Slowly, I spun.
The darkness glittered, candles burning on every surface, casting miniature pools of light on the scattering of crimson rose petals sprinkled over Jarod’s rug and bed.
His arms came around my waist and pulled my back into his front. “Is this romantic enough for you?”
My throat tightened with emotion. “Who—how—”
“Didn’t notice Muriel was missing throughout most of the meal?”
My embarrassment was on par with my enchantment as I took in her handiwork. I orbited back in the cage of his arms and covered his jaw in kisses, my heart puffing like a soufflé. He chuckled at my enthusiasm but then stopped chuckling when his face came away wet with my tears.
This man. “Will you ever cease to amaze me, Jarod Adler?”
He kissed my lids with such tenderness that my pulse turned molten and my skin began to gleam. “I’ll never cease to amaze you if you never cease to glitter for me.”
I nodded again, my hair rushing around my face.
“Fuck, if you’re not the most magnificent being I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“I’m just a woman. With wings.”
He cradled my face. “My woman with wings. My angel. Ma plume.” His feather.
He crushed his mouth to mine, and then his hands slid down my neck, shoulders, and arms, coming to rest on my hips. Slowly, he started to tug on the fabric of my dress, sliding it up my thighs. When his fingers grazed my bare skin, he broke the kiss. “You weren’t wearing underwear?”
“I ran out of clean ones,” I said, watching his pupils dilate.
“Fuck . . . me. I would’ve cut dinner short if I’d known. Fuck . . .” His gravelly whisper increased the glow of my skin. “Arms up, baby.”
I raised my arms, and he slid the dress up my body and over my head. I almost moaned with relief as my skin broke free from the unpleasant contraption. “Whoever sewed this dress should be forced to wear it,” I muttered.
Jarod laughed softly. “I’ll be sure to pass this on to”—he read the label—“Hervé Léger, at the same time I tell him how much I enjoyed how it embraced your extraordinary assets.”
I reconsidered my aversion to the dress . . . Concessions could be made, I thought, as I began to slide my shoes off.
“Keep them on, Feather.” His timbre seemed to have dropped a full octave. “And bring out your wings.”
I made them appear, and then I stretched them out as though I were winging Jarod. My skin had stopped smoldering, but my silver wings took over, shimmering in the candlelight. Jarod’s eyes ran over my flesh and feathers with unprecedented hunger.
“Your turn,” I said, tipping my chin toward his shirt and dress pants.
He didn’t move for so long I worried my words hadn’t reached him. But then, he unbuckled his belt, tossed it to the floor, and unbuttoned his shirt. He sank onto the cowhide lounger I abhorred and unlaced his shoes. He let them clatter against the floorboards, then dragged off a pair of royal blue socks. Shrugging out of his shirt, he stood up, unhooked his pants, and flung them off. His black briefs vanished next.
Unlike at the spa, I let my gaze travel over every dip and sinew, every sharp edge and honed muscle, every curl of dark hair that adorned his body. I took a step closer and ran my hand over his chest, through the soft hair that vibrated with his heartbeats, across his small, hardened nipples, then followed the trail down the seam of his ribs across his belly button that juddered when my fingertip dipped inside.
Years of warnings stilled my hand. I pushed out the Ophanim’s voices, pushed out the rest of the world, as I lowered my hand to the part of him that stretched hard and proud toward me.
Jarod sucked in a sharp breath when my fingers closed over him, and then he shuddered as I dragged my fingers gently along his silky length until I reached the tip that glistened with a shiny bead of lust.
When I swirled it with my thumb, he groaned, “Feather.”
I glided my hand back toward the root of his shaft, and his muscles bunched and spasmed. On my way back toward the tip, Jarod snatched my hand off him and scooped me up. My hands came around his neck as he crossed the room toward his bed.
