Sweet Disgrace

“Take me,” he whispered, over and over almost like a prayer, lifting his head so that his lips brushed hers. The world seemed to recede, falling away all around her, leaving only him. Him, and his impossible fullness slowly rending her. Just as she thought she would have to beg him to stop, his h*ps met hers and all the breath seemed to shudder out of him, along with the indecipherable words of his native tongue. Hearing them sent a little stab of apprehension through her, only to recede as he lifted his hand and gently stroked her face.

“Are you all right?”

He cared? He didn’t want to plunder her, take all that she had left? Hear her ask him for mercy?

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded, staring up at him in confusion. He gave her a gentle smile that was nothing like his usual wicked grin that always seemed to have malice lurking behind it. But she couldn’t let herself be fooled. Soon he would be back on task again, terrorizing, pillaging…and perhaps remembering one sweet interlude that never should have been…

Except that first he was going to be punished for losing to her. What were they going to do to him? The thought filled her eyes with tears, and he frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she answered quickly, too quickly.

His voice was ragged, his breathing labored. “Do you still want this?”

Celeste closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him stretching her deep inside. “Oh, yes. I can’t explain why, but I do.”

“Some things need no explanation.”

His lips grazed her throat as he began to move. The long, thick slide of him through her wet sheath made her breath catch, her body coming alive again. Wild heat leapt within her. He could burn her with a mere thought to do so, and the fear only seemed to drive her lust to greater heights.

Suddenly, he jolted against her and cringed as if he were in pain, his eyes squeezing shut. She knew immediately it had nothing to do with any pleasure he was feeling; he was in real distress. Alarm flashed through her. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, he seemed to struggle to regain control of himself, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said raggedly. His eyes, when they opened, seemed to carry the wearied aftereffects of agony, but his gaze played over her face with a new determination. “Just touch me, Celeste,” he said. “Trust me enough to give yourself to me. I need this.”

Was she mad to let him have such power? All the same, her hands skated feverishly down his back, feeling the muscles bunch and release as he thrust into her again and again. Weakness lapped at all her limbs. His kisses along her throat crossed the threshold into pain as his teeth sank into her. She only wanted more, turning her head away, giving him access. Helpless, she wrapped her legs around his waist, hanging on to him as the only reality in this wild new world he was leading her through.

“Please,” she whispered, raising her hands to grab silky fistfuls of his hair. She didn’t know what she was asking him for, couldn’t gather her thoughts that far.

But he seemed to know. His mouth released its feral grip on her throat and moved to her lips, and it was difficult to fathom a kiss so gentle and reassuring could come from the same being that ravaged her body. She moaned, melting into it, giving him what he asked for even if it was at her own peril. She did trust him, whether it meant she was insane or not.

A heaven she’d never known before glimmered just beyond her reach. He brought it closer with every movement, every kiss. A moment later, with the barest stroke of his finger over her clitoris, he brought it crashing down over her.

She cried out as her body arched taut as a bowstring under him, and he let out a purr and another rush of words she couldn’t decipher. She was beyond caring. The stars were raining down over her. Somehow, in the midst of it all, she felt him shudder, and curse, and release inside her. Every contraction of her internal muscles was met with a hot gush of his seed, as if she milked it from him. She tightened her legs behind him so that she received every drop he had to give her. It only seemed to drive her pleasure higher and higher. The first syllable of his name caught on her breath.

“Say it,” he said when she stopped, nothing demanding or severe about his tone. He was pleading.

“Damael!”

His head dropped to her shoulder, tremors wracking him. She caught him in her arms, held him close and fought not to sob. For him, for herself, for what they’d just done, what they’d just brought upon themselves.

But he’d kept his promise. He’d made it worth her while.

It seemed forever passed before they emerged from their cocoon of post-apocalyptic bliss. Hours, surely. Damael seemed content to lie on his back while she rested her head on his shoulder, one wing draped across him. He also seemed particularly fond of stroking the feathers.

Celeste had often been envious of the demons for not having to carry their wings while walking the earth. But unlike that hideous webbed monstrosity on their backs, an angel’s wings were a status symbol and always represented, nuisance or no. She’d worked hard for hers, so she really shouldn’t complain. But she certainly didn’t think she’d enjoyed them this much since she’d first earned them. A wry smile touched her lips at the thought.

Damael shifted under her to get a better look at her face. “What’s that for?”

She lifted her head, resting one cheek in her hand. He immediately reached up to push a curlicue of hair away from her face. “Can’t I smile?” she asked teasingly. “Or am I supposed to be eternally downhearted at the plight of the world?”

