Angel Bonds

by Lexi C. Foss

  Just pure, blissful passion. A mating of mouths so fierce it halted time and erased all the space between them. Her haven, her love, her mate.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding on for dear life as he devoured her. It was more extraordinary than any kiss in her memory, taking her to a new place of being, introducing her to sensations that shouldn’t exist. Like they were flying, soaring through the clouds, their bodies as one. If only they could be in a place she adored, one where they could create a lasting memory for her to cherish for eternity.

  Montana appeared in her mind, the cabin Issac had gifted her.

  Yes.

  She wanted to go there. To be with Issac in a place she considered home. Their home. A peaceful solitude surrounded by trees and snow and water. She could almost smell the fresh pine, the hint of wilderness teasing her nostrils.

  Issac’s grip tightened, his mouth demanding she focus and reciprocate. And oh, how she did, her tongue gliding against his in the expert dance he preferred. No holding back. Not now. No, she gave him everything and he returned it in kind, his touch a brand against her very soul. She belonged to him, and him to her, and there would never be another between them.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” A hint of awe graced his tone, his palms sliding over her shoulders and upward, over a foreign part of her that tingled every fiber of her being. So, so good, whatever he was doing. She never wanted it to end.

  Stas almost laughed, her heart beating with happiness because of him. This man, this alluring, beautiful man, completed her. He’s mine. Fate couldn’t take that away from her. Even if she suffocated a thousand more times, the price was worth it. For she would remember this feeling always, this sensation of being full of light. Carefree. Loved.

  “They’re so soft,” he marveled, his lips stroking hers. “So fucking soft, Aya.”

  “What’s soft?” she asked, smiling.

  His sapphire irises flared with wonder as he met her curious gaze, his lips curling into one of his trademark smiles. It stole her breath, leaving her immobile beneath him, captivated by his handsome features. Almost as if she were seeing him again for the first time, recalling every magnificent feature.

  “Your wings, Aya.” His touch sent tingles down her spine again, his gaze lifting to his hand over her shoulder. “They’re stunning.”

  “My…” She trailed off, her focus following his to the pale pink feathers splayed out across the bed.

  Their bed.

  In Montana.

  Her eyes rounded.

  “How did we…?”

  He chuckled, his fingers combing through the plumes attached to her body. “You misted us, I think.” His brow furrowed. “And somehow I can see you.” His lips grazed her jaw, his nose going to her throat. “I don’t even want to consider what it means. You’re alive. You’re here. That’s all I care about.”

  Stas swallowed. “I don’t… Am I…? Is this…?” She couldn’t form a proper thought, the words all jumbled together in her mouth. Too much to say. Too many questions.

  “You’re a Seraphim,” he murmured against her throat. “Gabriel said as much, but this certainly proves it.” He kissed her collarbone, the column of her neck, back to her lips. “It physically hurts how breathtaking you are, Aya. And I love you, too. Always.” His thumb traced her mouth, his gaze following. “There’s so much I didn’t say, so much we didn’t do, before…” Tears shimmered in his eyes once again. “I thought you were gone forever.”

  She studied him, the scruff lining his jaw, the shaggy quality of his hair, the hollows of his cheeks. Still beautiful, undeniably so, but also… unkempt. And so very unlike her Issac. Even his outfit of a shirt and jeans didn’t match the man she knew.

  I would never imagine him like this—crying and disheveled.

  She’d never picture herself with pink feathers, either. Lizzie, yes. Stas, no.

  Issac’s lips, warm and familiar, touched hers. Reverence and pain mingled in his kiss, a myriad of emotions traversing between their mouths.

  This is real.

  That was the only explanation. Because a dream just didn’t fit.

  “You’re here,” she whispered.

  He nodded slowly, his thigh sliding between her legs, his hands running over her wings, her arms, as if memorizing her. “And so are you, my Aya. You’re alive.” His mouth covered hers before she could reply, his tongue dipping inside to claim her all over again.

