The Darkest Angel
Page 7“Don’t you like it?” she asked, smoothing her palms over her hips. Let the games begin.
“I—I—”
Like it, she finished for him. With the amount of truth that always layered his voice, he probably couldn’t utter a single lie.
“Your skin…it’s different. I mean, I saw the pearlesque tones before, but now…it’s…”
“Amazing.” She twirled, her gown dancing at her ankles. “I know.”
“You know?” His tongue traced his teeth as the anger she’d first suspected glazed his features. “Cover her,” he barked.
A moment later, a white robe draped her from shoulders to feet.
She scowled. “Return my teddy.” The robe disappeared, leaving her in the white lace. “Try that again,” she told him, “and I’ll just walk around naked. You know, like I am in the portraits.”
“Portraits?” Brow furrowing, he gazed about the room. When he spotted one of the pictures of her, sans clothing, reclining against a giant silver boulder, he hissed in a breath.
Exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for. “I hope you don’t mind, but I turned this quaint little cloud into a love nest so I’d feel more at home. And again, if you remove anything, my redesign will be a thousand times worse.”
“What are you trying to do to me?” he growled, facing her. His eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned, his teeth bared.
She fluttered her lashes at him, all innocence. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bianka.”
It was a warning, she knew, but she didn’t heed it. “I think it’s my turn to ask the questions. So where do you go when you leave me?”
“That is not your concern.”
Was he panting a little? “Let’s see if I can make it my concern, shall we?” She sauntered to the bed and eased onto the edge. Naughty, shameless girl that she was, she spread her legs, giving him the peek of a lifetime. “For every question you answer, I’ll put something on,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Deal?”
“I didn’t say what item of clothing I’d don, now did I?” She gave herself a once-over. “One shoe, please. White leather, high heel, open toe. Ties up the calf.” The shoe materialized on her foot, and she laughed. “Perfect.”
“A trickster,” Lysander muttered. “I should have known.”
“How did I trick you? Did you ask for specifics? No, because you were secretly hoping I wouldn’t cover myself at all.”
“That is not true,” he said, but for once, she did not hear that layer of honesty in his voice. Interesting. When he lied, or perhaps when he was unsure about what he was saying, his tone was as normal as hers.
That meant she would always know when he lied. Did things get any better than that?
This was going to be even easier than she’d anticipated. “Next question. Do you think about me while you’re gone?”
Silence. Thick, heavy.
Wait. She could hear him breathing. In, out, harsh, shallow. He was panting.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, grinning. “But since you really didn’t answer, I don’t have to add the other shoe.”
Again, he didn’t reply. Thankfully, he didn’t leave, either.
“Onward and upward. Are angels allowed to dally?”
“Yes, but they rarely want to,” he rasped.
So she’d been right. He didn’t have firsthand knowledge of desire. What he was now feeling had to be confusing him, then. Was that why he’d brought her here? Because he’d seen her and wanted her, but hadn’t known how to handle what he was feeling? The thought was almost…flattering. In a stalkerish kind of way, of course. That didn’t change her plans, however. She would seduce him—and then she would slice his heart in two. A symbolic gesture, really. An inside joke between them. Well, for herself. He might not get it.
Still, she couldn’t deny that she liked the idea of being his first. None of the women after her would compare, of course, and that—Hey, wait. Once he tasted the bliss of the flesh, he would want more. Bianka would have escaped him and stabbed him—and he would have recovered because he was an immortal—by then. He could go to any other female he desired.
He would kiss and touch that female.
“For?” she snapped back. Her hands were clenched, her nails cutting her palms. He could be with anyone; it wouldn’t bother her. They were enemies. Someone else could deal with his Neanderthal tendencies. But gods, she might just kill the next woman who warmed his bed out of spite. Not jealousy.
“I answered one of your questions. You must add a garment to your body. Panties would be nice.”
She sighed. “I’d like the other shoe to appear, please.” A moment later, her other foot was covered. “Back to business. Did you return so that I’d kiss you again?”
“No!”
