Wicked Nights (Angels of the Dark #1)(67)
Author: Gena Showalter

“I want you, too.” An achy whisper.

“Then come the rest of the way.”

Another step, and another…until he was able to wrap his wings around her and urge her the rest of the way. The feathers tickled her in the most delicious way, softer than silk, more decadent than fur.

As if he couldn’t help himself, he pressed his lips to hers, feeding her a soft, decadent kiss of comfort she would never forget.

“I like this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I think I will like the rest even better.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “Let’s find out.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

Zacharel guided her backward and rolled her over, then positioned himself between her legs.

In the ensuing hours…days…maybe weeks…he explored every inch of her, slowly, diligently. He learned her. Nothing was taboo, nothing was wrong. All she could do was cry out at the incredible pleasure. He was hesitant at first, careful with his hands, his caresses soft. But that soon changed, his grip becoming stronger as he kneaded her br**sts…as he explored lower.

He used his fingers…and she realized she could do something more than cry out at the pleasure. She could writhe. She could claw at his back, drawing blood.

“Sorry,” she managed to gasp.

“I’m not.” Such a guttural tone. Earth-shattering. “Do it again.”

She wanted…she needed…him, only him, but he’d stilled, she realized. Had ended all contact. He was on his knees, peering down at her…and licking his lips.

“Zacharel?”

He leaned down, and oh, it was like he’d started all over again because he was once again learning her body—only this time he was using his mouth. He kissed every inch of her, managing to wring one orgasm after another from her, until she was begging him to stop.

He stopped, all right—to reposition himself, pinning her to the bed with his weight.

“No words… Cannot tell you… Loved.” A rumble of need sprang from deep inside him as he next devoured her mouth, slanting his head this way and that to taste her from every possible angle. Her pleasure expanded, the fire in her burning hotter. Her entire world became focused on the man so devoted to her body.

“Anna…touch me. Your turn.”

Anna. He’d shortened her name, made it into an endearment, a curse and a prayer. A command. A command she heeded. As slowly and as intently as he’d learned her body, she now learned his. And because nothing had been taboo for him, nothing was taboo for her.

With her every touch, every lick, he moaned his encouragement. His strength delighted her. The smooth texture of his skin tantalized her. He had zero body hair. He was beautiful and perfect and every brush of her fingers against him, every glide of her mouth against him was a revelation. This was the way sex was supposed to be, never mind that they weren’t going that far. This was exactly what he’d talked about. A union of bodies.

Finally, when he could stand no more, he fisted her hair to guide her mouth back to his.

She stretched out beside him, gave him one kiss, two, then peered down at him. As lost to passion as he was, he was no longer the refined, polished angel she was used to dealing with. He was tousled. He was tense. He was snipping and snarling and rubbing against her.

“Want you to feel the pleasure again,” he gritted.

“I’m so close, but I want you to feel…need you to feel it, too.”

“I will. I do.” He moved his hand between her legs, his fingers hot, and she was instantly there, stars winking behind her eyes, her lungs no longer working.

She lost track of everything, even Zacharel, floating away, returning, only to leave and float some more. But he must have gotten there, too, so tightly had she been squeezing him, because his roar of satisfaction brought her back to the bed.

She pried her eyelids apart, that roar still ringing in her ears. Her lungs had started working at least, but her breaths emerged too shallowly. Her body was trembling, a delicious lethargy curling through her.

Somehow she found the strength to lift her head and peer down at Zacharel. He lay beside her, his cheeks flushed, his eyelids at half-mast. His lips were swollen from being bitten, and his chest was rising and falling with the swiftness of his breaths. He, too, was trembling.

“Anna…lie here….” He patted the black spot just over his heart.

“That is a command I will obey without question,” she said, draping herself over him.

Sweaty skin fused to sweaty skin, and their hearts beat in unison, too fast, too hard, yet a rhythm that comforted her.

“That, I liked,” he said.

“Which part?” she teased.

“Every part. By the time our month away from the heavens is over, I will know your body better than my own. There will be nothing I haven’t done to you, nothing we haven’t tried.”

By the time our month away from the heavens is over, he’d said, and she instantly sobered. This relationship wasn’t permanent for him. She’d known that since the beginning; he’d made no secret of it. And even she had considered all the reasons they were better off apart. But…

Yeah. But.

She’d come to want more.

“Did I scare you with my words?” he asked, mistaking her reaction. He traced his fingers over the ridges of her spine.

“No.” And that was the truth. He’d hurt her, cutting her deep in her soul, but he hadn’t scared her. Well, she had him now. That would have to be enough. And when the time came to separate, she would be the one to walk away. Too many people had left her, and she wasn’t going to watch another do so.

Not ever again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ZACHAREL HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED anything as consuming as being with Annabelle. No matter what they did, as long as they were together, touching, seeking, he was swept up, undone. Remade.

Afterward, apprehension would attempt to overtake him.

She made him feel too much. He wanted her too desperately. A relationship could never work, not permanently as he craved—as he would have for as long as possible.

When his month on earth was over, he would ask her to move into his cloud. She would say yes. He would accept no other answer.

“So, what now?” she asked him around a yawn.

“We sleep.”

“Nope. Sorry, but I already knew the answer and that wasn’t it. Now we talk. I want to know more about you.”

Such soft, smooth skin she had. Her light, floral scent cast a silken net around him, the gossamer threads somehow stronger than anything he’d ever before encountered. “Such as?”