  She moaned, her heart thundering in her chest.

  I’m alive.

  Because I’m a Seraphim.

  And Issac can see me because he’s here.

  She grasped his shoulders and wrapped one leg around his hips, her other leg trapped beneath him. But it didn’t matter. Because he was really, physically, on top of her. And it felt amazingly right.

  “I don’t want to think about this anymore,” she admitted. “I just want to be with you.”

  “Then be with me,” he replied against her mouth. “Let me worship you the way I’ve craved for months. With my body, my mouth, my tongue.” He punctuated the request with a deep kiss that took her breath away. “I’ve missed you, too, love. So fucking much. I need you. I need to know you’re here. I need to feel you.”

  “Yes,” she hissed, arching into him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

  “No, Aya.” He nipped her lower lip, his royal blue irises radiating sincerity. “I’m yours.”

  25

  Issac

  “Imbibing blood is less difficult than I anticipated. It helps that women are otherwise distracted during the throes of passion. Each one possesses a different flavor, intriguing my Ichorian senses. I wonder if one day I’ll taste everything this world has to offer, or if I’ll continue to be amazed.”

  —Issac Wakefield

  Vita mutatur, non tollitur

  Astasiya’s wings were the most marvelous sight of Issac’s existence. He couldn’t stop touching them, his fingers gliding over the silky texture, completely awed by her absolute beauty.

  Her nails bit into the back of his neck as she pulled him in for another kiss. He was helpless to stop her, his need far too great for him to consider any alternative.

  Fuck, he’d missed this. The ability to take her the way he desired, to slide his tongue into her mouth without worrying about the repercussions. Mmm, she tasted so good, like his favorite dream only sweeter and more alluring. He deepened the embrace, taking charge on instinct alone.

  Her throaty purr of approval went straight to his groin, his body on fire for her. He undulated his hips into hers to provoke the sound from her once more and smiled when she added his name to the mix.

  “More.” She sank her teeth into his lower lip, her reprimand clear.

  “Persuade me,” he dared, returning her bite with one of his own. “Tell me what to do to you, Aya.” He wanted to feel her power, to luxuriate in the reality that they could do whatever they desired without consequence. Because her blood wasn’t toxic to him.

  According to Gabriel.

  It might be a lie.

  So what if it is? Issac didn’t know if he cared anymore. Astasiya being alive was all that mattered. Her touch. Her gorgeous wings. Her blossoming smile.

  “Undress me,” she said, a hint of persuasion laced between her words, compelling his hands to move.

  He allowed the command to drive his movements but worked them to his advantage and removed her clothes the way he desired—by gripping her shirt between his hands and ripping the fabric open.

  Astasiya’s nostrils flared, her legs clenching around his thighs. Arousal deepened her irises to a dark green shade, her eyelashes lowering as she gazed up at him expectantly. Mmm, she approved. As did he.

  “More?” he asked, his palms already sliding to her hips as he shifted to the side.

  She smiled and the sight nearly stopped his heart. So angelic, yet devilish. An intoxicating combination that left him aching to speed this seduction along. “Yes.”

  Ripping he
r pants wasn’t an option, so he slowly drew them down her long legs, admiring her creamy skin as he went. God, he’d missed her. Not just for sex and intimacy, but everything about her. The teasing curl to her lips, the hungry gleam in her eyes, the way her muscles tensed as he ran his fingers up her thighs, and her adorable penchant for lace.

  Her mind.

  Her knack for words.

  Her natural gifts.

  And now these resplendent wings. Jesus Christ, how did he find someone so exquisite? So perfect?

  He kneeled over her, kissing her soundly while toying with the lace decorating her hips. The elastic snapped with ease, earning him a hiss from Astasiya in the process—a hiss that lengthened as he slowly slid the fabric out from between her thighs.

  “Feeling needy, darling?” he teased.

