by Anne Conley
She looked up at him, “Talk to me Michael. Tell me what this feels like.”
He looked at her, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief. “You want me to form sentences?”
She smiled at his reaction before putting him back in her mouth.
“Ahh… warm…” She sucked, and he groaned loudly. As her mouth rose and fell on him, sucking and swirling her tongue around his length, he continued garbling words at her. “So good, Faith… Your mouth on me…” His hips thrust in her mouth while he continued fisting her hair. The tugging on her scalp was a welcome sting, and she felt her own core clench at the sounds of his rapture. “Suck it… Yeah…”
Stifling her giggle at Michael’s use of the universal language of blow jobs uttered by men in various languages all over the world, she lowered her mouth until she could feel him at the back of her throat, and his hands tightened in her hair. She raised herself back up to the tip, tonguing the hard vein on the underside as she did, while Michael hissed through his teeth at her movements.
The power he had given her was heady, and she used it to her advantage, getting more turned on than she’d ever been before with a man, even Eli. She continued her ministrations with his hand fisted in her hair, guiding her, until she relaxed her throat and went all the way down, burying him to the hilt in her mouth, sucking hard until hot jets of his salty seed hit the back of her throat.
His hands in her hair pulled her up his body until his lips crashed on hers. Michael kissed her thoroughly, melding his lips to hers with a passion she’d never felt before. When he broke the kiss, she was breathless.
“I’ve never felt that before… I mean I’ve felt it, but not like that.” He kissed her again. “I have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
She grinned wickedly against his lips before kissing him again. “And I’m not even finished yet.” She scooted off his limp body while he recovered, heaving ragged gasps of air. “Hold onto the bed.”
He complied, eyebrows raised eagerly, those silver eyes hungrily watching her as she scooted off the bed and undressed slowly. He licked his lips in anticipation, raking his gaze across her body as she revealed each part. She watched his semi-flacid member twitch back to life as she pulled off her jeans, her panties, her t-shirt, and her bra. When she climbed back on top, straddling him, he groaned when her smooth skin rubbed against his.
His hands clasped her hips as she poised herself on top of him. “Uh. Uh. Hold onto the bed.” He dutifully complied but not without a slight eye-roll. She sank down on him with a groan of her own as he filled her completely. She stilled on top of him, adjusting to the intrusion inside a place she’d had no intention of filling again, watching his face.
His eyes had rolled back in the back of his head and closed as she sunk down on him, but when he opened them, his pupils had dilated so much she almost couldn’t see his irises anymore, just sparkly silver outlines. She leaned back and started raising and lowering herself on him, one hand at her breast, rubbing and squeezing it, while her other hand rubbed the erect bundle of nerves above where their bodies joined.
Her skin was flushed red as she moved on top of him, her body filled with a heat, a volcano erupting inside her body. She could feel it in her thighs, her toes, her belly. She was on fire, and her movements served to only stoke the flames. Faith moved rhythmically over Michael, rubbing herself frantically. He was forgotten as she sought her own pleasure. Higher and higher she climbed, moving on top of him, his own hips raising to meet her lowering ones, until their bodies met with erotic slapping sounds. He grunted with her moaning, and when she reached her precipice her voice was not her own. She climaxed with a low, keening sound that echoed throughout the room as she collapsed on top of Michael’s chest.
He rolled her over, bodies still joined, until he was on top, his eyes intent on hers, still darkened with desire. He continued moving in and out of her, slowly thrusting. She was sated from her own climax, but seeing his face trained on hers, as he moved in for another kiss, feeling him inside her, rocking towards his own climax, heated her core again. He was reaching a place inside her that hadn’t been touched in so long, a place she’d thought had died with Eli.
No. She wasn’t even going to think about him right now. She shoved his memory into the recesses of her brain and focused on Michael. His mouth captured hers, and ate every whimper, every moan, every grunt she released. As his hips rocked into hers, she raised her legs and crossed her ankles around his waist, drawing him deeper. He groaned into her mouth as he continued making love to her.
