Hell's Angel Read online

  “Heaven is love,” she said, her voice husky.

  “And I would show Heaven to you, Angel, if you let me. I would love you and take away your sorrow, even if it’s just for a small stretch of time.”

  Love. Not lust.

  Love.

  His hands, his voice…his eyes.

  There was a pounding in her ears, her mind, an ever-increasing drumbeat that made it difficult to think. She swallowed thickly and blinked away nervous tears. Her body was doing things, telling her things, that made her uneasy and tense.

  But the tension wasn’t necessarily bad…and that was upsetting. She should be able to control her own body.

  “Angel,” Samael said, his voice like music, “you are afraid?”

  Embarrassed, she stammered, “Yes.”

  “Of me?”

  God Above, yes. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  Samael’s hands moved, flowed over the curves of her arms until they rested lightly on her shoulders. His voice gentle, he said, “Relax your wings, pretty cherub. You will not fall.”

  Trusting him—because really, he was the Light Bringer, not the fabled Lord of Lies that the humans had created to scare themselves into doing Heaven’s work—she took a breath she didn’t need, then she folded her wings against her back and willed them away. She felt their absence like dew against her skin. For one long moment, she hovered, suspended only by the memory of flight.

  And then Samael’s power tickled her, buffeted her, and she floated on his whim.

  She let out a startled laugh. There was something both terrifying and electrifying in the knowledge that she could plummet like a falling star to the Earth below, and that terror made her giddy. She trusted Samael, and so he kept her aloft.

  His laughter joined hers, the sounds mingling like melody and harmony. “As I said, Angel, you will not fall.” He pressed his hands against her shoulders, not quite a squeeze. “You do not need to be afraid. I would go slow, pretty cherub. I would move only with your approval. I would show you bliss only on your allowance.” A pause before he added, “I give you my word, Angel.”

  She felt him ghosting through her, whispering against her flesh—not teasing, not coaxing, simply there, letting her fly outside of Heaven. She heard the quiet passion in his voice, the dignity of one who had been a king for millennia. She peered into his eyes, and there she saw not the golden flecks of nearly infinite power but instead something that hinted of melancholy, of a sorrow that touched her heart.

  And that emboldened her enough to speak. “Please tell me, Samael,” she said softly, “what brings a fallen archangel to the gates of Heaven?”

  He smiled, then sighed. And he admitted what she had already seen in his gaze. “Loneliness.”

  Yes.

  She reached up to touch his face, placing her fingers lightly against the strong curve of his jaw. His power thrummed beneath her hand, pulsing softly, purposefully. Deep within, she felt her body responding to that power. She tingled from fingertip to toe, and she felt so very aware, as if she were waking from a long sleep.

  “If you would show me your vision of Heaven,” she said, still nervous but now also curious and, yes, even hopeful, “I would very much like to see it.”

  He smiled again, and it was unlike any smile she’d ever seen, by creatures Above or Below or in between. The archangel smiled, and the sun itself paled. His voice lush, he said, “Then I will show you. Let us share our own paradise.”

  His hands moved away from her shoulders and down her back, until he was holding her close. Her breasts pressed against his stomach. The silky material of his toga whispered against her own thin garment, and despite the softness of the clothing, the peaks of her breasts were suddenly hard, and surprisingly tender. Her nipples ached, and deep within her a fire kindled. She rubbed against him, and the heat grew until a flush of warmth rippled through her.

  How could something as simple as the feeling of him, swathed in that silk, make her react so strongly? Flustered, she squirmed in his embrace.

  If he noticed her embarrassment, he chose to ignore it. “Have you ever been kissed, pretty cherub?”

  Not trusting her voice, she shook her head.

  “A kiss is a wondrous thing, with many a meaning. It can be quick and precise, perfunctory and cold. It can be loving, as a parent to a child. Or,” he said, his voice low and knowing, “it can be passionate. May I kiss you now, Angel?”

