Revenant(77)

He knew exactly what she needed. No downtime. No talk. No emotion.

The squeak of her bare skin on the wood joined the erotic sounds of Rev’s panting breaths and the slap of his thighs on the back of hers. Her hip bones banged on the desk, and she knew she’d have the bruises to show for it, but oh, what beautiful bruises they’d be.

“Is this what you wanted?” His guttural voice sent tingles across her skin. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” she rasped. “More.”

“That’s my angel,” he whispered.

Abruptly, he yanked her upright, and a piercing, searing pain tore into her neck, followed immediately by an ecstasy so intense that she screamed. She’d never been bitten before, had never wanted to be that vulnerable. She hadn’t known what she was missing, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Pleasure spiked as his arm came around her waist to hold her while he fucked her, lifting her off the floor with each powerful thrust. The smooth rub of his leather against her skin was like an erotic caress, and the thought that he was fully clothed was the last straw. Her orgasm crashed over her like an ocean wave, tumbling her endlessly in ecstasy and drowning her in bliss.

Nothing had ever felt like this before. She’d had a lot of sex and a lot of orgasms, but this was more than a physical release. It was emotional as well, and as Revenant stiffened and his hot seed splashed inside her, pressure filled her chest cavity.

The sex had been amazing and exactly what she needed, but it had only delayed the inevitable, the realization that her life had gone to hell in a handbasket, and hope was all she had left.





Twenty-Two





That, Revenant thought, had been some of the best sex of his life. He’d always liked to fuck the way he fought; messy, with no holds barred, and this definitely counted. Blaspheme’s desk had skidded across the room, shoved into a now-dented file cabinet, and her neck was streaked with blood. When he pulled out, his seed would spill out of her, marking her with his scent.

Normally, now would be the time when he would zip up and leave the female sated and sleepy, and he’d go find another.

But he didn’t want another. And he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want empty sex with females whose names he didn’t know or wouldn’t remember ten minutes later.

It made no sense. Well, it did if Blas had used her False Angel powers on him, but he’d watched, waiting for her to engage her charm or aphrodisiac, and nothing had happened. She’d asked him for sex, but not to seduce him or even to have a good time with the closest dick. She’d needed him, had laid herself bare, giving him access to her body and soul.

In thousands of years, no one had done that, and his heart fluttered with a foreign sensation that made him feel like he’d guzzled a dozen bottles of the best French champagne.

Shit. He had genuine feelings for her, didn’t he? And wasn’t that some damned inconvenient timing? Even if he didn’t have both Heaven and Sheoul breathing down his neck, he didn’t want the kind of complications emotional attachments brought. No, those strings got knotted real fast, as his relationship with Reaver proved.

Retracting his fangs, he licked the punctures in Blaspheme’s throat, lingering a little longer than was necessary as he lapped up every drop of her sweet blood. She shuddered as he pulled out and carefully released her so she wouldn’t fall.

She immediately gripped the desk to support her shaky legs. He knew the feeling. His own legs were liquid with spent passion. Sure, he’d fucked harder and longer in the past, but somehow, in this brief, intense encounter with Blaspheme, his mind and body had given over more than they ever had.

Stepping back, he mentally cleaned himself up, tucked his semihard cock back in his pants, and zipped. With another mental tweak, he tidied Blaspheme as well, and then bent to gather her clothes.

“We should go see Gethel now,” he said, fully engaging business mode in an effort to leave the emotional shit behind.

He tossed her scrubs, lab coat, and stethoscope onto the desk… and casually slipped her destroyed underwear into his pocket. He’d never been a sicko who kept souvenirs of his conquests, but for some reason, he hadn’t been able to let go of Blaspheme, and he thought that maybe keeping something of hers would help.

Yeah, that’s some loaded rationale. Keep something that belongs to the female you need to let go. That’ll help you forget.

Irritation at his own stupidity made his voice harsher than he intended as he barked, “Come on. Gethel’s not getting any less pregnant.”

Blaspheme’s shoulders heaved, and she made a sound that froze him in place.