Summon Lyght (Archangels Creed)

by Daniels, Kenra

  "Why? Am I not good enough for you?" The pain of rejection and longing just beneath her angry voice filled his chest.

  He looked down into her beautiful eyes, appalled with the idea of her thinking he would believe that. "No, you're very good for me."

  She swallowed, her brow crimping until she looked like a fragile little girl. "Please," she whispered, "make love to me." She placed both her hands on his butt and pulled him against her as she lifted her own hips to meet him.

  His body seemed to know how to feel about that and he gasped in reaction to the throbbing heat in his groin. He closed his eyes on a groan. "Abigail."

  Her body turned into an electrical viper and a second later, he was beneath her on his back with the point of a knife blade at his throat. Her startling blue eyes, brimming with tears, bored into his. "How… the fuck do you know that name?"

  The sweet was all gone from her voice and all that remained was distrust, pain, and bitterness. He could hear the lies telling her he was just like the rest, there to take and hurt. He wasn't different, he only looked different, acted different. But he was just like all of them. Eaters.

  Francis grabbed the hand at his throat and pressed the blade into his neck until he felt her trying to resist him. Tears spilled from her eyes. "Stop."

  Need struck him like a bolt of lightning and he flipped her beneath him, holding her hands at her head. He pressed his body into hers, his male member throbbing with need. But for what? He lowered his mouth to her lips but didn't kiss her. "Why is it that you don't want to hurt me?"

  Her breath on his mouth combined with the taste and sounds she made. His eyes rolled shut. He might not understand what was happening, but his body sure did. More heat speared his groin and undulated his hips, slow and hard.

  Her soft cry inspired him to repeat the movement and her nails raked along the back of his coat. The instinct to think their clothes off was so natural and immense, it took all his will power not to comply with it.

  "Please," She leaned up and kissed softly on his lips. "I don't want to hurt you. I want you to make love to me. I don't want to beg, I don't know why I need you so much but I do. I need you."

  "Make love." The term was different. He knew the difference in a way. It meant she wanted to connect with him the way he wanted to connect with her. And yet he knew that already. But to hear it did flammable things to his already hot body.

  She squirmed beneath him and Francis liked the feeling. "You kissed me. It was you, I know it was."

  "How do you know?" Francis gave in to the need to nibble along her jaw. "You taste hot."

  She struggled to free her hands and he enjoyed the feel of that too, especially the little sounds she made while straining. "Taste hot?"

  He made it to her ear and slid his lips softly over it. "I can taste your need. Your hunger. Longing."

  She moaned and the sound zapped through him. Whatever was supposed to happen would begin with his manhood. That much he knew. It had grown huge and it felt like his fiery ruby blade was trying to push out of it. He wanted to look and examine the effect but couldn't take his lips off of her.

  "Yes, taste me," she whispered. "Kiss me. Everywhere."

  Yes. That's just what he wanted to do. Francis forgot everything but exploring her. Along her neck, he encountered the rapid flutter of her pulse and smothered it with light kisses.

  "Let me go. I want to touch you."

  He paused and groaned his concern. He wished he knew what was right.

  "Is this… your first time?"

  He froze. Shit, he really didn't want her to know that. But could he guess his way with something this complicated? And was it really that complicated? Maybe he was over-thinking it. Too bad he didn't have a fucking clue. Funny pun, that.

  He suddenly felt like the stupidest being alive. He leapt off the bed and paced the floor next to it. "What if…what if it was?"

  He couldn't stand to look at her as she watched him but he didn't need to. He could feel her guarding her reaction.

  She didn't want him to know what she really thought of it. "Is it?"

  God. He raked a hand through his hair and stopped pacing. She sat on the bed, waiting for his answer. He couldn't keep himself from using his powers to read her. He couldn't stand going into this not knowing what she was thinking, feeling.

  He jerked his gaze to her when he found the answer. She hoped it was his first time, but doubted it. He wondered why to both. "Yes. It is."