  Still unwilling to speak, she nodded.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. And with those words, he bowed his head to hers, his lips suddenly on her mouth.

  In that initial moment, the angel’s eyes widened in surprise. She’d known what a kiss actually was, but there had been no way to imagine the sensations it would bring with it. First an indescribable joy, one that sang of connection, of commitment, of sharing each other’s very essence. On the heels of that, overwhelming arousal filled every part of her.

  The angel’s eyelids slipped closed, and she let out a sound of pleasure. His lips were so very warm on hers, almost burning in the intensity of that kiss—his lips pressed against hers, heating her, sending licks of fire through her.

  His mouth opened wider, and his tongue darted between her lips. She let out a startled sound, one that melted away as his tongue rolled against hers. He kissed her more deeply, and now she kissed him in return, pouring herself into that kiss, telling him without words just how much she was enjoying what he was doing to her.

  And then his lips left hers, and for that long, long moment she felt a crushing need for him to return to her, to kiss her again until her mouth was swollen, bruised with his passion. Too soon, she wanted to cry. It had ended far too soon. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her with naked longing.

  His voice soft, he said, “I wish to do more than hold you as I kiss you.”

  “More?” Oh yes. She wanted more.

  “I wish to move my hands over your body. May I, pretty Angel?”

  “Please,” she said—either an approval or a plea, she could not say which.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, then kissed her again, deeper than before, and the angel felt as if she were falling, falling forever into Samael’s arms.

  An eternity in his embrace, with his kisses, would be its own small paradise.

  Now his hands were moving in slow circles along her back, massaging her, soothing her yet coaxing her, goading her into feeling more, and more still until she thought she would burst. Those circles widened slowly, until his fingers were tracing the curves of her waist, the swell of her bottom.

  With every lingering touch, she coiled tighter. With every dragging caress, she moved with him, wishing for his hands to do even more. She wanted his fingers to explore her, to dance along her limbs and awaken every inch of her. He had promised to show her bliss, and oh, she believed that he could, that he would…

  Once again his lips left hers, but now Samael peppered tender kisses along her jaw and down her throat, darting his tongue against her neck.

  The angel was dizzy with joy, overwhelmed by sensation as he kissed her. He lapped at her collarbone, at the neckline of her shift, back up the sensitive curve of her throat until her skin was slick from his mouth. Her arms had fallen around his shoulders, and now she wrapped her fingers in his curling black hair and held him as he kissed her, held him and urged him to do more.

  He obliged, moving back up her neck, nuzzling her, working his way to her earlobe. He nipped her there, a gentle sting that she felt echo in the tips of her breasts, at the apex of her thighs.

  She’d never felt such an awakening within her own body before. Even in Heaven, dancing among her brethren, she had never felt such an individual awareness. It was a heady feeling, one that left her breathless and eager.

  Samael must have been encouraged by her reaction, because he continued to tease her ear with his lips and tongue and teeth. He sucked on her lobe; he traced the delicate shell; he blew softly over her moist skin, and she shiv
ered, delighted. One of his hands left her back so that he could play with her other ear, his fingers mimicking the movements of his mouth.

  She groaned—and she was abashed by the base sound. She was an angel, created to bask in the sun-drenched Sky. She was not supposed to moan like a creature of clay or coal. She…

  …threw her head back as Samael’s tongue did something that sent sparks through every part of her body. She floated, her eyes closed and mouth agape, lost in spiraling pleasure. Her pride gave way, kiss by kiss, as the Angel of Death seduced her.

  His fingers slid up her waist, drunkenly slow, driving her mad as they skimmed her. Up went his hands, over her arms, until his fingers were entwined in hers. He moved her arms up until they were high over her head, and then he teased his way back down her limbs, his fingers like sparks along her skin, his mouth working along her neckline. He kissed her and kissed her, just above the swells of her breasts, and his hands moved like water over her stomach. Her garment was thin, filmy, and did little to mask the feeling of him stroking her along the smooth skin of her belly.

