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And I flew apart.
I moaned with his cock still in my mouth, pleasure bursting inside me, and I barely noticed how he grasped the back of my head and held me in place as he thrust up, once, twice, just a touch short of making me choke, before his hot cum splashed against the back of my throat.
He emptied himself in my mouth with a deep, delicious groan, and his power felt like a shower of sparks over my body.
Still riding the ebbing waves of my own orgasm, I swallowed everything down, my wings trembling, a shiver overtaking me.
“Holy fuck,” I whispered as I released his cock with a pop. “That was so—holy fuck.”
“Not yet.” His voice held dark amusement as he pulled me into his arms and lay back on the cushion. “But we’ll get there, too.”
I giggled, feeling extraordinarily blissed out and pumped full of all the good endorphins. Could life always stay like this? Me, wrapped up in post-orgasmic happiness with the most amazing male I’d ever met? It felt like arriving at a long-craved destination, like coming home from an eternity of wandering, like the entirety of me fit the entirety of him, making us both whole and more than each of us was on our own.
He’d magicked his wings away at some point, now lazily stroking mine as they draped over my back, the primaries touching the cushion beneath us. The brush of his hand over the feathers felt sinfully good, though it didn’t stir the embers of my desire as much as before—he steered clear of touching the upper arch, instead focusing on the lower secondaries, his caresses effectively keeping me in a perpetual state of semi-aroused nirvana.
Was this what being on drugs was like for humans? Because, yeah, I could see the appeal.
“Next time,” I said drowsily, my head resting on his chest, the steady thump of his heart lulling me more into relaxation, “I get to play with your wings, too.”
“They’re yours to touch,” he said, his voice quiet. “Only yours.”
“So there’s no one else for you?”
I’d kind of gathered as much, mostly from the vibe of my visions—each of my dreams of him was woven through with a deep, deep, abiding love, the kind of devotion that excluded anything else. But taking an educated guess based on clairvoyant dreams was one thing; hearing it from him directly was a different matter.
“Hasn’t been for a long while,” was his murmured answer.
My eyes still closed, I gave in to the grin stealing onto my face, fueled by a kind of primal sense of possessiveness. “So you’re mine.”
A beat of silence, his heart underneath my ear thumping a touch faster. “More than you know.”
I hummed with contentment, happiness a honeyed rush through my blood.
He kept lightly stroking my wings, and the combination of his heartbeat, the steady caress of his hand, and the heat of his body and power enveloping me let sleep beckon me closer. I’d already begun to descend into the velveteen darkness of my mind taking a break when the last holdouts of my consciousness caught the faintest murmur.
Only, the words didn’t make sense. Maybe I was half dreaming already…
“Remember,” Aziel whispered. “Please remember, love. I need you to come home.”
CHAPTER 11
Azazel
We did eventually train. A little.
I’d let Zoe sleep in my arms for a while, unable to move a single muscle for fear of shattering that moment of pure, unexpected bliss. Holding her like that, her naked body trustingly pressed against mine, was already more than I’d hoped for in this short amount of time. Years of waiting, of planning, of working myself ragged, and every single second of pain and despair had been worth it, just so I could feel her slight weight on top of me, breathe in her scent, feel her heart thud in sync with mine.
She’d come to me much faster than I’d thought, so open and welcoming, as if she, too, had been waiting years for me to step into her life, and once I did, she jumped in with both feet. Maybe it was another sign of her memory being closer to the surface than we’d assumed. It might be giving her an intuitive sense of rightness regarding being with me.
In any case, I didn’t question it, not when the result was her lithe body draped over me, smelling like sex and happiness and mine. The dark possessiveness inside me was momentarily quiet at having claimed her, even if it wanted to go further yet, take her in the most carnal of ways until she carried my scent in her skin.
We’d get to that. I was nothing if not patient. A lifetime of thousands of years had a way of teaching someone the virtue of not rushing what would be better served with thorough preparation. I could have taken Zoe with nary a suggestion, and she’d have gone along willingly.
But I didn’t just want her to be willing.
I wanted her to be so desperate for my claim that she’d beg me for it. I wanted her to burn for my touch, to yearn for the feel of me inside her, to crave this ultimate union with excruciating need. We’d build up to it, exploring each other so thoroughly that she’d be as familiar with me as she was with herself. I wanted neither hesitation nor insecurity for her when we took that step, wanted her to be so comfortable, so well prepared, that she’d enjoy it to the fullest.
If this was to be her first time—at least as long as she didn’t recover her memories—then I’d make it the fucking best it could be.
