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He couldn’t see the scars. How could he see them with how he was sitting?
He was tracing them from memory.
He had memorized me—all the lines of my body—as I had his. I had been dreaming of him. He haunted the corners of my mind every minute, and it seems I had done the same to him.
What could be so terrible that he’d turn me away again?
Was it me? Was I both the sin and the savior to him? Was I the temptation and the thing that disgusted him, where he wanted me but didn’twantto want me? I was tainted, broken, and scarred inside and out. I was the left behind, the betrayed, the forgettable, and an empty shell of a woman in a body he lusted after.
At least with this realization, I could feel myself growing numb again.
His arms tightened around me, and that only made it worse.
I shifted until he was inside me again. He was still hard, and I moved slowly, lowering my hips until he was fully seated within me, and we sighed together. He shuddered again as I lifted my hips, riding him gently, slowly, taking every inch of him inside me and almost all the way out again. As I felt my pleasure building, his grip on my shoulders became almost painful. He had his arms around me, bent at the elbow, and his hands resting on my shoulders, pulling me down onto him with each thrust.
As he increased the pace, I began bouncing on his lap. I took his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his, holding the kiss while I rode him. My thumbs grazed the slight stubble on his cheeks, his full lips moving against mine. When I opened my eyes and looked into his, I wanted to see them glazed with pleasure, intoxicated by me.
But there was still pain there, more than there had been before.
Pressing my cheek to his, I moaned as I clamped around him. Despite my heart shattering, the pleasure of him was undeniable. Not wanting him to see the tear I could feel running down my cheek, I kept my chin on his shoulder.
If this were to be the last time, then I’d make the most of tonight.
ZAQIEL
We fell asleep together after making love into the early hours of the morning. Even in my mind, I didn’t want to call it fucking—it sounded too crude for what it was—although we were more animal than not a few times. When she bent over in front of me, my hands trembled as I grasped onto her hips and penetrated her from behind. She fit so perfectly around me, and when she fell forward into the sheets, crying out as she came around my cock as I pounded her into the mattress, I almost forgot what I was on Earth for.
Because surely nothing was better than this.
I woke early to find her leg draped delicately across mine, one of her arms across my chest, and the other twisted underneath her. It looked uncomfortable, but the soft sound of her sleep that blew the hair from her face with every outward breath indicated otherwise. I kept my one arm around her, absentmindedly tracing the lines of her scars I knew so well with my fingertips, my other hand resting on top of hers on my chest.
She looked so peaceful.
Why did this have to hurt so much?
Angels, we were supposed to be pure. To be above lust and desire, to be unable to be seduced by money and power and the creature comforts people surrounded themselves with, but she was my ultimate weakness. A wilted flower I knew I could bring back to life because I could see the purity and light that still lived within her when we were so close, we were almost one.
This world had given up on and forgotten her, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
Or out of my heart.
She had destroyed me.
A bubble of anger was forming in my stomach, fueled by the warmth of her body next to mine. I had wanted to talk to her last night, but she had silenced me and turned me to sin again with her body I now knew so well. Every dimple and line, every scar and smooth curve—I could draw her form with my fingertips and my eyes closed. There was a battle raging inside me, and when I had wanted to get it out, to tell her what I was feeling and maybe even tell herwhythis was so hard for me, she hadn’t wanted to hear it.
Still, Evie slept, clinging to me as though she wanted me to stay.
And what if she did?
That just made it harder.
Because there were so many people who still needed protection. I had left Candy in my apartment to come here. She needed help, too, as did her brother if he was still alive. There was a young man in the apartment below mine fighting a drug addiction, and every time he’d get close, his dealer would show up at his door, and he’d fall to his knees and back into the cycle. I needed to remove the dealer from the equation, not kill him, of course, but only to get him away so this young man and many others could heal.
Perhaps put the fear of God into him.
My work here would never be done, and while people fought and starved and died, I was lying here, naked and worn out from having sex all night with someone who I should be protecting, no less than I should be protecting the others.
It wasn’t fair to be angry at her, I was angry at myself for allowing this situation to become so tangled and consume us both.
