The Darkest Angel(17)

"Wait. Trying what?" the stranger asked, confused.

Seriously, when would he leave?

"Lysander," she prompted.

"That's not my name."

"Get lost," she growled.

Lysander's gaze lifted, narrowed on the human. Then Bianka heard footsteps. Her warrior hadn't said anything, hadn't revealed himself, but had somehow managed to make the human leave. He had powers she hadn't known about, then. Why was that even more exciting?

"If you won't give the wallet back and I won't steal anything, where does that leave us?" he asked.

"At war. I don't know about you, but I do my best fighting in bed," she said, and then threw her arms around his neck.





CHAPTER TEN

WIND WHIPPED THROUGH Bianka's hair, and she knew that Lysander was flying her somewhere with those majestic wings. She had her eyes closed, too busy enjoying him-finally!-to care where he took her. His tongue made love to hers. His hands clutched her hips, fingers digging sharply. Then she was tipping over, a cool, soft mattress pressing into her back. His weight pinned her deliciously.

And it shouldn't have been delicious. This was not a position she allowed. Ever. It caged her wings, and her wings were the source of her strength. Without them, she was almost as weak as a human. But this was Lysander, honest to a fault, and she'd wanted him forever, it seemed. And as wary as he'd been about this sort of thing, she was afraid any type of rebuke would send him flying away.

Besides, he could do anything he wanted to her like this...

"No one is to enter," he said roughly.

Moaning, she wound her legs around his waist, tilted her head to receive his newest kiss and enjoyed a deeper thrust of his tongue. White lightning, the man was a fast learner. Very fast. He was now an expert at kissing. The best she'd ever had. By the time she finished with him, he'd be an expert at everything carnal.

His erection, hard and long and thick, rode the apex of her thighs. She could feel every inch of him through the softness of his robe. His arms enveloped her, and when she opened her eyes-they were inside his cloud, she realized-she saw his golden wings were spread, forming a blanket over them.

She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled from the kiss. "Are you going to get into trouble for this?" she asked, panting. Wait. What? Where had that thought come from?

His eyes narrowed. "Do you care?"

"No," she lied, forcing a grin. No, no, no. That wasn't a lie. "But that adds a little extra danger, don't you think?" There. Better. That was more like her normal self. She didn't like his goodness, didn't want to preserve it and keep him safe.

Did she?

"Well, I will not get into the kind of trouble you mean." He flattened his palms at her temples, boxing her in and taking the bulk of his own weight. "If that is the only reason you are here, you can leave."

How fierce he appeared. "So sensitive, warrior." She hooked her fingers at the neck of his robe and tugged. The material ripped easily. But as she held it, it began to weave itself back together. Frowning, she ripped again, harder this time, until there was a big enough gap to shove the clothing from his shoulders and off his arms. "I was only teasing."

His chest was magnificent. A work of art. Muscled and sun-kissed and devoid of any hair. She lifted her head and licked the pulse at the base of his neck, then traced his collarbone, then circled one of his nipples. "Do you like?"                       
       
           



       

"Hot. Wet," he rasped, lids squeezed tight.

"Yeah, but do you like?"

"Yes."

She sucked a peak until he gasped, then kissed away the sting. A tremor of pleasure rocked him, which caused a lance of pride to work through her. "Why do you desire me? Why do you care if I'm good or not?"

A pause. A tortured, "Your skin..."

Every muscle in her body stiffened, and she glared up at him. "So any Harpy will do?" She tried to hide her insult, but didn't quite manage it. The thought of another Harpy-hell, any other woman, immortal or not-enjoying him roused her most vicious instincts. Her nails lengthened, and her teeth sharpened. A red haze dotted her line of vision. Mine, she thought. She would kill anyone who touched him. "We all have this skin, you know?" The words were guttural, scraping her throat.

His lashes separated as his eyes opened. His pupils were dilated, his expression tightening with...an emotion she didn't recognize. "Yes, but only yours tempts me. Why is that?"

