Summon Lyght(39)

"Lyght! Oh God!"

There was nothing to do but clench his eyes tight and hold on as her climax locked her legs around his neck and dug her nails into his scalp. The assault demanded hard and immediate retaliation and Lyght fought with all his angelic strength to keep from giving the answer his body insisted on.

He settled for tasting at a feverish pace, pressing his face into her quivering inner thighs, listening to the sweet music of her moans being carried by that spiral of unimaginable pleasure. His Kassie. She was more than he'd hoped for. More than he'd imagined. And he was bloody imaginative.

She sat up suddenly, her forearm hiding her breasts.

Lyght didn't move from where he was. He looked up at her, kissing the soft muscles of her inner thighs, waiting for the verdict and considering wedding rings. Which one would suit her? She was a size six to be certain.

He paused kissing when he sensed her nearly palpable shame. Guilt.

Not the consequences he wanted after watching her suffer such pleasure.

He stood and pushed himself between her legs, looking down at her lowered head. "Look at me sweetheart." He stroked the satiny flesh of her lovely legs.

She hesitated two seconds too long and Lyght tilted her face up with a finger on her chin. The reluctance he felt did strange things to him. He stood there, contemplating the feelings that clamped down impossibly hard on his spirit. Crushing. That's what it felt like.

He spun away and gasped, not familiar with that sort of pain. Not understanding it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He sought to interpret the meaning behind her words and the crushing sensation intensified. She was sorry she'd…done that with him.

"I'll be back." Lyght flashed out before he could make a fool of himself. He reappeared alone at the Outer Sanctum. He fell to his knees next to the clear lagoon and splashed his face with the renewing water. He let his wings loose, needing help to identify his problem.

The color in them was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The darkest red just before black. The only color he'd seen like that was when he bled.

He remembered the look in her face, the feeling in her spirit and Lyght collapsed to his knees as that humiliating weight stole his strength.

Bloody hell. She'd pierced him. And he was bleeding inside.

She was ashamed. Ashamed of what he'd done. Ashamed…to be with him.





Chapter Thirteen



Lesedi stood in the shower for a long time letting the hot water beat him into oblivion. That was after he stood like a ten year old in the center of that diamond chamber of a shower. That's what the stall was. Like being in a rough square diamond cocoon. Even the floor's surface was coarse, but warm, and acted like a massage to his tired feet

The last couple of days had been a lot to take in, especially the last few hours. Less than a week past, he had been just the illegitimate son of a woman from a well-off family, living on the fringes and expected to do whatever dirty work was necessary to advance the family fortunes. He had managed to translate that position to one that far exceeded the family's expectations for him. Without Lyght's intervention, Lesedi would have assumed leadership of the family within six months, wresting it away from his lazy cousin, and his own younger half-brother. The pair had been given the privilege of control while Lesedi did the work, and he had tired of that arrangement.

But there he stood in the twilight zone, his family, in all likelihood, assumed him dead and had taken steps to mitigate the associated loss. That was how they did business. Frivolous things like emotion or family loyalty must never impede the progress of the family as a whole. His loss would hardly be noticed.

He allowed his head to drop and light glinted off the tiny diamonds embedded in the skin of his abdomen. His half-brother was the ostentatious sort and would no doubt cut off an arm for such a tattoo. Lesedi couldn't stop the little swirl of satisfaction that came with the knowledge the little asshole would never have one. He traced the strangely beautiful design. From where he looked, it appeared like some ancient lettering. He'd have to ask.

And then there was Miya. She was far more significant than anything else. Merely being allowed within her presence was something of a miracle for a man like him. To have her for his own? That ranked similar in magnitude with some of the miracles of the Old Testament. Parting the Red Sea was only slightly more momentous as far as he was concerned.

The mere thought of her speared him with need, and the memory of the innocent passion of her response to his touch acted as a spark to gun powder.

He was not thrilled with the circumstances though. He would have preferred to win her on his own, rather than her consent to his touch as part of a plan to save humanity. Having her that way did not exactly boost his ego, but it was better than not having her at all.