  “I’m about two seconds away from demanding you fuck me.”

  He tsked. “That would spoil the experience, Aya.” His hands skimmed her sides, her demand to undress her completely still very much in play. “I haven’t had you the way I want in far too long. We’re doing this right, love. And you’re going to adore every fucking minute of it.”

  Her lacy blue bra contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. He bent to nibble the clasp between her breasts and unsnapped it with his teeth, eliciting a groan of appreciation from her throat.

  Issac slid backward to admire her, to cherish the moment, to memorize every inch of her just because he could.

  He thought her dead for seven horribly long days.

  And now she lay before him very much alive. With soft pink feathers framing her nude form and a halo of golden hair falling around her shoulders.

  “I’ve always thought angels were beautiful,” he admitted. “But you take the expectation to an entirely new level of existence, Aya. You’re bewitching, love. Perfection. Utterly alluring and so very much mine.”

  He took her nipple into his mouth, her reply coming out in an unintelligible sound underlined in pleasure.

  The urge to bite her overcame him, his incisors aching with yearning.

  What if—

  No.

  He cut off the line of thought and let instinct drive him, his mouth skating across her flesh, savoring, loving, enjoying. His tongue trailed downward, seeking her warmth, needing to remember her intimate taste. They hadn’t done this in what felt like forever, the risk too great. But now, now, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

  And he did.

  He parted her legs, settling between her thighs, and licked her deep.

  “Fuck,” she groaned, her hips bucking upward to meet him. “Jesus, Issac. Can you…? Is this…? Oh God…”

  She writhed beneath his mouth, her wet heat ambrosia on his tongue. He’d come so close to never experiencing this again, to never feeling her tense around him, to never hearing those delicious moans from her lips.

  Never again would he take this for granted. He would cherish her always, lavish her in love and adoration every second of the day, and adore her with his mouth whenever she allowed. Such as now. He memorized her slick flesh, remembering all her favorite moves, and humming against her clit just to watch her squirm.

  His Astasiya, his Seraphim, his mate.

  He would forever belong to her.

  Gabriel warned him against the bond, saying something about eternity. But Issac didn’t care. This woman owned him heart and soul, just as he claimed her in return.

  Her nails dug into his scalp, her thighs quivering on either side of him. Passion thick in the air, her lips parting on a sigh of exquisite agony, waiting for him to say the words.

  He smiled against her sensitive center, nipping her lightly and chuckling as she growled in response. “Issac.”

  Part of him longed to prolong her torment, but he couldn’t. He needed to see her shatter almost as much as she desired to fall apart. “Come for me, Aya. Scream my name.”

  Electricity sizzled between them, her wings rustling beneath her. She released him to fist the sheets, her back bowing off the bed as the most magnificent sound left her lips.

  His name.

  An echo throughout the room, the whole damn house, and permanently branding his heart. Gabriel was wrong. The bond between them already existed. Issac could feel the pull, the connection unfurling inside, the need to finalize the vows with a bite. He’d been avoiding it for months, this deep-seated urge to claim, but he no longer desired to ignore it. Instead, he wanted to embrace it.

  Astasiya slowly returned to him, her gaze heavy-lidded as he crawled over her.

  “More,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he agreed, dipping down to kiss her.

  She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. His lips returned to hers, his tongue still laden in her pleasure. He traced her mouth before slipping inside and kissing her deeply.

  “Jeans. Off.” She uttered the words between nips and licks, her demand sizzling down his spine. While he favored control, he adored this side of her—her ability to compel.

  “You remove them,” he countered, grabbing her hand and placing her fingers against the top of his pants. “Now.” It fulfilled her compulsion while fueling his need for dominance.

  Astasiya held his gaze and flicked open the button, then dragged the zipper down, all the while saying nothing and everything with her eyes. Heat. Adoration. Respect. Desire.

