitor?" he asked warily. "Who?"
"I don't know." She slid off the bed, amazed her legs would hold her. It felt like the electricity between them should have burned her nerves away. She adjusted her robe, which was now slipping wantonly off one shoulder, and smiled at him. "Let me go get rid of them."
Turiel nodded, still looking suspicious. She resisted the urge to kiss him again as the hammering on the door grew louder, more impatient. Whoever it was, she couldn't imagine it was important, surely not compared to the angel in her bed. Nobody came here, not anymore. There'd been a handful of mourners after her mother died. Fans who'd worshiped the perfect golden movie star image and wanted a glimpse of the halcyon life they thought she'd lived here. But once they'd met Thea's grieving, raving father, they'd quickly drifted away.
After Thea let the gardener go, there was nobody from Milton to visit, either. They might all cluck and pry when she went into the town, but none of them cared enough to come see how she was doing. That was fine. She couldn't have accepted their charity or borne their curiosity.
Still, it was unlikely to be anyone but the mailman. She hurried down the stairs to the front door, barely noticing the wreckage of the storm. Why he'd knock so insistently when he usually just left everything on the porch, she had no idea...
But it wasn't the mailman. When she opened the door, Geoff Thompson stood there, clutching the brim of his panama hat in one hand, the other hand raised to knock again. He gave her a broad smile, his gaze immediately moving past her to the hall behind.
"Good day, Miss Clayton," he said. "I thought I'd better come check on you after last night. Good thing I did, too!"
Thea glanced over her shoulder, now aware again of the state of the Old Clayton House. Puddles of rainwater all over the hall. The acrid smell of smoke still in the air. From the outside too, the damage left by Turiel's fall would be plainly visible.
For a second she fumbled, cheeks burning as she tried to think of something pithy and polite to say. "Oh, there's no problem, Mr. Thompson," she said. "Thank you, but I'm fine."
He looked dubious, which she supposed she understood. "Miss Clayton, I don't know if you know, but there's a hell of a hole in your roof." He said it gently, with the air of someone breaking news of a bereavement.
"I know," Thea said. "But really, it's fine. Nothing important was damaged and I ... I can get it fixed." She faltered then, mentally tallying what was left of her inheritance. She might well be able to get it fixed, but then she'd starve to death under her brand-new roof, which seemed a shame.
"Well, my son-in-law is a builder, as it happens," he said. "I can give you his card." He started patting down his pockets. "Very reasonable rates, Miss Clayton, I'm sure you can..."
She waited for him to finish, then realized he wasn't going to. He was looking past her again, eyes glazed in shock. Thea turned. She wasn't sure whether she was amused or mortified to see Turiel coming down the stairs, gloriously naked. He stopped on the last step, arms folded across his chest, and stared at Geoff with an interest she supposed might seem hostile. His savage grace might be intimidating to a man like Geoff, who had probably never seen another man naked in his life.
"Well," Geoff said, eyes darting wildly from Turiel to Thea and down to the water-washed floor. "Perhaps I'll pass that card along next time you're in town. I have to ... busy day ... can't stop, but you take care now, Miss Clayton. Mister ... sir ... good day."
He scurried away like a rat from a cat, jamming his hat on his head so hard she thought the straw would rip. His discomfort, his flustered goodbye, his utter shock, all hit Thea like a lightning strike, and she found herself doing something she would never normally do, least of all in front of a stranger.
She laughed. She laughed and laughed until she was breathless with laughter, until she was bent over double with tears streaming down her face, and until Turiel came rushing over to ask her if she was well.
Chapter Four
"I'm fine," she said as he helped her straighten up. "Oh my, I just... His face when he saw you! He'll tell the whole town, you know, that Mad Thea Clayton has taken a lover who struts around the house naked while it caves in around her head."
Turiel looked bemused. "We are not lovers yet."
Yet. She shivered at the promise in the word. "It doesn't matter. He'll tell them that anyway."
He carefully tugged at a lock of her hair, twirling it around his long nails with a look of fascination. "Will I bring shame on you?"
"Hardly," she said. "I wouldn't care anyway." She shut the front door firmly, resolving not
to answer the next time someone knocked.
Turiel smiled and released her hair. "I'm thirsty," he said. "I think."
"Isn't there food and drink in Heaven?"
She'd meant to tease, but his face fell, a wistful longing sweeping over him. "One needs a body to eat and drink."