Because that’s what he was doing. They weren’t fucking. This was making love. He broke the kiss, lowering his mouth across her jaw, to her neck, up to her ear.
“Keep talking to me, Michael.”
Into her ear, his hot breath whispered, “Being with you isn’t anything like what I’d imagined.” He pumped inside her, “I could do this every day for the rest of my life.” Michael withdrew, then thrust in hard, “All day…”
He raised himself up on his heels, and she released the hold she had on his waist. He grasped her hips and pulled them up and started thrusting into her again. This position hit a spot inside her that made her gasp. She could feel herself building again.
“Yeah, right there,” she moaned. As he increased the pressure of his thrusts, she clenched around him. “Right fucking there.”
“Yeah…” He gasped as he closed his eyes and threw his head back. The veins on his neck were corded, as was every vein she could see. His face reddened and he let out a primal roar as she felt his shaft engorge for the final climax.
She beat him to it as her own muscles clenched, and she felt herself fall apart as he spurted his seed inside her, filling her to capacity and beyond.
In the aftershocks of their climax, he lowered himself on her, kissing her gently. A kiss of repletion before he pulled her into his arms.
“Wow,” Faith said.
Michael’s arms tightened around her as he breathed out deeply, “mine.”
Chapter Fourteen
The next few days passed quietly. They puttered around the house cooking, talking, doing chores. And at night, they made love. Neither of them spoke of the emotions attached, but Michael knew she finally realized she was his. He’d proven it to her over and over again and would continue to do it as long as she’d let him. Their moments of intimacy were the only times she allowed him to claim her, though. The only time she purposefully put thoughts of Eli out of her mind and let herself belong to Michael. He cherished the times, not because of the mind-numbing beauty of the sensations attached to sex with Faith.
Because he loved her, damnit.
That was one emotion he could actually put a name to. And the fact that Faith had remained quiet the last few days, with eyes filled with sadness and shadows, stirred Michael. He wanted to erase the sadness, fill the shadows with light.
He knew what she was thinking when she looked at him like that. She was thinking about Eli and what Michael could have done to keep him alive.
If only she knew that if Eli was alive, she couldn’t be Michael’s. Maybe she did know and just didn’t care. If The Boss offered her a choice, right now, between Eli and Michael, who would she choose? He didn’t want to know.
Making love hadn’t really been his thing before Faith. He knew how to dominate, give pleasure through erotic pain, fuck. But he’d never really made love before – never really known a woman he’d wanted that with. Now, after doing it with Faith, he couldn’t think of much else.
All he did know was that all these new feelings churning around inside him made him weak, lose focus. He needed to get away for an hour. That’s all. To clear his mind.
“I’m going to run into town for more supplies. You need cinnamon? I’ll be back in a bit.” Faith was cleaning up the breakfast dishes. She’d said something earlier about needing cinnamon to make cinnamon rolls. He’d get that for her.
On his bike, he reveled in the familiar sensation of speed. Wind co
mbing his hair, g-forces pushing him back. He leaned into curves and turns, eager to leave the cabin and all it signified behind. But his thoughts continued to dwell on the weakness he felt with the emotions, and a niggling of an idea began to form. The emotions may make him feel weak, but they strengthened his resolve to protect Faith, to fight for her.
With sudden clarity, he realized the dichotomy of love. It hurt, but it also brought pleasure. It was light in a dark world, but other things went along with love: jealousy, loss, fear.
His thoughts returned, as they had numerous times, to the conversation they’d had about the Deceiver. He’d never really realized how similar they’d become until Faith pointed it out, and the revelation rocked him to his core. They did share some of the same darkness, and Michael couldn’t help but believe that was why The Boss had put all of this falling stuff in motion. Because of him.
Had he taken on so many human characteristics that he was becoming so much like the Devil that The Boss had to start fresh? Then why not just destroy them and create new archangels? Why make them discover the pleasures and pains of love?
