endings, rushed through my blood and burst in my mind as his girth stretched me just on the right side of painful. Filled. I was so deliciously filled. Savoring the incredible sensation, I threw my head back and closed my eyes.
“Still want me to keep my hands to myself?” His voice was an erotic thrum, his power licking over my skin.
“Hell no.”
A pleased growl. “Good answer.”
His hands were on my breasts the next second, and I arched into his touch. Squeezing and massaging, he lavished his attention on my curves as I started riding him, sliding up and down his cock. I tilted my hips on the downward glide to hit the spot just so. My fingers curled into his chest. Pleasure built in my core, my breathing turning ragged.
His mouth on my breast, teeth closing on my nipple. Electric heat licked right over my clit. I grabbed his neck, desperate for purchase in the storm that hovered, ready to sweep me away. His energy wrapped around me, suffused me, until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
This. I’d needed this. To lose myself in him. Feel my desire mirrored in his own, consume him as he consumed me.
“Azazel,” I whispered hoarsely, my hands in his hair, my mouth seeking his.
“Here,” he murmured against my lips. “I’m right here.”
He met my kiss with fissures in his composure, letting me see, feel, taste the naked, raw, unbridled need within him. For me.
Me.
My breath shuddered, something hard inside me cracking open.
His fingers tangled in my hair, pulled my head back to expose my throat, and then his teeth were on my neck, the sharp prick of his fangs teasing the skin over my racing pulse as he bucked to meet my hips in a rhythm of primal urgency.
He uttered a word, half feral and choked with the kind of need that shook me to my core, and it took me a moment to understand what he’d rasped. “Zoe.”
I shattered. A crescendo of bliss and deep, open vulnerability wrapped in pleasure, and when he followed me right over the edge, his wings erupted from his back with a deafening whoosh, the flame-licked onyx enveloping us both.
When I woke up what felt like hours later, I blinked against the semi-darkness, expecting to see the faint outline of my own room. Much like the first night I’d spent with Azazel, I fell asleep right in his arms, and I fully expected he’d later deposited me back in my own bed, as he’d done before.
Not this time.
His scent wrapping around me like a sensual blanket, Azazel lay behind me, my back to his chest, his skin against mine the sweetest brand. The silken sheet covering me and him was so incongruously warm and heavy, like a weighted, heated blanket. I sighed, snuggled further into him, and pulled the sheet more snugly around me—and stilled.
“Try not to dislocate my wing,” came Azazel’s sleepy murmur.
My eyes shot wide. Flexing my fingers against the silky brush of feathers, I uttered a muffled squeak and yanked my hand back. “Sorry!”
He harrumphed and shook out his wing, then settled it over me again. “You’re wiggly.”
“I can always go sleep in my own bed.”
With a sound I liked to interpret as a contemplative growl, he snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. Splaying his hand possessively over one of my breasts, he squeezed. “No.”
I pressed my thighs together against the tingle of arousal and smiled into the darkness.
Chapter 17
“So today went better,” Azmodea said, her voice muffled.
I turned my head to look over to where she lay face-down on the table, her auburn hair spilling out over the towel as the female demon massaged her exposed back.
I scoffed. “Because I only died twenty times instead of thirty?”
“It’s an improvement.”
Yeah, right.
The second female demon was currently kneading my calves, and I flinched with each deep tissue stroke. Practice today had left my muscles particularly sore.
I still didn’t know how Azazel managed to convince me to start combat training. I dimly remembered it might have something to do with a promise made under sensual torture involving wicked fingers and a skillful tongue.
A promise I regretted every day since.
There was a reason I’d never joined any competitive sports. I hated any form of ball games, mostly because my face seemed to attract said balls like an industrial strength magnet yanked metal close. I didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the times I came home from school with a