“I am never going down on you again,” she threatened, chest heaving.
Laughter against her skin. What if I ask very nicely? With that, he began to move those knowing fingers in a rapid rhythm, bending his head to suck hard at her nipple at the same time ... before biting down with his teeth.
The orgasm rocked her so hard, she didn’t only see stars, she saw whole constel ations exploding in a flash of white-gold. It was glorious, leaving her a wreck. When she was able to lift her heavy eyelids at last, she found Raphael rising to strip off the rest of his clothes. The beauty of him struck her anew.
That body—powerful and dangerous, his cock a heavy thickness. Eyes of a blue as vivid as the mountain sky at noon. Wings that could take him above the clouds in an unrivaled burst of speed; the breadth of those wings was exceptional.
As she watched, he reached down, fisted his cock. Pumped once. Twice.
The embers in her body flared to smoldering life. This time, when she raised her arms in silent invitation, he came. No more teasing, no more words.
Her archangel pushed her thighs apart and took her with a hard, hot thrust that was an exquisite burn through flesh already swol en from the force of her first orgasm.
“Your mouth,” he said, and then he was taking that mouth as he moved his cock in and out of her in a demanding rhythm that had a rich, dark heat rol ing up over her body. This pleasure, it was primal and thick and visceral. It curled her toes, made her breasts swel , and the delicate flesh between her legs flush anew with a rush of blood.
She’d never felt so possessed, so indulged. The orgasm built slower, lasted longer, hit harder. But this time, she felt the scalding rush of Raphael’s own pleasure, heard her archangel’s powerful wings snap wide above her as the muscles in his back flexed and bunched.
Her thoughts splintered.
13
There was only pleasure, no assault of nightmare that night, but Elena was stil in no mood to speak to Jeffrey the next morning. “When am I ever in the mood?” she muttered as she landed in front of the tony town house guarded by metal gates on the eastern side of Central Park. She’d expected the meeting to be at his office at Deveraux Enterprises but had received a message an hour earlier moving things to this location.
It was a lovely home, as genteel and elegant as the woman who was Jeffrey’s second wife. The smal area of greenery around it—an incredible luxury in the middle of Manhattan—was landscaped with a graceful perfection that somehow didn’t cross the line into severity. Elena couldn’t fault Gwendolyn’s taste, for al that some smal part of her resented the woman for taking Marguerite’s place at Jeffrey’s side. But then, Marguerite wouldn’t have recognized the man her husband had become, so it was just as wel .
Walking up three shal ow marble steps with that hol ow realization ringing in her skul , she pressed the doorbel to her father’s home, a home she’d never been invited to, never been welcome in, until this moment. The bel echoed inside, as if the house was empty. A minute, then two, passed without footsteps. Ful y capable of believing Jeffrey had decided to leave her standing on the doorstep, she’d turned to head back down when the door was pul ed open.
She glanced over her shoulder, a cutting retort ready on her lips. It died the instant she met the composed blue eyes of the society beauty twenty years his junior whom her father had married one fal while Elena had been at boarding school. “Gwendolyn,” she said with a politeness Marguerite had drummed into her. She’d run into her father’s second wife once or twice over the years, but neither of them had made the effort to strengthen the relationship beyond a cool formality.
“Elena. Come in.”
Glad that Gwendolyn at least didn’t seem to insist on using her ful name, Elena walked in, conscious of the fact the other woman was studiously not staring at her wings. “I expected a maid,” she said, looking down the long foyer lined with smal , softly lighted cubbies that held what were no doubt priceless objects d’art.
“This is family business,” Gwendolyn said, tugging at the sleeve of her jewel green silk shirt.
Elena frowned, not at the words, but at the restless movement—Gwendolyn was one of the most “together” people Elena had ever come across. But now that she was paying attention, she saw that the other woman’s eyes were shadowed, smudges of purple marring the rich cream of her skin. “What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly realizing this might not be about Jeffrey playing power games after al .