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“Azrael,” she says, voice husky as she reaches for me.
I strip off my shirt, buttons popping in my rush. Willow smiles and reaches for my belt, and in a few moments, I’m naked and lying on top of her, kissing her mouth as she wraps her legs around me. I cup her face, my gaze holding hers as I slowly, ever so slowly, push into her.
When her nails dig into my shoulders, I pause. “Willow?”
She looks up at me, eyelids half-closed, and bites her lower lip. “It’s good.” She tightens the wrap of her legs around my back. “More.”
I pull her closer, weaving a hand into her hair to keep her looking at me, to watch her eyes as I move inside her.
“I love you,” I say, wanting her to hear it again. “I love you, my Little Witch.”
“I love you, Azrael,” she says, a tear spilling out of the corner of one eye and sliding down over her temple. “I love you, too.”
I make love to my wife that morning. We both need it, this slow, deep love making. This closeness. It’s when we’re lying, spent, side-by-side, me staring up at the ceiling, Willow with her cheek on my chest, that I remember what she said earlier. I look down at her, all that red hair splayed over my chest and arm, covering the dark face of Shemhazai inked into my skin.
“Willow?”
She looks up at me. “Hm?”
“You said her.”
“What?”
“The baby. You said her.”
She smiles, her face still blotchy from tears, the delicate skin around her eyes pink, and still she looks like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“She’s a girl. I know.”
“How?”
“I just do.” She shrugs a shoulder just as there’s a knock on the door announcing room service. She sits up, energized. “Oh, just in time. I’m starving!” She jumps out of the bed and pulls my shirt on, buttoning one of the few remaining buttons on her way to the door.
“Willow, wait!” My heart leaps as I jump out of the bed, grabbing her arm to pull her away from the door. She’s startled as I pick my pants up off the floor and pull them on, buttoning the button before pushing her behind me and opening the door.
“Your breakfast, sir,” one of the IVI guards says.
I look at him, then behind him at the two attendants with rolling trays full of covered dishes.
“Thanks,” I say with an exhale, letting them push their carts in. I reach for my wallet as I take in their faces, wondering if they’re Disciples.
“If you can sign this, please,” the first man says, glancing nervously at the guards in dark suits, earpieces in place. The second man takes the lids off all the dishes.
I sign and tip them generously, usher them out, thank the IVI guard and close the door.
Willow is standing watching me, rubbing her arm. “Are you going to throw me out of the way any time I go to open a door now?”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I just panicked.” I go to her, look at her arm.
“It’s fine. I’m okay. I’m starving, actually,” she says, turning to the food just as her stomach growls loudly. She sits down at one of the chairs they pulled up to the rolling trays and serves herself French toast, pancakes, eggs, and fruit. She begins to eat with so much gusto that all I can do is watch. Stuffing a forkful of French toast into her mouth, she notices me looking at her. “Are you eating?” she asks around the mouthful.
“I’m afraid you’ll bite my fingers if I reach for anything.” I sit in the chair across from hers and continue to watch her.
“Nah. Vegetarian,” she jokes.
I smile.
“You know when we were little, Nan would bring us here on special occasions. We’d have afternoon tea and pretend to be proper young ladies.” I pour myself a cup of juice as she devours more food. “I wonder if they still have their special chocolate torte on the menu.”
“I’ll order it for you,” I say, getting up to look for the phone.
“No, it’s fine.”
“It’ll just take—”
“Azrael, it’s fine.” She comes up behind me, takes the phone from my hand and sets it back down. “Seriously, look at all this food.” She points to the not-so-small buffet.
“You have a point.”
“Besides,” she tilts her head as I wipe powdered sugar off the tip of her nose, “I should maybe pace myself.” She stands on tiptoe to kiss me deeply on the mouth, her lips sticky sweet, her tongue tasting like cinnamon. “Work off some of the calories,” she says, drawing me back toward the bed and pushing me to sit on it.
She strips off her shirt and lets me look at her again. I wrap my hands around her hips and tug her closer, flick my tongue over one nipple, then the other.