He tossed me atop the mattress, bruising the dusting of petals, and looked me over with the ferocity of an untamed beast who’d cornered his kill. Even though the velvet edges of the petals pricked my backside, I could feel little else than my sinner’s eyes. The sultry fragrance of roses churned around us, blending with the fig and musk scent coming off Jarod. Never—not even during the best meals—had my senses all been awakened at the same time.
After he climbed over me, I locked the heels he’d asked me to keep on around the backs of his legs. His wet tip glided over my soft stomach, then a little higher before slipping back down and settling heavily between my thighs.
As Jarod kissed his way up my neck, the pulse that ignited in my core rivaled the throbbing in my chest. He moved his body against mine again but didn’t breach my walls. Instead, he rose to his knees and tugged on my hand as he dropped against the mattress and rolled me onto him.
Jamming a pillow behind his head, he seized my waist and forced the body I kept hovered over his down until we were aligned. “Spread your wings for me, Feather.”
I stretched my wings, purring when his fingers grazed their undersides, and my body dropped another inch, sheathing just the tip of him between my folds.
“You set the pace, baby. You’re in control.” His obsidian gaze didn’t stray off my heavy-lidded eyes.
Pressing my palms into his chest, I lowered myself another inch, gasping. He stroked my wings faster, and the pain was superseded by a growing, billowing heat. I closed my eyes and took more of him in, feeling as though he would soon reach the end of me. My wing bones tensed as the pleasure building within them began to sizzle and crackle like the candle wicks burning all around us.
Inhaling a lungful of rose and fire, I lowered myself without stopping, hissing as he stretched and reshaped me. “Jarod,” I gasped.
“Look at me, Feather.”
I pried my weighted lids up.
His jaw and brow were taut, as though he were also in pain, as though he was experiencing what my breasts and ass had been subjected to throughout dinner.
As he ran his palm over the bottom edge of my wings, I asked, “Does it hurt?”
He laughed, and it softened all the hard lines of his face. It also made the part of him buried inside my body vibrate, sending renewed shards of pleasure and pain coursing through my core.
Sobering up, he said, “You’re in pain, though.”
Before he could suggest we stop, I lifted my body a few inches and slid him back inside. The vein in his neck jumped, and his fingers tightened on my feathers as though he were about to pull them out.
I did it again.
And again.
And his hands matched my rhythm, replacing every speckle of pain with sparks of pleasure. My skin began to warm, my spine to tingle, and my pliant walls to quiver, molding around his girth and length.
The slow build detonated, flooding every corner of my being with the sweetest darkness. My limbs turned to jam, my muscles blissfully liquefying around bones that felt as springy as marshmallows.
Jarod took over then and pumped into my limp body until a new heat bulleted into me, seeping and merging with my own, spreading everywhere. I knew it was physically impossible, but it felt like it shot straight into my heart.
Between pants and groans of pleasure, he pulled me down against him, kissing my mouth. His body spasmed anew, and he poured more of himself inside of me.
Playing with a lock of gelled hair that had abandoned ship, I soaked up his heat and smell, his taste and touch.
I would sell my soul for this man.
Maybe, I already had.
Chapter 48
I awakened the same way I’d fallen asleep—my ear drinking in Jarod’s heartbeats and his fingers caressing my shoulder.
As I stirred, he dropp
ed a kiss to the top of my head. I craned my neck and took in his jumble of dark locks that fell into his relaxed brown gaze.
“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured in a deep rumble that sent tiny bolts of pleasure straight into my toes. He shifted, tossing a handful of petals to the floor. “How many roses did Mimi skin?”
His wording made me grimace.
“I hope you’ll forgive me if, from now on, the only roses you get come in vases.” He kissed the tip of my nose, then extricated a petal from my hair, and flicked it away.
I smiled, then straightened my neck, running my fingers through the dark curls rising and falling with his breaths. “Thank you for last night.”
He gripped my wrist. “You did not just thank me for being a greedy asshole. I promised to let you set the pace but broke that promise almost as quickly as I came.” His exhales warmed my nose and lips. “How do you feel?”