  Her brows furrowed and the hope he'd felt from her suddenly turned to sincere dumbfounded confusion. "I don't understand. How? No one stays virgin through their teens anymore."

  Finally, something he understood. As a human man, he shouldn't be a virgin. But how to answer that? "I…wanted to wait."

  Not a good reason according to her baffled expression. "You wanted to wait?" His answer must be comical, at least to her. She looked at him for several seconds and he studied her carefully, trying to follow her deductions and doing a poor job. Soon she bit her lower lip and rose up on her knees. She slowly removed her jacket. Francis' pulse sped up when she took hold of the hem of her shirt and removed that. "You know," she said, reaching behind her, "it actually makes perfect sense with you. You're so very different." The black material covering her chest fell away and the sight of her naked breasts hit him like a punch. He nearly choked on the wave of heat that stormed him.

  There was no taking his eyes from her glorious body, but he could see she wore a smile. She liked the effect she had on him. His body liked it too. A lot. But his mind was a mad chaos of signals that all seemed scrambled by the ache in his groin.

  "You like them?" She brought her hands up and stroked softly along the undersides of the full globes. Long delicate fingers cupped and lifted, sending an electrical storm through him.

  When she slid her hands down to her jeans, Francis followed their path with a hunger he'd never felt before. She undid her pants and rocked her hips slowly while lowering them to her thighs.

  He stared hard at the tiny scrap of thin black silk covering the juncture at her thighs. The way his body responded to the sight told him the answer to his need lay behind that dark fabric.

  He watched, fascinated, as she lay back on the bed, lifted her legs in the air and removed the jeans. Again his gaze locked on the slip of black material pushing between her legs. His body moved him closer for a better view of her fascinating body. He stopped when he banged his knee on the foot of the bed. She hooked her thumbs in the thin black fabric, and worked it down slowly over her hips.

  "Oh God." He groaned, long and low.

  There was no hair there and the full folds begged to be touched, the little line between them begged to be explored. His manhood jerked hard and became heavy and tight.

  "You like what you see?"

  "Yes." The choked moan came without thought, just like the desire hammering his body.

  She brought her knees slowly back and opened them, taking the strength from his legs. She answered his desperate question of what was beyond that glorious slit. She also answered what to do with what was beyond. His heart relocated to his groin with a sledge hammer force as her middle finger glided inside her body.

  Recognition hit him like a direct order. Go deep inside her until he was fully enveloped by her most divine secrets. That's what he was supposed to do. And he was supposed to do it twenty minutes ago.

  But he couldn't move.

  She drew her finger out and he'd never known a sound to create such hunger, but it did, a ravenous urge to devour. Devour her. The concept alarmed him as much as it excited him. She stroked over the pretty pink flesh at the very top of her slit and the whimpers and moans she added felt like a direct assault.

  Francis fought to get enough oxygen and his ears rang. His harsh breaths forced her scent into his lungs, her taste onto his tongue. A rumbling growl filled him, foreign and yet familiar. His father. He'd heard him do that before. His thought to be concerned for her vanished as she undulated
her hips while rubbing herself, her moans and whimpers becoming louder and more desperate.

  Like she needed something more. Something he was to give her.

  And yet he still couldn't move. He was incapacitated by the sounds of her pleasure, branded by the vision of her body before him, open to him, for him. It was redefining his being, her scent was signing its name on his soul, filling every supernatural fiber with its divine code. Till the end of time. Abigail is mine. All mine.

  She suddenly sat up and made her way on hands and knees to him. He could only fight to hold himself together. By now, there was an official war between him and his ruby. It was volatile and dangerous, wanting to connect to this new desire, to help him with it, begging to, but he was terrified how it might. At the same time, his body wanted to fulfill the raging instinct to take her now. Take her with a merciless absolution.

