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Rahvyn cried out again and arched up into his hand.
He couldn’t resist. Leading with his tongue, he licked at her—and was rewarded with her holding on to him as he sucked on her, treating her as she should be treated, making sure she knew who was doing her so right. Yet she seemed to know. There didn’t appear to be any confusion with what had happened to her before, and he was struck by her courage. He didn’t need the details to know the violation had hurt and traumatized her, but here she was, enjoying him while he enjoyed her.
She inspired him. And by her example, he felt himself separate even more from what had been done to him.
Rahvyn was his healing.
And at the same time she was his undoing in the best possible way—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Lassiter lifted his head from her breast and glared at the door. “No,” he snapped. “We’re not here.”
The voice that came through the panel was the last one he wanted to hear: “Too bad. We need to talk to you.”
Ah, Eddie, he thought as he squeezed his eyes shut with frustration. What perfect, piss-poor timing, you schmuck.
Knock. Knock.
“Lassiter, we’re in the break room. Let’s get this over with.”
He popped his lids and looked down at Rahvyn. She was fucking resplendent, a high flush to her cheeks, her lips swollen from his mouth, her nipples tight and hungry for more of the attention he wanted to give them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You should go speak unto them,” she replied at an equally low volume.
“See you in a minute down the hall,” Eddie announced on the far side of the door. “Or I’m going to pull up a chair and put my knuckles to use until they bleed.”
In the aftermath of what Lassiter assumed was the angel’s departure, he interviewed a variety of curses—and not as in swear words, as in actual hexes you could put on someone… many of which, if set into action, would have required Eddie to go to an ER. Stat.
Michael Scott’s voice went through his head: I got you both beat. I’m a proctologist, so I drive a brown Probe.
“I won’t be long,” he muttered.
Taking a last look at her breasts, he hovered his hand over her and summoned her clothing back—which felt like he was rewrapping a gift.
Rahvyn glanced down at herself and smiled. “Oh, you are a trickster indeed. And I shall wait for as long as you need.”
“Female,” he said as he got off the bed. “The last thing I want to do is make you wait—”
“Lassiter… you are phearsom.”
For a second, he had no idea what she was talking about. Then he caught the drift of where her eyes were and looked at himself.
Actually, the word was maybe “obscene.” Because his erection had punched one helluva tent in the front of the scrubs.
He covered himself. “Sorry—”
“Do not apologize for that.” Extending her arm, she said, “Before you go, may I touch you—”
Jerking his hips out of range, he double-palmed himself. “I’ll come.” Matter of fact, he was about to orgasm right now. Between her eyes and the pressure of holding himself, he was going to fucking lose it. “Like, I’m going to orgasm. Immediately.”
“Please. I just want to see, I want to watch—and you are short on time, are you not? So there is a convenience to alacrity, is there not?”
Well, put like that, it would almost be stupid not to.
“Rahvyn.” His capitulation was all over the syllables of her name. “If you’re sure.”
“I shall beg. If that shall further persuade you?” As his eyes bugged, she lowered her voice. “Please… Lassiter. Allow me to see you achieve your pleasure… please…”
She topped it all off with licking her lips, nice and slow.
As his eyes rolled back in his head, he stepped toward her. And when he didn’t feel her touch, he wondered if she had changed her mind.
As he opened his eyes, she smiled. “I thought you might want to watch. I know I liked witnessing you upon my breast.”
Oh… fucking hell.
Her hand was tentative as she reached forward—and then she made contact with his hypersensitive head. The sound he made was explosive, and his hips thrust, bumping him into her palm.
“I want to see,” she said roughly.
Lassiter covered his face with his arms. “You’re killing me, female.”
“I thought you were immortal, angel mine.”
“Not when I think—oh, fuck.”
Her fingers brushed against his lower abdomen as she freed the bow he’d tied in the front of the scrubs—and the friction of the loose cotton fabric was enough to drive him right to the edge. Then new torture showed up. The bump, bump, and shift of the waistband stretching over the length of him ground his molars.
After which his erection broke out.
“Ohhhh,” she sighed. As if she approved of what she’d found.