  And then his hands moved up.

  He fondled the underswells of her breasts, moving gently, tracing their curves. Every touch seemed to set her on fire from within, maddening her. He cupped her, squeezing lightly, and she writhed in his grasp. His fingers dusted over her erect nipples, and she gasped, first in shock, and then again from the flood of sensations bombarding her. And still he kissed her, chest and neck and jaw, until his mouth was on hers again. He kissed her as his hands played along her body, and she breathed him in.

  “I would see you naked, pretty cherub,” Samael said, his voice husky. “Will you unclothe yourself for me?”

  She opened her eyes—and oh, her eyelids were so heavy, as if arousal weighed them down—and saw hunger in his green gaze, one that hinted of overwhelming wants and needs. That hunger was tamed, yes; he was Lucifer, now called Samael, and he had millennia to practice his control. But the angel saw that hunger gnawing at him, flecking his eyes with golden power, and though part of her quaked to be so close to such a creature, another part, a deeper part, was drawn to him, to that hunger, that desire.

  The angel blushed and smiled and nudged herself out of his grasp. Hovering in the skies outside of Heaven, still held aloft by his power, she willed her garment away. Naked, she floated before him, her head tilted down so that her hair flowed over her shoulders and primly covered her breasts. Her hands were clasped demurely beneath the curve of her belly, modestly concealing her sex.

  She still smiled, although the heat of the moment had faded with her clothing, leaving her flesh cool and her passion dimming. Before being sent to Hell, she had never given her appearance any thought; she simply was who and what she was—a nameless cherub, content to bask in Heaven’s Light and dream of one day earning a name. But she had since spent months in the service of the Pit, and with that service came the knowledge that her time there had changed her. She was a banished angel, bound to Hell, where she was constantly subjected to the appetites of sin, forced to stand witness as demons caroused and the damned screamed for mercy. In the face of all that ugliness, how could she remain unscathed?

  How could Samael look upon her and see anything other than one touched by Hell?

  Insecurity gnawed at her as she looked up at the archangel. Silently, she awaited judgment.

  His gaze roamed her body, exploring, lingering as if to memorize her every feature. As he drank in her form, Samael’s mouth curved in a sensual smile. “I’ve seen stars born,” he said, his voice a low rumble that echoed through her. “I’ve witnessed the dawn of humanity itself and have gazed upon works of art that make even celestials pause to admire them.” Samael reached out to touch the angel’s flushed cheek. “And I swear by my name, given to me by God Above, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

  Her lip trembled, and though his words made her unspeakably happy, tears welled in her eyes. She stammered, “Thank you…”

  “Oh, no, lovely Angel. Do not thank me for your beauty.” His hand flowed down, skimming her neck, her shoulder, stopping just above her breast. “It is I who thank you.”

  Her voice breaking, she said, “For what?”

  “For trusting me.” He touched her bare breast, cupped it reverently, and flicked his thumb over her nipple.

  That movement—the feeling of his flesh on hers—was enough to overwhelm her. He touched her, and that touch rippled through her, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. He touched her again, slower now, and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to succumb to that wave. Both hands were on her now, flowing over her breasts, stroking her erect nipples, and she arched back, supported by his power and his passion.

  She was sinking backward, slowly, until she came to rest on a bed of clouds. The mix of sensations—the damp chill along her back and bottom and legs, the steady heat building within her—made her gasp. And then his mouth was on her nipple, and now she cried out—first a moment of surprise and then again in sheer bliss.

  His mouth, his lips, suckling her; his tongue, lapping at her…she had never experienced anything like this before. This was no mere pleasure—that would be to dismiss water as merely being wet. This was instant gratification that bordered on sinfully addictive. This was drowning in air. This was feeling with senses that had never before felt.

  This was rapture.

  The angel writhed beneath him, tossing her head as he licked her and kissed her and gently, so very gently, nipped at her. He worked slowly, teasingly, wetting her and heating her with his mouth, coaxing moans of pleasure from her lips. She no longer worried about the base sounds she was making. She no longer worried, or even thought. She simply reacted.