“Perhaps if you smiled more often, the world would be a brighter place.”

Celeste felt her expression darken. “If only it were that simple.”

His fingers trailed down to trace her cheek, the line of her jaw. His dark gaze followed the progression, then lifted to meet her own. As always, those black eyes ate up what little light the moon cast, letting none of it escape. “Tell me about your home. What do you do there?”

“What do you think?”

“I’ve always imagined it as one big never-ending choir practice.”

“It’s not like that at all. It’s beautiful. A lot like earth, only more vivid. More…perfect, and completely peaceful.” Absently, she traced the line of one of his markings where it snaked over his shoulder. “I suppose that sounds insufferable to you.”

“You might be surprised,” he muttered. Silence stretched out for a moment. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it’s like where I’m from?”

Celeste chuckled. “Actually, no. I apologize if that offends you. But I don’t really want to know where all those souls I’ve lost have gone.”

His hand fell away from her face. It disturbed her how much she missed that touch once it was gone, and when he moved to sit up, an empty hollow yawned wide in the pit of her stomach.

“Fair enough. I’m sure it wouldn’t make you feel any better.” The bitter edge in his voice hurt, and just then she thought she might pay any price to ease his suffering.

Their new position gave her a full view of his back, with its intricate, swirling black patterns. She put her arms around his waist and dropped her lips to his shoulder. “When must you go?”

“Soon.”

“And I won’t see you again?”

“I don’t know.” He turned to look at her, half his face silvered by moonlight. “Perhaps you will, eventually.”

She didn’t want to think about all those tasks ahead of her, struggling for souls against his colleagues. She would be missing him the whole time. And when they finally faced each other again years from now—centuries even? What then?

Of course, she was assuming she wouldn’t be reassigned for this little excursion.

Distressed, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed closer to him, breathing the fiery, exotic scent of his skin.

She didn’t want to go home. The swift, sudden knowledge shook her to the core.

Damael turned back to look out over the ocean, his hair a brush of silk against her cheek.

His fingertips trailed along her arm, and then his hand grasped it hard. Lifting her head with a frown, she followed his gaze to see an eerie, wavering orange glow burning under the swells of the ocean.

“It’s a portal.” Damael stood abruptly, pulling her with him and exhorting her to put on her robes. She did so quickly, fear thrumming through her.

“Are they coming for you?”

“Most likely. I need you to go.”

“No—”

He finished shrugging into his shirt, leaving it open, and took her by the arms. His dark eyes burned into hers. “Celeste, listen to me. You and I, our job is done. Go home. If they want to hurt you, I don’t know that I can stop them.”

“I can,” she insisted. “Do you really think I can’t take care of myself?”

His eyes narrowed. “Because you did so well against Nax.”

“She caught me by surprise. It won’t happen again.”

“Dammit, you’re not a fighter. Go. It’s not worth you staying here and risking—”

“It’s not?” she interrupted, hearing an unaccustomed hard edge in her voice. “What we just shared isn’t worth it, isn’t worth fighting for?”

“Pointless is what it is. It can never be, don’t you understand? Now go, before I’m forced to send you back myself. And that won’t be pleasant.”

“Damn you, Damael. I should have known you were nothing but the heartless, merciless, cruel minion of Hell I’ve always taken you for.”

Something dangerous flared in those eyes. “When have I ever professed differently? Now—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by a crashing of waves, and Celeste felt Damael jerk her behind him as he turned to face the demon that coalesced on the sand next to them. She had no urge to cower, even though he was somehow far more frightening a specimen than her lover. His hair was a swirl of gold under the moonlight and his eyes might have matched had the sun been reflected in them. But the evil that came off him was palpable, battering against her in waves. She doubted he was even trying to project that malice. It just was.

“Saklon.” Damael’s greeting was tight and cold.

The golden-haired demon didn’t return the greeting. His gaze settled on Celeste over Damael’s shoulder. She glared back.

“I would say congratulations, job well done,” Saklon said. He spoke to Damael, but he wouldn’t stop looking at her. She shifted her feet in the sand, uneasy now. “But there’s that pesky matter of you releasing souls that rightfully belong to us.”

“I’ll gladly suffer the consequences. If you’ve come to drag me kicking and screaming back to Hell, I’m sorry, but you’ll be disappointed. I’ll go willingly.”

The faintest hint of a sinister smile curved Saklon’s lips. Finally, his gaze flickered away from her face to Damael’s. “That was exactly what I’d intended, until I had a much better idea. We’ve a plane to catch, you and I.”

Celeste felt the confusion filter through the body in front of her, and her hands clenched involuntarily on his shirt. What…?