She'd do anything to take that look from his face. Ignoring the throbbing desire in herself, she took his hand and guided him to the kitchen. "You have a body now."
****
Whenever Thea had daydreamed about a normal life, the images had never included a man. Not because she'd been jaded by her parents or ruined by Louis Lee, but simply because a man seemed like a complication, the sort a cat or a parrot wouldn't be.
Now there was a naked angel sitting at her kitchen table and she was making pancakes and coffee, because there was really nothing else to offer him. And what better first meal for a fallen angel than fluffy pancakes dripping with hot butter and gilded with maple syrup? What better drink than bitterly black coffee, the kind that scorched your mouth and set fire to your brain? He wanted to feel, he'd said. Thea thought that ought to cover more than skin-to-skin. She ought to give him every sensation she was capable of, before he moved on to experience new ones elsewhere.
She flipped her pancakes, feeling a tug at her heart strings. He would leave, of course. Why should he stay? She should treasure this time, save these surreal memories while he was still here. She shouldn't be sad about him leaving.
She plated up the pancakes and turned to him, taking a second to admire the play of sunlight on his rich black hair and golden skin. Even if she'd had clothes to offer him, she wouldn't have. But he seemed utterly unconcerned by his nudity anyway. She set down the pancakes and took her seat.
"It's pretty simple," she said, reaching for the coffee pot, "but I make them well."
He watched her drizzle syrup over her pancakes, watched her cut them up, and mimicked her, handling his knife and fork gingerly. One had to have a body to use cutlery, she mused, smiling. His expression at the first bite reminded her of Geoff's at the sight of Turiel, and she tucked the image away in her memory bank.
He said nothing, but ate with an urgency that was gratifying and oddly endearing. Only once he'd cleared his plate did he say anything.
"What else is there?" He drew his finger through a smear of syrup and sucked it clean.
The gesture sent hot shivers through Thea and it took her a second to gather herself and reply. "Oh, well, I can make more pancakes. Or there's fruit." She nodded at the bowl in the middle of the table, overflowing with plump peaches and vibrant green apples. She was suddenly glad she'd gone into Milton yesterday.
He chose a peach after some deliberation, then sat back down and looked askance at her. She mimed biting it and he did so, exclaiming in surprise. Peach juice dribbled down his chin and Thea had an irresistible compulsion to lick it away.
Feeling bold, she leaned across the table and kissed him, tasting sweet peaches and exotic angel. His eyes fluttered closed and a throaty murmur of appreciation rumbled in his throat. He slipped his hands around her waist, lifting her into his lap. His casual strength thrilled her and she laced her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
He broke the kiss, eyes fiery with lust. "May I?" He tugged lightly at the belt of her robe.
She nodded, heat unfurling in her, sending a rush of liquid to her already-aching cunt. One more tug and her robe fell open, revealing her breasts to his starving gaze. He stared, seemingly entranced, and circled one nipple with the very tip of his nail. Thea shivered, then squeaked when he lowered his head to lick it. He took the sound for the encouragement it was, drawing his tongue in slow, languorous strokes across and around her nipple, until Thea was gasping and desperate for more.
When he turned his attention to her other breast, she shifted position so she straddled him. Now her throbbing clit pressed against his hard cock, and she ground her hips in slow circles, building the delicious friction between them. Turiel's expression moved swiftly from surprise to ecstasy, and he held her hips, guiding her to increase her tempo. She did so, taking hold of his shaft with fast, firm strokes.
He sighed her name, eyes falling shut again. "I need to be inside you, Thea. Tell me I can."
She was so dizzy with desire she could barely speak, but she managed to whisper a yes. He lifted her again, spinning her so fast she saw stars. He sat her down in the chair, grabbed her hips, and pulled her to the edge of the seat. Kneeling, he moved between her legs. Thea watched with breathless anticipation as he lowered his head between her thighs. He kissed his way up her inner thigh, light brushes of his lips turning harder until he was biting the tender skin and drawing shocked, lusty cries from her.
He dragged his tongue across her slit, swirling it through her wet folds, then raised his head to smile at her in a way she was sure would ban him from Heaven forever. "Sweeter than peaches," he said.
He raised himself up and pulled her slowly forward, until his cock slid home into her waiting cunt. Thea wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped the seat of the chair for support. For a second they stayed frozen, bodies locked together, and not a sound between them but soft, shallow breathing. Another moment to preserve, she thought, staring into his glowing eyes. She was his first, and wherever he went after this, whatever he did, that would always be so.