  He could only wait, her prisoner, as she knelt just before him, staring into his tormented gaze. Then she brought her finger to his lips. He didn't have to be told to open for it. With a vicious hunger, he grabbed her wrist and held her hand still as he licked and sucked the divine essence off of it. She rewarded him with a beautiful shocked whimper.

  Francis choked on a groan when her other hand found his ferocious need and stroked with a maddening delicacy. That growling sound returned and she stroked harder.

  "Oh God, you're fucking sexy," she whispered.

  He wasn't sure what that meant but it seemed good to her. She began working his coat off of him and he could only watch still. Would he ever be able to act? As soon as he felt like he wouldn't kill her, he would. He hoped.

  He removed his white shirt after she got his jacket off, wanting to help with something. "Oh my God." She stroked his chest and abs with eager fingers as she stared at his tattoo. It was a crucifix like Kassern's, covering his entire front, the bottom tip ending at his manhood. His was not an actual doorway but real ruby filled it. She leaned and kissed along the edge of the ink, then looked up at him, licking her lips, hunger making her eyes dark and luminous.

  She kissed her way back up his body until she stood in the bed, her muscled stomach before his face. He wanted to do so many things to her. He raised his hands to touch and she took them and placed them on her firm backside. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, pressing her folds against his abs.

  Francis' ruby heated under his skin, right where she pressed herself. Please don't hurt her, he prayed. But the way she gasped and pushed into him more said it wasn't hurting at all, quite the contrary. He could scarcely think or stand. He moved until his back found the wall he could sense behind him. She gripped his waist with her strong inner thighs and took his face between her hands.

  "You're so beautiful." She tasted his lips with soft delicate nips. "So beautiful."

  Francis opened to taste back.

  "You kissed me last night," she whispered, "I know you did, it was you." Her tongue now stroked and tasted along his lips, then dipped in his mouth, driving his hunger until he was fucking starving.

  Chapter Thirty

  Taste. Francis had to taste her. There was no thought to how and where, just his mouth on her skin, sucking, licking, her neck, her shoulder. He turned and placed her against the wall and she arched her back, pushing his head to her breasts. He opened hungrily, filling his mouth with as much as he could, sucking hard, licking the plump tip. She pulled his hair and he nipped with his teeth in response.

  "Francis!"

  Oh God, angelic, her voice was so fucking angelic. He moved to the other breast, needing to administer the exact same, to keep perfect pleasure balanced in her universe.

  "God, suck my clit, please!" She pushed his head lower.

  Clit?

  He searched his mind for the meaning of that word. The direction she pushed told him its general location. He lowered to the floor and lifted one of her legs up and pinned it to the wall. Winded with hunger, he stared at those delicate secrets. Apparently he stared too long. Abigail took hold of his head and pressed his mouth on her. My God. He used his thumbs to hold her folds open. That tiny bud she'd rubbed earlier was hard. He licked it and she gasped and began to pull and push his mouth on it while she twirled her hips.

  "Put your finger in me," she commanded.

  God, yes. He slipped his middle finger inside her and again she cried out with a gasp. He moaned on her, exploring her with an inquisitive touch. When he stroked over a firm area deep inside her, she called his name. Francis flicked his finger over it again, loving that response.

  "Yes, yes, right there, baby."

  Baby. Everything she did and said, made him crazier for her. He moved faster over that spot, amazed at her high pitched utterances. He pulled her clit into his mouth with a gentle rapid suction.

  "Oh my God! Shit, fuck, don't stop, I'm coming!"

  Coming. Francis suddenly loved the strange term. It meant something amazing, he knew. She gave one final shriek that lasted longer than any he'd heard before, and her body shuddered like a naked woman in December rains.

  Francis sucked softly until the sound of her cries became sweet angelic whimpers. So perfect. Her satisfaction filled him with….such fulfillment and….pride.

  Francis suddenly caught Abigail in his arms as she collapsed to the floor. He thought his manhood might actually burst in his pants as he sat against the wall and pulled her possessively to his chest. He held her tightly there, kissing her cheek and temple reverently while she caught her breath. He loved that she continued making those sounds of satisfaction. Loved that she made them in his arms.

