Now. He needed to have her now.
Shuddering in anticipation, he guided himself inside her slick channel. He filled her, but she filled him too, with her scent, her warmth, her very essence. It was as if she was the only female in the universe, wiping out everyone else he’d been with in the past. She was suddenly his everything.
He wished they had time to do this right, but aside from the fact that they were inside a box that could open up into the middle of Satan’s army, the option to go slow had been forfeited when Harvester decided to turn her hand into a fallen-angel-powered sex toy.
Lunging, he seated himself to the hilt, lifting her off the ground with the force of his thrust. They both shouted at the intensity of their joining, and then, in a mindless frenzy, he drilled into her. The slap of flesh on flesh joined her cries of pleasure, the wet, erotic sounds taking him higher and higher.
“I didn’t… order you… to do it… this, oh, yes… way.” Harvester spoke between moans and panting breaths.
He was close. So close. “Orders aren’t my strong suit,” he rasped.
The truth was that after what he’d done to her as Yenrieth, the last thing she needed was for him to see her at a time when she was the most vulnerable, those fleeting moments when pleasure took away the capacity to defend yourself or guard your emotions.
He wouldn’t take that from her.
He wouldn’t take anything from her ever again. But from this point on, he’d give her whatever she wanted. Which was easy, because what she wanted right now was an orgasm.
“Ask, and you shall receive,” he murmured into the thick mane of hair at the nape of her neck.
“I won’t ask,” she moaned. “I can’t.”
Closing his eyes, he stopped moving and just held her, his c*ck pulsing inside her, so close to cl**ax that if she clenched he’d be done.
“You don’t need to.” He released her wrists and slid his palm down her arm, a slow caress over her perfect skin. Inhaling her warm clove scent, he nuzzled the back of her neck, a graceful, feminine place that was often neglected. The hitch in her breath told him she liked it as much as he did. “I won’t fight you anymore, Harvester.” He pulled back so his shaft was almost free of her molten core before plunging deep again. They moaned in unison. “I’ll never give you a reason to not trust me.”
“I’ll never trust you,” she croaked.
“That’s okay.” He pumped his h*ps again, shuddering at the rasp of his flesh against hers. “You don’t have to.”
Harvester’s fingernails raked the stone, scoring it with thin gray lines. “Stop it.” She inhaled a ragged breath. “Just stop it.”
Not happening. He sensed that they were at a tipping point, a critical place that would determine the course of their relationship forever. He’d hated her for so long, desired her at the same time, and it was time to stop the game of Ping-Pong they were both playing with their emotions.
If it took Harvester longer to catch up, he’d wait.
He pumped into her slowly, showing her with each stroke that he could take care of her without the brutality she was no doubt used to. That she probably expected from him.
“Fuck me hard.” She pushed back against him, her insistent grinding motion making him suck air. “Damn you, stop with the slow, tender shit. I don’t want it, you haloed bastard.”
Clenching his teeth and conjuring the least sexy things he could in his mind—hellhounds… so not sexy—he slowed even more.
He kissed a blazing trail to her ear. An overwhelming need to hold her, protect her, make her his washed over him. Oh, claiming Harvester wouldn’t be easy or, likely, smart. But this was a second chance for both of them, and this time, he wouldn’t let them fail.
“I told you to stop it!” Her nails grated on the stone. Tendrils of smoke drifted up from the score marks.
He thrust again, and ripples of pleasure hummed down his shaft to his balls. “No.”
“Stop!”
Another thrust. Faster. Harder. More ripples that made him groan. “Come.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Harvester cried out, her tight sheath clenching around him and pulling him so deep he cried out himself as he grasped for control. “I. Hate. You.”
“Come, dammit,” he said into her ear as he rocked into her in a wild tempo that vibrated the walls around them. “Make me spill everything I have into you. Only you. You’ll have all the power, Verrine.”
That did it. She shouted both a curse and a prayer, her body tightening and jerking under him. Ecstasy engulfed him and he came violently in a flash of blinding light.
And just as she’d scored the wall, she’d scored his soul. Again.
He felt it, the mark she’d left thousands of years ago, and it was almost as if nothing had changed. She’d marked him back then, but he’d been too f**king stupid to know.
This time, she’d marked him but she didn’t know.