"You feel like..." He trailed off with a laugh. "I have no words for how you feel, Thea."
She flexed her hips and he moaned, primal and longing. "Don't speak," she said. "You didn't fall to talk."
He laughed again and began to move inside her, slow thrusts that rocked her entire body. She squeezed her legs around him, pulling him in as deep as she could with each stroke. With exquisite patience, he'd build his speed, bring her panting and crying to the edge of orgasm, and then slow down again, drawing her away and leaving her whimpering in frustration.
She couldn't stand it for long, and she told him so, sinking her nails into his shoulders and pressing frantic kisses to his throat and lips. "Please, Turiel. Please, please, please..."
With a hiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist and stood, lifting her with him. Never missing a beat, he sat her on the edge of the table. She was dimly aware of plates hitting the floor and shattering on the sunbaked tiles, but it didn't matter one bit. Turiel thrust hard now, his cock slamming into her and stretching her to the very limit of her control. Her orgasm was coming on like a storm breaking. She thrust with him, intense bliss sweeping through her as she finally lost control.
Turiel roared as he came, a sound no man would surely ever make, bestial and thunderous. He sank his nails into the table top, gouging long, deep furrows in the wood as his hips bucked, and Thea had a moment to hope he felt as incredible as she did before he pulled his cock free of her and dropped to his knees. Then she had a moment to be confused and worried before he thrust her thighs apart and drove his tongue into her cunt, lapping at the cream of her orgasm with an urgency that made her head spin.
Orgasmic aftershocks rocked her, undid her, and finally she heard herself begging him to stop before she simply passed out. Turiel stood, legs trembling just ever so, and lifted her up in his arms once more. This time he cradled her gently as he sat down on the chair, stroking her hair away from her face.
"I fear you have corrupted me," he said solemnly, although his eyes sparkled.
"I fear it's mutual," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.
He reached past her and picked up the peach that had triggered such corruption. It should have been an apple, Thea thought, watching him bite into it. He gave her that sinful smile once more, sending fresh little ripples of pleasure through her.
"What else is there?" he asked.
****
Dusk descended and fireflies came to dance around the Old Clayton House. Thea and Turiel sat on the porch swing seat, wrapped in an old, worn blanket together. She’d made iced tea earlier in the day, letting the summer sun infuse the tea and lemon
all afternoon. Now the tea sat in a glass pitcher that dripped condensation, ice bobbing invitingly in the honey-brown liquid. Crickets whirred in the overgrown garden and every so often a bat flitted overhead. It was a perfect summer evening, and Thea rested her head on Turiel’s shoulder and wished she could drag the night out forever. They were both naked, his skin warm against hers, and her body ached beautifully from his attentions. If she could freeze this moment, preserve the poetry and strangeness of it all forever, she’d do it in a heartbeat.
She doubted he’d feel the same, after what he’d said about the sterility of eternity, the boredom of immortality. She turned her head to press a kiss to his chest and chase off any forlorn thoughts. His hands trailed lazily over her breasts, nails lightly gliding around her nipples. It was a slow and perfect torture, heavy with promise, and her body responded eagerly. Her nipples stiffened. Heat kindled between her thighs, and she was sure his hands would soon be there to stoke the flame. She shifted herself, letting her legs fall open in invitation to his wandering fingers.
A car engine rumbled somewhere off in the dark, and Turiel’s hands tightened on her suddenly, nails pricking her skin. She wriggled uncomfortably and he released her, standing up. “What is that?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a car passing by.”
But it didn’t pass by. The headlights appeared out of the purple twilight, turning down the drive toward the house, and Thea felt a sudden, tripping anxiety she couldn’t explain. First Geoff, now this? Nobody visited here. Nobody.
They watched in silence as the car approached. A sleek black vehicle, the kind of machine she imagined big city bankers owned, all shine and roar. It stopped a few feet from the porch and four men climbed out. Three were in black. Big, cruel-looking men to Thea’s eyes, their faces blank, their eyes cold. But it was the fourth man who turned her anxiety into fear. He was dressed all in white, impeccable from his gleaming boots to his neat goatee. A silver cross hung from his throat, just big enough to catch the eye, but not ostentatious. He smiled pleasantly enough as he strode toward them, but something in that smile made her think of coral snakes. You might not guess they were venomous until they bit you, and then it was too late.
