Reaver(71)

That thought, of course, put an image in his head of him on his knees in front of her as he kissed her belly on a blazing path to that sweet place between her legs. He’d lick her until she screamed his name, and then he’d do it over and over, swirling his tongue inside her satin channel as he listened to her sexy little mewls of pleasure.

You’ve already done that.

Yes, he had. He suddenly remembered doing it to Verrine. He’d been all about revenge, but his plans had gone awry the moment he’d gotten her naked.

His rigid erection strained against his fly, aching like a son of a bitch. How long had it been for him? Too long. Way too long. He hadn’t been with a female since he got his wings back, was given Watcher duty, and… met Harvester. Oh, he’d had plenty of opportunities with angels who saw him as a forbidden temptation, a rebel angel with a mysterious past, but for some reason, he hadn’t taken up any of them on their offers, no matter how blatant or aggressive. And he’d always gone for the aggressive ones. Only now did he realize why.

Deep down, he’d wanted Harvester.

She slid her hand inside her panties, and he groaned as her fingers rubbed in slow circles under the material. “You sure you don’t want to fuck?”

Yes. No. Shit.

He clenched his teeth, unable to give her an answer. There was nothing he wanted more—aside from getting out of here alive—than to wrap Harvester’s long, slim legs around his waist and pound into her until they’d either killed the sexual tension screaming between them or they killed each other.

But he wanted to take it slow. Or, at least, to show her that what they were doing was about more than orgasms.

Because his feelings for her might be jumbled up in a tangle of remembered and forgotten events, but one thing was certain: He’d claimed her when he’d done the blood-bonding thing. Their relationship had been five thousand years in the making, and he wasn’t about to let it go, now or later.

They just needed to get out of Sheoul, destroy Lucifer, and get Harvester off Satan’s most wanted list first. Oh, and Reaver had to survive the archangels’ punishment.

No problem.

“Reaver, you said you’d give me what I needed,” she gritted out, when he didn’t reply quickly enough to please her. “I need to fuck. No mushy shit.”

She was still stroking herself, faster now, and his breath followed suit.

“Agreed,” he said. “But it won’t be a fuck to me.”

“Bastard.” The word was harsh, but her tone was almost weary, as if maybe she was as tired of their battles as he was. “Now strip.”

Her order made him smile. She very well might want to strip him herself, but the need for control outweighed her personal preferences. That was okay. Next time.

He fingered the top button on his fly and hesitated, loving how she was holding her breath in anticipation, her mouth open slightly, her green eyes as dark as a forest at night.

“Hurry,” she commanded him.

Very deliberately, he unbuttoned his fly slowly, revealing what was beneath in tiny increments. Pop. He exposed a tiny V of flesh. Pop. The V was bigger now, and the head of his arousal emerged, resting heavily against the denim. Pop. His shaft strained against the remaining buttons as if sensing freedom. Pop. Harvester began to pant. Pop. Freed, his arousal sprang loose, practically throbbing with the need to get inside her.

He kicked off his boots and lost the pants in rapid succession, done with the teasing. When he was standing before her, fully naked, Harvester purred.

“Now that,” she said in a husky voice that rumbled through him in an erotic tremor, “is more like it.”

They both stood, several feet apart, staring through space thick with sexual tension. Reaver’s body practically shook as he watched Harvester stroke herself, her full breasts rising and falling with her rapid breaths.

“Touch yourself,” she demanded.

He palmed his shaft, and abruptly, her scent grew stronger. She liked to watch, did she? Okay, he’d play that game. Gripping his cock firmly, he slid his fist down and back up, noting how her ivory skin flushed and her pupils dilated.

“Faster,” she whispered, and oh, yes, he could do faster.

Her arousal fed his, hot, potent, and as he pumped his fist up and down his length, a climax built like steam in a pressure cooker. He wasn’t going to last, not if she kept stroking herself, her gaze fixed on watching him.

Extracting her hand from her panties, Harvester strutted toward him, her hips swaying hypnotically. She stopped a foot away, close enough that her heat scorched him. With a teasing smile, she put her glistening fingers to his mouth.

“Taste me,” she murmured.