Well played, Reaver. Well played.
Sex could be just sex. That’s all it ever had been for her. She wasn’t a young, stupid angel giving her virginity to the male she loved.
She was quite capable of separating her emotions from her physical needs.
Telling herself all the lies she needed to believe, she dragged her fingernails up his length, smiling at his combined hiss and moan of pleasure. At the button at the top of his fly, she stopped, letting herself toy with the brass disc for a heartbeat.
Yes. This was going to be good.
She flicked the button and tugged on the denim, and the fly opened with a series of muffled pops. Reaver’s cock sprang free, a broad, dusky column pulsing with thick veins. Finally, after all these years of curiosity, she took him in her palm.
He gasped, followed by a soft curse that was more of a moan. Oh, she loved those sounds—there was nothing hotter than a male in the throes of pleasure, nothing more beautiful than Reaver as he threw his head back and panted, his parted lips glistening from their kiss. In her hand he was rock hard under velvety-smooth skin, and as much as she wanted to pump her fist and take him higher, she wanted to savor this moment more.
She supposed she could take a little time for foreplay.
A desperate craving unfurled in her belly and reached into places she’d forgotten she had, awakening a beast she wasn’t sure could be put back in its cage. No, she was sure. She’d always been able to have casual sex… in fact, she preferred a no-strings roll in the hay.
But the desire she felt right now was nothing like what she’d felt for those casual flings.
Squeezing lightly, she swept her thumb back and forth at the silky tip of him, loving how his entire body jerked with each slow pass. She threw her leg over his and got even closer, so ready to take him inside her the moment they got their clothes off.
Suddenly, he gripped her wrist. “No… Harvester. We can’t.”
“We can,” she whispered against his throat. “I’m healed.” Except for her wings, but the bones were knitting together swiftly now, the pain dulled from the feeding.
“It’s not that.” He lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all and set her aside. Sharp, lashing pain scored her heart as he sat up and buttoned his jeans. “I’m not doing this with you.”
What the hell was going on? Harvester struggled to jump-start her lust-addled brain and make sense of what he was saying. Her body was juiced, her feminine parts were aching, and her heart was pounding.
Swallowing dryly, she sat up and braced herself against the wall. “What’s the problem?”
Shoving to his feet, he swore, long and loud. “What’s the problem? It’s you, Harvester.” He gestured between them. “It’s us. This can’t work.”
Very slowly, as if she were bleeding to death, something drained out of her, leaving her colder and more hollow than ever before. She’d trusted him to not reject her, and didn’t it figure that he’d waited until she’d truly let down her guard to do it.
“Of course we can’t work,” she said, welcoming the bitterness that seeped into her voice. Her old friend was back. “You’re a pure, holy angel of goodness, and I’m Satan’s evil whore of a daughter. So yeah, we can’t work. Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious. But we can fuck.”
Reaver’s eyes were like jeweled drill bits, boring so deep inside her she was afraid he’d seen her darkest secrets.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “If Yenrieth were to return, what would you do?”
Yenrieth? How dare he conjure that name right now? What did Yenrieth have to do with anything?
“Who cares?” She stood, suddenly feeling the need to be on even footing with him. “Yenrieth hasn’t been seen in thousands of years. He’s dead.”
“And if he wasn’t?”
“Why? Are you afraid I’m falling in love with you or some shit? And then Yenrieth will magically return to sweep me off my feet and leave you in the dust?” She poked him in the chest. “Because I have news for you. I’m not falling in love with you, Yenrieth isn’t coming back, and, if he did, I’d be more likely to kill him than let him sweep me to anywhere.” She fisted the hem of her tank top and peeled it off over her head. “So get over yourself and fuck me, dammit.”
Reaver’s expression was a mix of anguish and disgust and, as far as she could tell, aimed at her. Was she that repulsive to him?
Her eyes stung, and she hated herself for it. Feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed, she covered her breasts with her arms.
“I can’t.” Reaver’s voice was guttural as he wheeled around and stared at the wall. “I remember. I loved you.”