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My body arches up into him, tension pulling at my belly, butterflies erupting as my fingers dig into his arms. I’m so freaking close, and I think he’s going to let me have it this time.
But he sees it, and he grips my throat again, a warning echoing from his lips like a thunderbolt. “No.”
My body doesn’t get the memo. Before the word even fully leaves his lips, the orgasm tears through me violently, stealing all of my senses. Seconds pass as starbursts alight behind my eyelids, static fills my ears, and I can do nothing but convulse around him.
It isn’t until I hear the muttered curse that I realize what I’ve done.
“Goddammit,” he groans, thrusting deeply as his own body unleashes.
I blink open my eyes, still half-disoriented, to see his head tilted back, lips parted, as he purges himself inside of me. He’s a beautiful terror, this man. It’s undeniable at the moment. I hate him, but even I can admit this is a sight to behold. The notion that I could have such power over a man—a Delacroix at that—is almost surreal.
But just as I suspected, it doesn’t last.
After a minute, he returns to his senses, opening his eyes to glare down at me. “That makes two,” he says.
“Two what?”
“Two times you’ve disobeyed me already.”
I shrug half-heartedly, not even remotely sorry for it.
He pulls out, his gaze moving over the small amount of virgin blood on his cock with a twisted sense of satisfaction before he drags his attention back to my face.
“Don’t think I’m not keeping score, Little Witch.”
11
AZRAEL
Strands of deep red hair curl over my pillow, and I take in the sight of her. Her expression is soft, sleepy, sated. She stretches like a cat, and I find my gaze moving over the length of her properly, slowly, wanting to have her again.
She arches her back, twisting away as she yawns.
I chuckle.
Her eyelids fly open.
“Sleepy?” I ask, smiling as I capture her wrists to keep her arms above her head. She’s on guard in an instant, and I loosen my grip. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The look on her face says she doesn’t believe me, and I recall her words of earlier.
“I’m giving myself to you freely. All I’m asking is that you don’t… hurt me.”
I wonder what she was expecting, exactly. I can’t blame her for anticipating the worst.
“Relax, Willow,” I say and allow my gaze to drift from her face. She’s lovely, my bride, her body made as if to fit mine.
And she’s inked. I’m not sure why it surprises me, but I like it. I brush my knuckles over the valley between her breasts and her nipples tighten in response to my perusal.
Yes. Made for me, my bride.
I trace the phases of the moon inked into her pale skin, listening to her intake of breath as I do. When I slide my fingertips over her taut belly, down to the neat little triangle of darker red hair between her legs, she twists but doesn’t quite pull away. She gasps when I tug on those hairs. I move my fingers to the snake curving up her hip, trace the outline of its body. With a glance into her bright blue eyes, I return my attention to that mound of hair and open her legs to see the smear of semen and blood on her thighs, on my sheets.
A groan sounds from inside my chest. A sense of satisfaction to see my mark on her washes over me. To know she’s only ever been and will only ever be mine.
Releasing her arms, I bow my head over her belly.
“What are you doing?” she asks, half sitting up, her voice panicked. Her fingers grip handfuls of my hair as my tongue draws a line between her belly button and her sex, licking the length of her pussy, wanting to taste her. “Azrael!”
I do it again, taking my time and pushing her thighs apart to see her fully. She’s beautiful. Perfect. And her taste, her virgin blood, her come mixed with my own, fuck, it does things to me.
“Oh God!” Her hands turn to fists in my hair.
I look up to find her up on her elbows, her closed eyes, her hair wild over her shoulders. “Not God, but close,” I tell her, climbing up to my knees. I roll her slightly on her hip and smack her ass once more before getting out of the bed.
“Hey! Ow.” She turns to watch me, rubbing her ass cheek. My handprint is a prominent pink. Good. “You can’t start something and not finish it.” She sits up, gathers the blankets around herself.
“You already came without my permission. Besides, I wasn’t starting something. I simply wanted to know how you taste.” I turn my back, pull Isaiah’s ring off my finger, and open the nightstand drawer.