  He balanced on his palms on either side of her head—careful of her wings—and grinned. “All the way, my lady.” He meant it to tease, but the flare in her pupils suggested she enjoyed it.

  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  He’d told her never to call him that.

  Given the way his balls tightened with the formality—specifically, the sultry manner in which she’d said the title—he’d have to rethink his request.

  Astasiya tugged the fabric lower as he lifted his hips, and used her heels to rid him of the jeans completely, leaving him naked above her.

  “No boxers?” she asked, arching a brow.

  “Are you complaining?”

  “You always wear boxers,” she said, gripping his cock. “But no, I’m not complaining.”

  “I’ve had an off week.” Understatement of the millennium. He caught her wrist, stilling her movements as she began to stroke him. “I need to be inside you, Astasiya.” And if she kept doing that, he’d not make it to that point.

  She squeezed him and let go, her other hand wrapping around his neck and tugging him down for another mind-numbing kiss. He settled between her thighs, his elbows on either side of her head as he devoured her with his mouth.

  Issac would never tire of this woman. Her flavor. Her essence. Her very being. With each swipe of her tongue, he hardened against her even more, his body tingling with the need to claim her.

  He slid inside her in a single thrust, her body immediately accommodating his as if they’d never been apart. This was where he belonged, his soul forever connected with hers.

  She raked her nails down his back, her lower body pressing into his, seeking deeper friction and urging him to move. He couldn’t refuse her anything, especially not this.

  “My Aya,” he breathed, his body mating with hers in a rhythm they both adored.

  “I love you.” The heartfelt words were music to his ears, causing him to smile against her lips. They’d not vocally expressed their love much, if at all, during their time together. Mostly because it wasn’t needed. They both knew how the other felt without the endearments. But now he wanted to say it on repeat, cherish each syllable with his last breath, and never stop telling her and showing her how much he adored her.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered, slowing his speed and savoring the moment. “I was lost without you.” He shuddered with the admission, his limbs tensing.

  Her alluring green eyes took on a haunted gleam. “It hurt, Issac. It hurt so much.” She grimaced, her nails digging into his shoulders.

  He lifted her off the bed, shifting their positions so they both sat up wi
th her long legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still deep inside her. She held his gaze, her arms encircling his neck. “I’m sorry.” He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her jaw. “I… I thought you were dead, Aya.”

  “I know.”

  “I wouldn’t have…” He swallowed roughly, his forehead pressing to hers. “I should have known. Somehow, maybe I did, because I felt your presence. But I thought it was just my grief holding on to a lost hope.”

  Astasiya’s lips feathered over his, lingering for a long moment, her breath warm against his mouth. “You had no way of knowing, Issac. I don’t blame you.” Another kiss. “You’re here now. I’m here. That’s what matters.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself,” he confessed. “I—”

  Her tongue silenced him. A deep, soulful, heated claim that sent a shock down his spine. She didn’t relent, her mouth demanding against his, as if she needed him to ground her in the present, not the past, to solidify their mating rather than delay it. And he couldn’t refuse her. He wanted her just as fiercely.

  She died.

  He buried her.

  Said goodbye to her.

  Planned to avenge her.

  And now she sat astride him, her hips moving with his own, her lips whispering promises of forever against his mouth.

  She’s here.

  She’s alive.

  She’s mine.

  He bit her lip, staking his claim, and shuddered as the sweetest essence slid over his tongue.

  Astasiya.

  Her blood.

  He swallowed her gasp and sucked more into his mouth, missing this, missing her. She tried to push him away, but he didn’t—couldn’t—release her. His grasp on her hip turned to cement, his other palm gripping the back of her neck. He took another pull, groaning at the taste before pressing his lips to her cheek, then to her ear.

  “I’ve missed this so fucking much, Aya. You. This. Us.” He thrust upward, eliciting a moan from her throat. “No restraints. No rules. No requirements. I’m yours, love. Not just for now, but for always. If you’ll have me.”