Fallen Angel (Hqn)

by Eden Bradley

  “For now.”

  “You need me still,” he insisted.

  She shook her head. Her pulse ticked wildly in her throat, but she had to say it. “I don’t know. Asmodeus, I have come to question even your very existence.”

  He threw back his head, exposing the strong column of his golden throat, and let out a sharp, barking laugh. “Do not be too confident, little one, in the infancy of your self-discovery. Do not let it go to your head, as it apparently has. I am here before you. You feel my heat. My power.”

  “Your heat, yes…”

  “Do not doubt me.” Anger in his voice once more. His mood seemed to be shifting from anger to wheedling and back again.

  “And yet I do, Asmodeus. I don’t know what will happen now. I don’t know if I will call you again. I don’t know that I need you any longer.”

  “You will always need me. You will see that for yourself. And unlike you, my loyalty does not waver. I will be here when you call.”

  He said it like a threat. But she could hear the pain beneath it. Felt her own pain like a twisting knife.

  “I appreciate that, Asmodeus,” she said quietly.

  “Do not condescend to me.”

  “I never would.”

  He frowned at her. His face was beautiful even then.

  “I have had enough of you for now.”

  He waved his hand and vanished.

  She was left alone, falling. But she let the darkness envelop her, the warm wind carry her, safe for the first time. Safe in her knowledge of love.

  * * *

  SHE CAME AWAKE. THE SUN was shining beyond the curtained window, a pale, golden light casting its rays on the wood floor, across the foot of the bed. Declan was still beside her, his dark lashes resting on his high cheekbones. His mouth looked even more lush to her in sleep. And there was a calm about him that was never there when he was awake.

  Twice she had come to him as he slept, but always in the dark. She had never had the opportunity to explore his face, his body, while he rested.

  She saw now how the morning sunlight tipped the dark hairs on his arms in amber. How the muscles corded beneath his tanned skin. Saw the small scars on his hands from working outdoors, and from making his wood carvings. Her fingertips went to her own scars: on her thighs, her stomach. To the pentagrams tattooed in red on her palms, where she could feel the raised ink beneath her skin.

  Did he see her scars as something she had earned, as she did herself? As she saw his? She wondered again about the scar on his jaw. She’d meant to ask him about it, but the subject always turned just as she was getting ready.

  She reached out, traced the mottled line of flesh with her fingertip. His eyes opened. He smiled.

  “Hey.” His voice was rusty with sleep.

  “Hi.”

  His smile was so beautiful. So open. As though he wasn’t awake enough yet to worry, as he so often did. Or maybe last night had left him feeling the same way it had her. Changed. Better.

  She remembered her dream talk with Asmodeus. So much was different now. She didn’t know if she’d see him again, and somehow, surprisingly, it didn’t matter as much as she would have imagined, the idea of giving him up. Although some small part of her was sad, still doubtful as to whether or not she would end up calling him eventually. Perhaps out of habit, if nothing else. But she understood she no longer needed him. All she needed was right here, in her waking world.

  Declan.

  He pulled her to him, kissed her mouth, her cheeks. She closed her eyes and sighed her pleasure, her body heating. Slipping her leg over his hard thigh, she felt his cock go rigid against her leg. Needed him inside of her again.

  “Declan, have me.”

  “You’ll be too sore,” he murmured against her throat, his lips leaving tiny, hot kisses all over her skin.

  But his arms tightened around her, his chest a solid wall of muscle beneath her breasts. And before she had a chance to protest that she was fine, he’d flipped her over onto her back.

  His shoulders were broad, rippling with muscle. She could hardly believe that he was this close, finally, that she could smooth her palms over his skin. His hair was a mess of unruly curls, falling into his eyes. They were that dark, rich blue in the early light. Brilliant. Dazzling. And his hands on her were burning hot, making her body yearn for him, making her sex go wet.

  He reached down between them, his fingers teasing at her damp opening. She spread for him, opening her body up.

