And then his hands moved up.
He fondled the underswells of her breasts, moving gently, tracing their curves. Every touch seemed to set her on fire from within, maddening her. He cupped her, squeezing lightly, and she writhed in his grasp. His fingers dusted over her erect nipples, and she gasped, first in shock, and then again from the flood of sensations bombarding her. And still he kissed her, chest and neck and jaw, until his mouth was on hers again. He kissed her as his hands played along her body, and she breathed him in.
“I would see you naked, pretty cherub,” Samael said, his voice husky. “Will you unclothe yourself for me?”
She opened her eyes—and oh, her eyelids were so heavy, as if arousal weighed them down—and saw hunger in his green gaze, one that hinted of overwhelming wants and needs. That hunger was tamed, yes; he was Lucifer, now called Samael, and he had millennia to practice his control. But the angel saw that hunger gnawing at him, flecking his eyes with golden power, and though part of her quaked to be so close to such a creature, another part, a deeper part, was drawn to him, to that hunger, that desire.
The angel blushed and smiled and nudged herself out of his grasp. Hovering in the skies outside of Heaven, still held aloft by his power, she willed her garment away. Naked, she floated before him, her head tilted down so that her hair flowed over her shoulders and primly covered her breasts. Her hands were clasped demurely beneath the curve of her belly, modestly concealing her sex.
She still smiled, although the heat of the moment had faded with her clothing, leaving her flesh cool and her passion dimming. Before being sent to Hell, she had never given her appearance any thought; she simply was who and what she was—a nameless cherub, content to bask in Heaven’s Light and dream of one day earning a name. But she had since spent months in the service of the Pit, and with that service came the knowledge that her time there had changed her. She was a banished angel, bound to Hell, where she was constantly subjected to the appetites of sin, forced to stand witness as demons caroused and the damned screamed for mercy. In the face of all that ugliness, how could she remain unscathed?
How could Samael look upon her and see anything other than one touched by Hell?
Insecurity gnawed at her as she looked up at the archangel. Silently, she awaited judgment.
His gaze roamed her body, exploring, lingering as if to memorize her every feature. As he drank in her form, Samael’s mouth curved in a sensual smile. “I’ve seen stars born,” he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed through her. “I’ve witnessed the dawn of humanity itself and have gazed upon works of art that make even celestials pause to admire them.” Samael reached out to touch the angel’s flushed cheek. “And I swear by my name, given to me by God Above, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
Her lip trembled, and though his words made her unspeakably happy, tears welled in her eyes. She stammered, “Thank you…”
“Oh, no, lovely Angel. Do not thank me for your beauty.” His hand flowed down, skimming her neck, her shoulder, stopping just above her breast. “It is I who thank you.”
Her voice breaking, she said, “For what?”
“For trusting me.” He touched her bare breast, cupped it reverently, and flicked his thumb over her nipple.
That movement—the feeling of his flesh on hers—was enough to overwhelm her. He touched her, and that touch rippled through her, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. He touched her again, slower now, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to succumb to that wave. Both hands were on her now, flowing over her breasts, stroking her erect nipples, and she arched back, supported by his power and his passion.
She was sinking backward, slowly, until she came to rest on a bed of clouds. The mix of sensations—the damp chill along her back and bottom and legs, the steady heat building within her—made her gasp. And then his mouth was on her nipple, and now she cried out—first a moment of surprise and then again in sheer bliss.
His mouth, his lips, suckling her; his tongue, lapping at her…she had never experienced anything like this before. This was no mere pleasure—that would be to dismiss water as merely being wet. This was instant gratification that bordered on sinfully addictive. This was drowning in air. This was feeling with senses that had never before felt.
This was rapture.
The angel writhed beneath him, tossing her head as he licked her and kissed her and gently, so very gently, nipped at her. He worked slowly, teasingly, wetting her and heating her with his mouth, coaxing moans of pleasure from her lips. She no longer worried about the base sounds she was making. She no longer worried, or even thought. She simply reacted.
And she enjoyed.