  An overwhelming emotion that stretched to the beginning and end of time whispered out of his mouth in his angelic tongue.

  "Mmmm." She snuggled in his arms like she knew she belonged in them. "That sounded amazing. Tell me what you said."

  He brushed his lips softly over her cheek. "You are the light of my light, the dark of my dark. My wife."

  She drew her head back and looked at him. "Your wife?" She quirked her brows. "Taking it kind of far, don't you think, Romeo?"

  Far? What did that mean?

  She hopped out of his lap and got up. He stood and pulled her back in his arms. She looked up at him. "Don't get all weird on me. You ate my pussy. And very well, I might say. But we didn't get married."

  What? "Why do you say that?"

  She shoved to get out of his arms but he held her tight. She looked at him abruptly. "How about let me go?"

  He released her and she stood before him with her hands on her waist, looking a little disturbed. "Are you seriously thinking we just got married?"

  Why and what exactly was she not understanding. "Are you seriously thinking we didn't?"

  Her mouth fell open in a perfect oval then snapped closed. "You're shitting me."

  The lingo rang familiar. "No. I'm not. Are you shitting me?" He heard anger in his voice. Ah. He felt it too.

  She laughed and covered her mouth, shaking her head at him. Then she crossed her arms and bit her lower lip. She was blushing. Was that a good thing or bad in that moment? "You are so weird."

  He shrugged a little. "I can accept that."

  "But we're not married."

  "I can't accept that."

  She laughed once. "Oh yes you can."

  He was so fucking confused and he knew it showed. "How can you…do that with me and not want to be my wife?"

  Laughter lit her eyes before it burst from her mouth. For some reason, it stung him.

  "What's so fucking funny?"

  She gasped and pointed at him. "You cuss? And here I thought you were an angel." She twirled her finger at him.

  "Hardly."

  "Well, you're certainly the first man to ever make me orgasm that way."

  His ruby spiked and his jaw hardened at the idea of her doing what she just did with another male.

  "Ohhh, are you jealous?" She smiled and he didn't like that she did, but more that she'd find pleasure in it.

 
"You find that entertaining?"

  She laughed and nodded with bright eyes. "Yes, yes, I do. Very."

  He looked down, no longer wanting to see her with that expression. He turned and got his clothes then sat on the bed, pondering the feelings that seemed to act abrasively on the inside of his chest.

  She suddenly sat next to him and put her hand on his thigh. "Don't be mad at me."

  "I'm not angry."

  "Yes you are, don't lie."

  "I don't lie." He slipped his shirt on and stood.

  She came before him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts against him. He closed his eyes at how amazing that felt. Then he remembered how she responded to what they did. He removed her arms from around him. "I have to go."

  "You didn't pay me yet."

  "Pay you what?"

  She pointed to his groin. "You owe me a ride."

  A ride? Right. "Sweetheart. If sucking your beautiful pussy doesn't do it for you, then me fucking it likely won't either."

  "I'm willing to try."

  "I'm not." Francis wanted to vomit. He felt like he'd given something he could never get back. And it was something he only had one to give. And now it was gone. Devoured and discarded like…waste.

  "So that's it? You're just going to leave?"

  Hope filled him at hearing her pain. "Do you really care?"

  She shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. I'm just saying it's kind of rude." She sat on the bed and laid back on her elbows and put a leg up, shamelessly showing him all her secrets. He got hard instantly. She lowered her gaze and smiled.

  He was suddenly angry that she had that power. And might use it to hurt him. He put his coat on, confused with the pain. It was almost like something cut him inside.

  "Fine, then just finger me before you leave." She opened and closed her drawn up leg casually.

  Francis turned away from the temptation. "No. I won't just fuck you, Abigail."

  She snorted. "What do you want to do? Make love?"

  Her mocking tone made him want to leave immediately. "Something like that," he whispered.