  “Jesus, you feel like silk.”

  He plunged two fingers inside her, and she arched to meet him. But he slipped them out, leaving her empty.

  “Are you sore, sweetheart?”

  “A little. But it doesn’t matter. I will heal. You heal me, Declan.”

  He pressed against her clitoris, his fingers rubbing in lazy circles. Desire skittered over her skin, arrowed deep into her body. She moaned. And when he bent his head to take one stiff nipple into his mouth, she went rigid with a pure, steaming pleasure.

  “Oh, yes…”

  His tongue swept over that hardened tip. Her breasts ached, her sex swelling. She spread her thighs farther apart.

  “I need you now, Declan,” she murmured. “I need you inside me, please.”

  “Ah, since you ask so politely.”

  His voice was low, husky. He seemed enormously pleased as he reached into the night table and pulled out another condom. He began to tear the packet, but she put her hand out to stop him.

  “Wait.”

  “What? Angel?”

  “I want to see you in the light. For the first time. May I?”

  He smiled, the smile spreading into a grin, and he pushed himself up, settling back on his heels. She sat up, holding on to his muscular thighs. They were covered in fine, dark hair, soft beneath her palms. But it was his cock that fascinated her.

  The skin was smooth and velvety; she knew the touch of it from the night before. In her hands. In her mouth. She leaned in, her gaze roving the texture of the skin, watching it swell. She reached out with one fingertip, touched it gently. He moaned, and she looked up to find him still smiling at her. His face was soft and loose with desire. She bent to her task once more.

  Experimentally, she ran her fingers up the underside, tracing the barely visible veins beneath the skin. He shivered. She did it again, smiling to herself.

  The harder he grew, the more beautiful it was to her, that hardening flesh, swelling with need, with the pleasure of her touch. She felt…powerful, in a way she never had before. This strange sense of absolute vindication of what she was able to do to him. For him. Of her femininity. It felt suddenly like more than merely her purpose. She was beginning to understand the value of their exchange of pleasure. Of touch and taste and presence.

  She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, as she had seen Asmodeus do so many times, and began to stroke. Declan groaned, and she glanced up to see his eyes closing as he wrapped his hands in her hair.

  “Ah, God, Angel…”

  She stroked harder, faster, her own body filling with a tight, coiled heat, as though she were the one being stroked.

  His breath came in short, sharp pants, and his hips were moving, just a small undulating arch and retreat. She loved the sight of the muscles working in his thighs, the earthy scent of man and desire. Loved his quiet moans, the feel of his hand tightening in her hair, the other slipping down to hold her cheek.

  When she looked up he was watching her, his eyes a gleam of blue from beneath his lowered lids, the lashes incredibly long and dark and heavy.

  She wrapped her fingers tighter and squeezed. He pulled in a short, gasping breath, his face absolutely torn with desire, making her sex throb in response. Rising up on her knees, she bent her head to sweep her tongue over his belly, tasting the salt of his skin.

  He growled, his cock jumping in her hand.

  “Jesus, Angel, you’ll make me come. It’s too good,” he panted.

  She bent lower, fli
cked her tongue at the juncture of hip and thigh.

  “You torture me,” he moaned.

  She laughed, did it again, and again he flinched, pulled in a tight, gasping breath.

  “Angel. Sweetheart. This will all be over in about two seconds.”

  “No, too soon, Declan.”

  She sat back and pulled his hands to her breasts. “I need you to touch me. To be inside me. I want you to show me what you enjoy. What you like about my body.”

  “Everything. I want to do everything with you. And your body is so damn beautiful, so perfect, I can barely stand to look at you every day. I can barely stand that you’re right here, and I haven’t been able to touch you. Haven’t let myself.”

  His fingertips stroked the curve of her breasts, tracing the fullness before going to the nipples, caressing lightly. “I love your breasts. Love the feel of the flesh here. The pink of your nipples. Watching them go darker when I press them between my fingers.”