Now his hands moved sinuously, down her taut belly and around her back until one hand was just over the feathery hair dusting her sex and the other hand caressed her bottom. He sucked her nipple once more, plumping it with his lips, and then he broke suction. The cool air both teased her and maddened her, and she opened her eyes to see him poised over her, smiling down at her.
Such beautiful eyes; such a sensual mouth. She gazed upon Samael and felt something in her chest tingle.
“Angel, I wish to touch you more intimately.” His fingers danced along her abdomen, sending tiny shocks between her legs. “I wish to feel you, here.” Now his hand rested over her sex—not quite touching, but still close enough that she felt him on her.
And she realized she wanted to feel him
in
her.
“May I touch you here, pretty cherub?”
Her voice gruff with desire, she said, “Touch me.”
And so he did. Just one finger, at first, sliding tentatively between her legs, over first one lip and then the other, moving front to back, and then back to front. Each touch made her shiver, and as he stroked her again languidly up and down, she began to pant. With his other hand he caressed her bottom, squeezing her, and then tracing the cleft between her cheeks, his long fingers stroking, reaching, probing.
Just as she thought she could not experience any more pleasure without simply bursting, Samael bent his head to her breast again and sucked.
The angel let out a trill of delight, a sound that was musical and completely joyous, an erotic ode to love. Samael, perhaps in answer to her call, slid a finger deep inside of her.
She cried out again, bucking her hips. She flowed beneath him, her body moving in time with his hands, her head rocking back and forth. Something inside of her was building—a rising heat, a growing pressure, something she couldn’t quite name and couldn’t begin to control. It yawned within her like a beast awakening, making her nipples and sex tingle.
This feeling, this arousal…this overwhelming
want
filled her. With a sound that was almost a growl, she threaded her fingers through his curly hair and clasped his head to her breast, urging him to do more, more.
He kissed one breast and then the other, attending her nipples with his tongue and teeth and lips. He explored within her until she was slick with need, and then he kissed his way down her belly, making her skin glisten with his kisses. Perched over her sex, he said gruffly, “I would kiss you here, Angel.”
“Kiss me,” she commanded.
The feeling of his mouth between her legs was enough to drive her wild. And when his tongue slid over her, she let out a cry to rock the skies. He kissed her and kissed her again, licking between her lips. He spread her wide with his fingers and probed her with his tongue. He tasted her; he savored her. He feasted, flowing with her as her hips rocked up and down, up and down. They moved, sinuous, the archangel nudging the angel closer and closer to ecstasy.
“Let yourself go,” he urged between his strokes. “Let…yourself…go.”
And as he kissed her again, right there in that spot that electrified her, she let herself go. The pressure that had been building inside of her erupted, rocking her to her core. The angel shouted, rapturous, delirious as her body trembled and clenched, trembled and clenched. This feeling was like none other—it was losing herself and finding herself all at once. It was glorious.
The aftershocks slowly ebbed, and she relaxed, feeling dazed and wonderful and so very happy.
“Beautiful Angel,” Samael murmured, “you taste divine.”
She let out a content sigh, and she smiled up at him. He was perched over her, propped on one elbow, his smile one of satisfaction, with just a hint of wickedness. His green gaze shone brightly, like spring grass after a rainstorm. She reached up to touch his cheek. It was warm, and smooth, and as she touched him she knew what she wanted next.
“Show me your body, Samael. I would see the one who loved me.”
He arched a dark brow, and the note of wickedness in his smile was momentarily muted by surprise. “Oh? Where is the shy and retreating cherub whom I found dolefully staring at the gates of Heaven?”
“She is far too relaxed to be shy or retreating,” the angel answered boldly. Then, more hesitantly, she asked, “Will you do this for me? Will you unclothe yourself for me, as I have for you?”
He clasped her hand and kissed it once, then sat back. Releasing her hand, he rose to his full height. On her bed of clouds, the angel rolled to her side to see Samael before her, his arms out as if in supplication. In a wink his emerald toga was gone. Naked, he was smooth perfection: strongly muscled and long of form, a work of masculine beauty. A smattering of dark hair curled along his broad chest, thinning as it stretched down his torso, and thickening again just above his legs. His erection proved he was aroused.