  And she enjoyed.

  Now his hands moved sinuously, down her taut belly and around her back until one hand was just over the feathery hair dusting her sex and the other hand caressed her bottom. He sucked her nipple once more, plumping it with his lips, and then he broke suction. The cool air both teased her and maddened her, and she opened her eyes to see him poised over her, smiling down at her.

  Such beautiful eyes; such a sensual mouth. She gazed upon Samael and felt something in her chest tingle.

  “Angel, I wish to touch you more intimately.” His fingers danced along her abdomen, sending tiny shocks between her legs. “I wish to feel you, here.” Now his hand rested over her sex—not quite touching, but still close enough that she felt him on her.

  And she realized she wanted to feel him in her.

  “May I touch you here, pretty cherub?”

  Her voice gruff with desire, she said, “Touch me.”

  And so he did. Just one finger, at first, sliding tentatively between her legs, over first one lip and then the other, moving front to back, and then back to front. Each touch made her shiver, and as he stroked her again languidly up and down, she began to pant. With his other hand he caressed her bottom, squeezing her, and then tracing the cleft between her cheeks, his long fingers stroking, reaching, probing.

  Just as she thought she could not experience any more pleasure without simply bursting, Samael bent his head to her breast again and sucked.

  The angel let out a trill of delight, a sound that was musical and completely joyous, an erotic ode to love. Samael, perhaps in answer to her call, slid a finger deep inside of her.

  She cried out again, bucking her hips. She flowed beneath him, her body moving in time with his hands, her head rocking back and forth. Something inside of her was building—a rising heat, a growing pressure, something she couldn’t quite name and couldn’t begin to control. It yawned within her like a beast awakening, making her nipples and sex tingle.

  This feeling, this arousal…this overwhelming want filled her. With a sound that was almost a growl, she threaded her fingers through his curly hair and clasped his head to her breast, urging him to do more, more.

  He kissed one breast and then the other, attending her nipples with his tongue
and teeth and lips. He explored within her until she was slick with need, and then he kissed his way down her belly, making her skin glisten with his kisses. Perched over her sex, he said gruffly, “I would kiss you here, Angel.”

  “Kiss me,” she commanded.

  The feeling of his mouth between her legs was enough to drive her wild. And when his tongue slid over her, she let out a cry to rock the skies. He kissed her and kissed her again, licking between her lips. He spread her wide with his fingers and probed her with his tongue. He tasted her; he savored her. He feasted, flowing with her as her hips rocked up and down, up and down. They moved, sinuous, the archangel nudging the angel closer and closer to ecstasy.

  “Let yourself go,” he urged between his strokes. “Let…yourself…go.”

  And as he kissed her again, right there in that spot that electrified her, she let herself go. The pressure that had been building inside of her erupted, rocking her to her core. The angel shouted, rapturous, delirious as her body trembled and clenched, trembled and clenched. This feeling was like none other—it was losing herself and finding herself all at once. It was glorious.

  The aftershocks slowly ebbed, and she relaxed, feeling dazed and wonderful and so very happy.

  “Beautiful Angel,” Samael murmured, “you taste divine.”

  She let out a content sigh, and she smiled up at him. He was perched over her, propped on one elbow, his smile one of satisfaction, with just a hint of wickedness. His green gaze shone brightly, like spring grass after a rainstorm. She reached up to touch his cheek. It was warm, and smooth, and as she touched him she knew what she wanted next.

  “Show me your body, Samael. I would see the one who loved me.”

  He arched a dark brow, and the note of wickedness in his smile was momentarily muted by surprise. “Oh? Where is the shy and retreating cherub whom I found dolefully staring at the gates of Heaven?”

  “She is far too relaxed to be shy or retreating,” the angel answered boldly. Then, more hesitantly, she asked, “Will you do this for me? Will you unclothe yourself for me, as I have for you?”