  He did so, a small, aching pinch that was lovely, sending sensation straight to her sex.

  “Ah…”

  “I love the smooth skin of your stomach. How female it is.” He brushed his hands over her belly, pressing gently with his palms, then sliding them around behind her. “And I love the flawless curve of your ass. I love the way it feels cradled in my hands. I love the way it looks. The way you’re put together. God, the way you felt inside…”

  “Do you want to have me now, Declan?” she asked, nearly breathless with his words, with what he was saying, what he was doing to her body.

  He exhaled slowly. “I want whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

  “I want you. Always. In whatever way pleases you. That is what makes me happy. That is what brings me satisfaction.”

  She lifted his hand, kissed his palm over and over. He watched her, his lips parted, a look of pure pleasure on his face—pleasure, and the same raging desire she felt.

  Without another word she turned around, until she was on her hands and knees, her thighs spread to welcome him. When she felt the heat of his body as he leaned over her she felt a new wave of desire. And something else…

  Yes, to be taken over by him in this way. To surrender every part of herself.

  His hand between her thighs once more, sliding in the seam of her sex, making her shiver.

  “You’re so damn wet,” he murmured. “Are you ready, Angel?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He shifted to reach for the condom packet he’d left on the nightstand. She waited, her breathing ragged with need, while he sheathed himself. He spread her thighs wide with his knees, and already pleasure was like a storm, hammering through her instantly, her sex clenching.

  “Please,” she told him. “You won’t hurt me, Declan. I swear it.”

  He slipped inside her with a low groan, just the tip, one arm winding around her waist and holding her tight. He slid a little deeper.

  Desire shivered over her skin, up her spine. She leaned back against him, loving the tight muscles of his thighs behind hers, his abs and chest pressed against her back. The hardness surging inside her.

  “Declan, you don’t need to be tentative with me, I promise. My body is ready. I need you deep inside me. I need to feel you.”

  He kissed her back, between her shoulder blades, left a trail of small, fluttering kisses down her spine. His other arm looped around her waist, his hand slipping between her thighs, pressing onto her tight clitoris.

  “Ah…”

  “Okay, sweetheart?”

  “Yes. Wonderful. Come on, Declan. Please.”

  He moved deeper, and she loved the stretch of her body, the hard, driving wave of pleasure coming from his fingers on that erect nub of flesh, his cock moving slowly into her. Sensation was like a thundercloud, a heavy wave rolling through her. And as he inched deeper, pleasure drove deeper into her body—she swore she could feel it in her womb.

  “Declan, I need to come!”

  “Yes, sweetheart. Angel. Come, baby.”

  His hips pistoned, a steady and gentle in and out, and he rolled her tight clitoris between his fingertips. Her back arched as the first wave hit, coming from everywhere at once: his hand, his cock, his hard body against hers, holding her down, taking her over.

  She cried out, her sex clenching. She arched into his fingers, back into his thrusting cock. Her climax went through her like a storm. Powerful. Raging.

  “Declan…ah!”

  She was still shivering with it when he tensed, his body going rigid all over.

  “Angel…baby. My baby…”

  He ground into her, a little too roughly, perhaps. But she didn’t care. All she knew was his pleasure, and her own. It was all one thing. Almost as if they were one sensation. One person.

  “His baby,” he had called her. His.

  Yes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOMEHOW THEY HAD MANAGED to stay in bed nearly all day. It was afternoon; he could tell from the way the sun shone through the window, lighting up the room, making his eyes ache.

  They’d napped, made love again, napped some more. He’d only gotten up to feed Liam, to let him outside. He hadn’t had such a lazy day in…maybe never. He didn’t usually allow himself this kind of indulgence. And the truth was, there hadn’t been anyone in his life he’d wanted to spend an entire day in bed with. Ever. Not even Abby. He’d been too young, too much in grief over his mother, he now realized, to really know what it was he’d wanted with her. And then it had been too late to think about it.