"Oh," was all she could first think to say, her anger draining completely. But she needed to respond, had to think of something light, easy. "To answer your question, you want me because I'm made of awesome. And guess what? I will make you so happy you said that, warrior."

"No. I will make you happy." He ripped her shirt just as she had done his robe. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts sprang free. Another tremor moved through him as he lowered his head.

He licked and sucked one nipple, as she had done to him, then the other, feasting. Savoring. Soon she was arching and writhing against him, craving his mouth elsewhere. Her skin was sensitized, her body desperate for release. Yet she didn't want to rush him. She was still afraid of scaring him away. But if he didn't hurry, didn't touch her between her legs, she was going to die.

"Lysander," she said on a trembling breath.

His wings brushed both her arms, up and down, tickling, caressing, raising goose bumps on her flesh. Oh, that was good. So good.

He lifted from her completely.

"Wh-what are you doing? I wasn't going to tell you to leave," she screeched, bracing her weight on her elbows.

"I do not want anything between us." He shoved the robe down his legs until he was gloriously naked. Moisture gleamed at the head of his penis, and her mouth watered. Reaching out, he gripped her boots and tore them off. Her jeans quickly followed. She, of course, was not wearing any panties.

His gaze drank her in, and she knew what he saw. Her flushed, glowing skin. The aching juncture between her legs. Her rose-tinted nipples.

"I want to touch and taste every inch," he said and just kind of fell on her, as if his will to resist had abandoned him completely.

"Touch and taste every inch next time." Please let there be a next time. She tried to hook her legs around his waist again. "I need release now."

He grabbed her by the knees and spread her. Her head fell back, her hair tangling around her, and he kissed a path to her breasts, then to her stomach. He lingered at her navel until she was moaning.

"Lysander," she said again. Fine. She'd jump on this grenade if she had to; if he wanted to taste, he could taste. "More. I need more."

Rather than give it to her, he stilled. "I...took care of myself before following you this day," he admitted, cheeks pinkening. "I thought that would give me resistance against you."

Her eyes widened, shock pouring through her. "You pleasured yourself?"

A stiff nod.

"Did you think of me?"

Another nod.

"Oh, baby. That's good. I can picture it, and I love what I see." His hand on his shaft, stroking up and down, eyes closed, features tight with arousal, body straining toward release. Wings spread as he fell to his knees, the pleasure too much. Her, naked in his mind. "What did you think about doing?"

Another pause. A hesitant response. "Licking. Between your legs. Tasting you, as I said."

She arched her back, hands skimming down her middle to her thighs. Although he already held her open, she pushed her legs farther apart. "Then do it. Lick me. I want it so bad. Want your tongue on me. See how wet I am?"

He hissed in a breath. "Yes. Yes." Leaning down, he started at her ankles and kissed his way up, lingering at the back of her knees, at the crease of her legs.

"Please," she said, so on edge she was ready to scream. "Please. Do it."

"Yes," he whispered again. "Yes." Finally he settled over her, mouth poised, ready. His tongue flicked out. Then, sweet contact.                       
       
           



       

She expected the touch, but nothing could have prepared her for the perfection of it. She did scream, shivered. Begged for more. "Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please."

At first, he merely lapped at her, humming his approval at her taste. Thank you, thank you, thank you. If he hadn't liked her in that way, she wasn't sure what she would have done. In that moment, she wanted-needed-to be everything he wanted-needed. She wanted him to crave every part of her, as she craved every part of him.

Even his goodness?

Yes, she thought, finally admitting it. Yes. Just then, she had no defenses; she'd been stripped to her soul. His goodness somehow balanced her out. She'd fought against it-and still had no plans to change-but they were two extremes and actually complemented each other, each giving the other what he or she lacked. In her case, the knowledge that some things were worth taking seriously. In his, that it wasn't a crime to have fun.