She was fascinated by his shape, by his strength—by him. He was one of the most powerful creatures in the Universe, once beloved by the Almighty; he was a king without a kingdom, an archangel banished from the Light of Heaven. He was the Angel of Death. He was wondrous to behold. And he carried the pain of bitter loneliness in his eyes.
The angel wanted to make his sorrow fade. She wanted him to feel the intense pleasure that he had given her. She sat up and paused, remembering her own hesitation. “May I touch you?”
“Angel,” Samael said with a rueful chuckle, “it was I who asked for your permission. You do not need my approval to do to me what you wish.”
With a smile, she reached for him, touched him, and was thrilled to feel the power within him as she ran her hand up his calf and up higher. She trailed her fingers up to the juncture of his muscular thighs, then back down, then up his other leg, slowing as she approached his sex. She traced the outline of his scrotum and was startled by his sudden intake of breath.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked, concern furrowing her brow.
“No, Angel,” he said gruffly. “By Heaven, no. You are not hurting me. Your touch…” He shuddered, said, “Your touch is magical.”
Ah. Well then
. Pleased by his response, she tickled him with her fingertips and then slowly moved up his shaft. He closed his eyes and let out a sound that was part moan and part hiss—an animal sound, one that made her core hum with desire. She enjoyed teasing him, enjoyed stirring such feelings inside of him.
Enjoyed the feeling of him in her hand.
She closed her hand around his length and moved back down, then up once again. His shaft grew even harder, longer from her attentive strokes. She could still feel his tongue lapping at her, heating her as he had burrowed between her legs. The memory alone was enough to flush her anew with desire.
She wanted him to feel that way, to lose himself in her touch. So she leaned over to kiss him.
The moment her lips pressed against the tip of his erection, Samael let out a ragged cry. She placed small kisses tenderly on him, flicked her tongue over him, licked him. Savored him.
His breath was coming in rough pants, and now his hands gripped her shoulders. “Angel,” he said, his voice rough, “you are driving me mad.”
Yes.
She kissed his tip once more, then moved up to his torso, dotting his skin with her mouth. With one hand she stroked his shaft, more firmly now, and with her other hand she cupped his bottom, squeezing. Up she moved, kissing the outline of his ribs, kissing his chest, taking first one hard nipple between her lips and then the other, sucking lightly.
“Driving me
mad
,” he said again and then his words gave way to a groan.
Yes
.
Her fingers played along his body, with one hand on his sex and the other moving over his back, his bottom, the backs of his thighs. Up she moved, kissing his chest, his throat, the underside of his jaw. Her hands flowed, and he swayed in her embrace. Her mouth worked along his ear, and he shivered.
“Angel,” he rasped, “sweetest Angel, I will go insane if I cannot join with you.”
She nibbled his lobe and was rewarded by his gasp of pleasure. “Please join with me,” she whispered in his ear. “Love me, Samael.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth, hard. She returned the kiss just as passionately, hungry for him, wanting him to be inside of her. Wanting to complete him, and for him to complete her. Wanting to feel bliss not just because of him, but
with
him.
Wanting him—Samael, Angel of Death, Lucifer. Whatever he was, whichever name he took, she wanted him.
She released his shaft to hook her arms around his broad shoulders. His erection pressed against her belly, and whether it was from his closeness or from his kisses or both, she felt her own arousal building within her, tingling over her nipples, her sex, priming her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and closed her eyes, losing herself in their kiss, in the feeling of him around her.
The feeling of him in her.
It was a nudge at first—the tip of his erection nuzzling between her legs, whispering over that most sensitive spot. That addictive tension that heralded bliss coiled inside her, and she rocked against him, moving him over her. The nudge strengthened into a push as he probed her and then dipped inside.
Oh!
It was gentle, almost hesitant, and he pulled back out to slide against her once more, stroking her,
stroking
her, tightening the coil of tension. And then he was back inside her, deeper now, coaxing her to open for him. Back out again to rub over that spot, to press against it, heating her until she thought she would burst into flame.