He was in love with Faith, and probably mostly human, which honestly wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Except now his every motivation revolved around somebody besides The Boss and himself. He was afraid of what that meant. Yeah, afraid.
He was scared as hell.
He ran his hands idly along the shelves of the small grocery store, looking for cinnamon. While he was here, he’d go ahead and pick up milk and eggs as well as a six-pack of beer and more wine.
On his way back from the store, he was enjoying his ride when a sudden panic gripped his gut. Deep inside himself, he knew with a sickening certainty that something was wrong with Faith. It was as if her voice was in his head, which wasn’t one of his talents, but he could hear her calling to him, clear as a bell.
“Michael! I’m in trouble!”
Opening the throttle as wide as it would go, Michael ignored all safety warnings in his head and raced to the cabin. When he got there, all was still. Eerily so.
Faith was overcome with emotions of her own. After Michael had gone to the store, she used the quiet time to analyze what she was feeling. Need. Bliss. Guilt.
She found need as a tangible entity in her life. Need for Michael. Bliss at the knowledge of how he made her body feel. And guilt. Intense, debilitating guilt.
Michael had given her complete control. He’d sensed she needed it somehow. And that was something Eli had never done. She was betraying Eli’s memory here with this man. No. Not man. Angel. Angel who should have saved Eli in the first place, especially knowing what she knew about Michael, the Archangel. He should have saved Eli, kept him from dying, brought him home to her.
And the fact that she’d done what she’d done with him, repeatedly, turned her inside out. He felt raw, completely undone. Every belief she’d held about herself and her undying love for Eli had been ripped away from her every time she responded to Michael’s touch.
And that wasn’t even taking into account the whole sex with an angel thing. She’d never really given much thought to sex as a sin before. But here she was, having kinky, mind-blowing sex with one of God’s holiest beings, and it felt a little strange if she thought about it too much. But a deity with such a weird fascination with circumcision shouldn’t really have too many problems with a little kink between willing partners, should he?
Faith decided a bath might clear her thoughts, so she went into the bathroom to draw the water. She would prefer a shower, but the cabin hadn’t been updated, and the old, claw-foot bathtub was all she had. So she undressed and prepared herself for a soak.
Before she could get in, she heard twigs breaking outside her bedroom window. Reacting on instinct, she reached for her Sig, never far from her hands, and crouched down. Naked, she crept to the window, keeping low to look outside. It was daylight, and when she peered over the sill, she met the eyes of a man dressed in black. His eyes were blacked out, showing no surprise at all as he looked at her through the glass. He wore a pocketed vest filled with grenades and smoke bombs and held an assault rifle across his chest. Her eyes instantly took in all the details of the man standing less than a foot away from her, then she reacted.
She ducked down at the same time he did and raised her arm to blindly fire three shots before rolling to the left. She heard glass breaking, and her bedroom filled with smoke. An impossibly loud bang filled the air, followed by another bang and more smoke. Thoughts immediately turning to Michael, her instincts kicked in. Keeping low, she fired at the windows.
Flash grenades and smoke bombs. With instant clarity, Faith knew they were trying to flush her out. She’d done the training. They weren’t going to shoot to kill. Someone was under orders to take her alive, and she would use that to her advantage. It was the only one she had. That, and the fact she was prepared and knew their tactics.
When the tear gas came, she shut her eyes and fired blindly until she was out of bullets. Fuck! She knew better than that. Faith continued rolling, knowing she had extra clips everywhere. She rolled over to her bed, grabbing two from between her mattress and box springs, before rolling under the bed to reload. When she rolled out, she bumped against a leg, clad in cargo pants. She aimed her gun up at the gas masked covered face above her, a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly.
Michael! I’m in trouble!
She looked down the barrel of a Bushmaster ACR, knowing she’d be dead before she could pull the trigger.
Okay, so maybe they would shoot her.