“Too bad. I wanted to taste you again. I wanted to touch you again. Maybe let you touch me this time. I’ve been aching since you left me. Had to bring myself to climax twice just to cool the fever. But don’t worry, I imagined it was you. I imagined stripping you, licking you, sucking you into my mouth. Mmm, I’m so—”
“Stop!” he croaked out, spinning to face her. “Stop.”
His eyes, which she’d once thought were black and emotionless, were now bright as a morning sky, his pupils blown with the intensity of his desire. But rather than stalk to her, grab her and smash his body into hers, he held out his hand, fingers splayed. A fiery sword formed from the air, yellow-gold flames flickering all around it.
“Stop,” he commanded again. “I do not want to hurt you, but I will if you persist with this foolishness.”
That layer of truth had returned to his voice.
Far from intimidating her, his forcefulness excited her. I thought you didn’t like his Neanderthal tendencies.
Oh, shut up.
Bianka leaned back, resting her weight against her elbows. “Does Lysandy like to play rough? Should I be wearing black leather? Or is this a game of bad cop, naughty criminal? Should I strip for my body-cavity search?”
He stalked to the edge of the bed, his thick legs encasing her smaller ones, pressing her knees together. He was hard as a rock, his robe jutting forward. Those golden flames still flickering around the sword both highlighted his face and cast shadows, giving him a menacing aura.
Just then, he was both angel and demon. A mix of good and evil. Savior and executioner.
Her wings fluttered frantically, readying for battle—even as her skin tingled for pleasure. She could be across the room before he moved even a fraction of an inch. Still. She had trouble catching her breath; it was like ice in her lungs. And yet her blood was hot as his sword. This mix of emotions was odd.
If this progressed the way she hoped, he would be very happy about that one day. But she said, “Then let me go. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“And that will purge you from my mind? That will stop the wondering and the craving? No, it will only make them worse. You will give yourself to others, kiss them the way you kissed me, rub against them the way you rubbed against me, and I will want to kill them when they will have done nothing wrong.”
What a confession! And she’d thought her blood hot before…“Then take me,” she suggested huskily. She traced her tongue over her lips, slow and measured. His gaze followed. “It’ll feel sooo good, I promise.”
“And discover if you are as soft and wet as you appear? Spend the rest of eternity in bed with you, a slave to my body? No, that, too, will only make my cravings worse.”
Oh, angel. You shouldn’t have admitted that. A slave to his body? If that was his fear, he more than craved her. He was falling. Hard. And now that she knew how much he wanted her…he was as good as hers. “If you’re going to kill me,” she said, swirling a fingertip around her navel, “kill me with pleasure.”
He stopped breathing.
She sat up, closing the rest of the distance between them. Still he didn’t strike. She flattened her palms on his chest. His nipples were as beaded as hers. He closed his eyes, as if the sight of her, looking up at him through the thick shield of her lashes, was too much to bear.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she whispered. “I’m softer and wetter than I appear.”
Was that a moan?
And if so, had it come from him? Or her? Touching him like this was affecting her, too. All this strength at her fingertips was heady. Knowing this gorgeous warrior wanted her—her, and no other—was even headier. But knowing she was the very first to tempt him, and so strongly, was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
“Bianka.” Oh, yes. A moan.
“But if you’d like, we can just lie next to each other.” Said the spider to the fly. “We don’t have to touch. We don’t have to kiss. We’ll lie there and think about all the things we dislike about each other and maybe build up an immunity. Maybe we’ll stop wanting to touch and to kiss.”
Never had she told such a blatant lie, and she’d told some big ones over the centuries. Part of her expected him to call her on it. The other part of her expected him to grasp on to the silly suggestion like a lifeline. Use it as an excuse to finally take what he wanted. Because if he did this, simply lay next to her, one temptation would lead to another. He wouldn’t be thinking about the things he disliked about her—he would be thinking about the things he could be doing to her body. He would feel her heat, smell her arousal. He’d want—need—more from her. And she’d be right there, ready and willing to give it to him. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">