Twenty-Two
Thank you, wall.
Harvester kept repeating her mantra of gratitude as she leaned against said wall, its cool stone easing her fever and lending much-needed support. No way would her shaky legs hold her up if she wasn’t sandwiched between Reaver and the rock surface.
God, that had been good. Amazing.
And devastating.
Reaver hadn’t followed her orders. Instead, he’d taken over and gave her not what she wanted but what she needed. Somehow the bastard had known she was trying to protect herself, trying to keep her emotions at bay, and like the son of a bitch he was, he’d been patient and kind. And beneath the sexual intensity, there’d been a tenderness that would bring her to tears if she thought about it.
I’ll never give you a reason to not trust me.
What kind of shit was that? Why would he say that? The only reason she’d survived as long as she had was because she learned to not trust anyone. Trust got you killed. Or worse, it got you tortured.
Some quack human psychologist would probably say that her inability to trust started before she was even born, when her father rose up against the other archangels and started an insurrection. If he’d truly cared about her and her mother, he wouldn’t have done that, right?
But according to him, he’d done it for her. For her mother. And she’d actually believed him. Over the course of her time spent in Sheoul, he’d told her how the other archangels plotted against him because he had been recognized in the womb as a potential Radiant, the most powerful of all angels. He’d told her he’d loved her mother, even though their mating had been arranged in hopes of producing another potential Radiant.
It hadn’t, but he’d told Harvester that he’d loved her from the moment of conception, and that he wished he’d have been there for her birth.
And then, on the day she’d needed him to prove everything he’d said was true, he’d branded her a traitor and sentenced her to an eternity of the most unimaginable torture he and his minions could devise.
So, okay, she had trust issues. And daddy issues. And probably some new issues with sharp objects.
“Harvester?” Reaver slapped his palms on the wall and pushed off her so she wasn’t squashed, but he didn’t withdraw from her body the way he had when he’d taken her virginity.
Where are you going?
As far away from you as I can get.
Thrusting the painful memories aside, she sighed. “What?”
“We should get dressed.”
She’d expected Reaver to ask if she was okay, or to maybe apologize, so his casual, common-sense suggestion threw her, and she laughed.
“I guess we should.”
He combed through her hair with his fingers, a silly gesture that was somehow more intimate than anything they’d just done. Tingling warmth washed over her, and her stupid heart did a fluttery little jig. This was that sappy, cuddly moment all the romance books and girl magazines waxed on about, wasn’t it? Not that she read those things, but one couldn’t avoid the chatter from women with overactive ovaries.
Dammit, this whole thing had gone terribly wrong. Or terribly right, she realized. She’d released him from the deal they’d made, and he’d proved she was right to do it.
He’d wanted to have sex with her. And he hadn’t kicked her to the curb yet, so that was something.
But that didn’t mean she fully trusted him, and she needed to keep in mind that with the exception of her mother, everyone she’d ever known had disappointed her.
“Are we getting dressed or what?” she snapped.
Reaver sighed, and his hand fell away. She felt an instant pang of regret for ruining the moment. When he withdrew from her body, the pang got worse.
She heard the rustle of clothing as he got dressed, and in the dark silence, she did the same. Once clothed, they stared at each other.
“Well, this is awkward,” she said, and he laughed. God, he was gorgeous when he did that. Everything about him just… glowed.
Glowed… shit. He was throwing light like a nuclear power plant, and she hadn’t even noticed. The overwhelming hatred that usually came with his angelic aura didn’t bother her either.
“Reaver, you’re glow—”
The black box fell away, and in a flash of light, they were dropped into another realm. A realm where everything was dreary and gray, even the massive pyramids that sat atop an ocean of sand.
“Oh, f**k,” she breathed, as a crushing wave of evil swallowed her whole.
“What is it?”
She glanced over at him and drew in a sharp breath. His aura was gone, confirming her suspicion about their location; in this realm, there was no light except for the ever-present hazy luminescence that kept the realm in a constant state of blah.
She wondered if she should sugarcoat what she was going to say. But screw it; she’d never sugarcoated anything in her fallen angel life.
“Remember how I said the Boregate knows where you need to go?”
“Yeah… and we need to get to the human realm. This isn’t it.”