Something stilled inside her when she looked down the barrel of the military-grade automatic rifle pointed at her face. Something about seeing the interior of a well-oiled killing machine, no matter how familiar with the actual mechanics of the equipment one is, will shift a person’s paradigm. Faith felt the rising panic at being at the wrong end of the gun, incredibly close to the wrong end, and froze.
Her hands relaxed instinctively, and her precious Sig landed on her own chest before a hand from a different cargo pant clad leg grabbed her arm and plunged a syringe into it.
Her world went fuzzy and black as she succumbed to whatever was injected into her.
The next thing Faith was aware of was bindings, but not the awesome kind. Her hands were cuffed behind her back with plastic zip ties that cut deep into her skin. The same sort of ties had her legs cuffed to the legs of the hard plastic chair she was sitting on. She rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, trying to dislodge the layer of funk that had settled there. A pounding pain reverberated through her head, making her wish she were dead.
She’d been drugged.
And kidnapped.
Faith looked around at her surroundings, trying desperately to remember what had happened to her. She was in some sort of empty warehouse. Skeletal metal shelves lines the four walls of the immense room. She called out, “Hello!” Only to hear her own voice, rough and hoarse, echoing back at her.
“Ah… you’re awake. Good.” A tall blonde man in black fatigues sauntered into her vision from somewhere behind Faith, and she pulled against the restraints fruitlessly. Memories of how she got here suddenly tumbled through her brain, rushing in on top of each other, out of order.
Assault rifle barrel in her face, clearly in focus with a gas mask covered face blurred behind it… Steam rising from her bath water running while she undressed… Rolling around her smoke-filled room… Face-to-face with a masked man outside her window… The Flash grenades… Noise… Yelling… An injection… Blurry fade to black… Nothingness…Michael. Where was Michael?
“What’s happening?” She was lost. Who were these people? They looked military, but she couldn’t imagine why they would want her. This had to have something to do with the Howells, but for the life of her, she couldn’t put thoughts together inside her head to make sense of anything.
The man’s eyes raked over her, and Faith felt her nudity intensely. Her legs strapped to the chair left her open and vulnerable
, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t squeeze her knees together. He smiled at her, and it sent chills up her spine. His even teeth were too white, his haircut too severe, his eyes too cold.
“I’ll be asking the questions, Faith.” He sauntered closer and lifted a boot to rest on the chair between her legs. He leaned an elbow on his knee, and a pocket knife materialized from somewhere. He went about cleaning his immaculate fingernails with it. “I just have the one.” Not looking at her, he continued manicuring his fingers, flicking imaginary dirt away.
Intimidation tactics. Faith was familiar with them.
“I have rights, asshole. You haven’t Mirandized me. Where the fuck am I?” She knew they were government and probably above the law, but she would not be intimidated. No matter what sort of situation she was in, she would not bow to the haphazard whims of these assholes.
The man ignored her, continuing to scrape the knife under his nails, the scriiitch sound effectively getting under her skin, as much as she knew he was doing it on purpose. She struggled again against her restraints, knowing it was hopeless, but unable to just sit there doing nothing but watch this guy clean his nails.
His eyes finally raised to hers, his attention on her. “Where’s the reliquary?”
“The what?” What the fuck is a reliquary? Lucidity took over. These guys had the wrong girl. Relief surged through her, followed quickly by indignation. “Look asshole, you guys went to all that trouble for the wrong fucking girl. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talk—“
A stinging pain across her cheek radiated through her face before she even saw the man moving to backhand her. Her head whipped to the side, pain in her neck.
“OW!”
His voice remained calm, and if she hadn’t just witnessed it, she wouldn’t have believed he’d just hit her. “Where’s the reliquary?”
Faith was shocked. These guys were hitting her. That was illegal as hell, and she had no idea what they were even talking about. Apparently, her confusion only aggravated her situation, because a flash of irritation crossed the man’s features before he backhanded her again. Fear puddled in her stomach, but she did her damnedest to squelch it.