  He hadn’t allowed himself to feel. Hadn’t allowed himself to even consider it. Until Angel.

  He watched her now as she stretched in her sleep, the sheet pulling away from her breasts. Jesus, they were spectacular. Perfect.

  She was perfect. Strange, that it was her that had gotten to him. Right under his skin. But she was a strange woman. Unusual. Different.

  Maybe that was what got him. Maybe that was what he’d needed to open up. She had opened him up; he had to admit that. In so many ways.

  She made him think about things. Everything. His willingness—or lack of it—to connect with a woman. With anyone. His relationship with his father. The way he’d hung on too long to his past, like a goddamn bulldog with a bone. If she could move beyond the things she’d lived through—and he was damn certain it was a hell of a lot worse than anything he’d been through—then he should be able to do the same. Shouldn’t he? He couldn’t forget—didn’t want to forget—but maybe he could find a way to move on and leave at least some of the bullshit behind. The pain.

  Abby…

  Still hard to think about her, but Angel made it easier, somehow.

  Something went off in his head, a brilliant flash that left him stunned.

  Angel.

  She redeemed him. Made him all right. And more than that, he loved her.

  Loved her.

  It was like an epiphany to him. Startling and sharp and clear.

  He felt his limbs go loose and warm. And looking at her beautiful, serene face, his chest tightened.

  He would never let any harm come to this woman. Never.

  He ran his fingertips through her long hair. Incredible, how soft it was, how pale and fine, like her skin. He ran his palm over her shoulder, her neck, her cheek. And felt something warm and eager and frightening stir in him.

  She woke, smiling, as always.

  “Declan.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. No. That’s a lie.” He laughed, his head still reeling from what he’d just realized. “I did mean to. I wanted to see you. To talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” He laughed again, feeling lighter than he had in too many years. He didn’t trust it yet. But he had to recognize that it was there. “I must sound crazy.”

  Her smile widened, her teeth a flash of white between her lush, pink lips. “It’s not crazy to want something without quite knowing what it is. At least, I don’t think
so.”

  “I want you, Angel,” he told her. “I don’t mean just sex. I want to know you. Everything about you.” His heart was racing. “I don’t care if it’s not all pretty. It doesn’t have to be. God knows my life hasn’t always been pretty. But I want to tell you about it. Everything. I don’t understand why. I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

  She raised a hand, touched the scar on his jaw. “Tell me about this, then.”

  “I was seven, I think. I fell off my bike and I went face-first into a fence post in our front yard. One of my bottom teeth cracked and came out. I remember seeing it on the ground, how white it was. Shining. My dad came and picked me up.” His hand closed over hers, feeling the ridged skin on his jaw with his fingertips. “I thought he’d be pissed, but he was just…worried. I guess I scared him.”

  “He loved you.”

  He turned to her, saw the light in her eyes, that lovely brilliance that was her.

  “Yeah.”

  “He still does, Declan,” Angel said.

  He was silent for several moments.

  He felt himself starting to shut down. He didn’t want to do it. “I guess he does,” he allowed.

  “I can see it. There is love in his eyes when he looks at you.” He began to shake his head, but her hand tightened on his jaw. “I may not know much about the world, but this I know,” she insisted.

  Why did it make him angry to think about his father loving him? To know what she said was probably true? Who was it he was mad at, anyway? His father? Himself?

  “I have some…complicated feelings about my father.”

  “I think maybe it’s always complicated, loving someone. But is that enough reason to turn away from love? Tell me it isn’t, Declan.”

  There was something in her eyes, shining. Hope, maybe. He wasn’t sure what she was asking, exactly.

  “Look, I know I have to make some repairs to my relationship with my dad eventually. But you don’t know everything that’s happened between us, Angel.”

  “I would like to see that happen. For the two of you to be close. I feel as though you’re missing out on something important. Don’t you feel that, Declan? As if enough years have passed. Been lost. Too many.”