Deliriously happy. Physically drained. Instead I said, “Stunned that the Ishim didn’t demand I hand over my wing bones.”
His lips curved slowly as he uncuffed me. “They’re either turning a blind eye or sex isn’t the heinous crime they made it out to be.”
“What if it’s because you’re part angel?”
“Then I owe my mother’s departed soul a fuckload of apologies.”
I flicked his biceps. “You have such a dirty mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone curse as much as you do.”
He grinned. “And to think I’m filtering the filth that comes out so as not to shock your pure ears.”
“Not so pure anymore,” I mumbled as he rolled on top of me and captured my lips in a searing kiss that made me think dirty was an inadequate adjective to describe his mouth, but suddenly, another thought tumbled over that last one, and my drooping eyelids flipped wide. “We forgot to use a condom!”
He trailed his mouth across my jaw. “I’ve had a vasectomy, so you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. And as far as diseases, I’ve never slept with a woman without a condom before.”
I blanched. “A vasectomy?”
He pressed up on his forearms. “It’s when—”
“I know what it is.” He was twenty-five, too young to make such a rash and significant decision. “Can it be reversed?”
“Possibly, but I have no desire to be a father.”
“You’re so young.”
He rolled off me and sighed. “I’m sorry if this is a deal breaker for you, Feather, but having kids, considering what I do, would be selfish and cruel.”
I wanted to shout at him to change what he did. Instead, I laid my cheek on the creased pillow and said, “It’s not a deal breaker, but one day, I might want to have children.”
Before, I would’ve imagined this wouldn’t have been an option, not if I chose to give up my wings, but his mother, a Nephilim, had had a baby, so maybe it wasn’t completely impossible.
“By that point, you’ll have grown tired of my Machiavellian ways or ascended and found yourself an angel worthy of filling your womb.”
My throat squeezed, and my eyes stung. “How can you say that? How can you even think it?” I turned onto my other side so he wouldn’t see the tears drip off my nose.
“Hey.” He dragged his fingers gently up and down my arm. When I pulled it away, bending it and burrowing it farther under the pillow, he scooted against me, curling his sleep-warmed body against my huddled form.
“Stop imagining me gone,” I said.
His palm settled on my stomach, and he pulled me closer.
“Tristan and Muriel never left you.”
“They should’ve.”
“But they didn’t.”
“Feather, I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t know how to keep you close.”
I turned around. “Just find a place for me in your heart. Even if it’s a cramped and dusky corner.”
His dark-brown irises eddied around his shrunken pupils. I worried I’d asked for too much, but he dipped his mouth to mine and whispered, “You already own more of it than I’ve ever given anyone.”
Chapter 49
“That looks nice,” Tristan said, leaning against the mirror outside my changing room, chewing on a toothpick, probably to temper his urge for a smoke.
I studied my reflection or what I could see of it with him standing in the way. When Jarod had enthusiastically announced Tristan would accompany Muriel and me, I’d swallowed back my desire to protest.
“Absolument pas.” Absolutely not. Muriel shook her head at the simple black sheath that didn’t do much for my curves besides swallow them whole. “Garbage bags are shapelier.”
The saleslady’s complexion pinked as though she felt personally responsible for the hapless cut of the garment. I went back into the changing room and traded the black sheath for a fitted emerald dress with a puffy tulle skirt that hit an inch above my ankles. After contorting my arms to zip up the corset top, I readjusted my breasts, hoping the neckline didn’t make me look vulgar, and stepped out, readying myself for the firing squad.
Muriel clapped, which made the saleslady next to her loose a relieved breath.
Tristan, on the other hand, wrinkled his nose. “Jarod won’t like that.”
Muriel scoffed. “My boy, go.” She flicked her hand toward the back of the store. “You’re being incredibly unhelpful.”
He heaved himself away from the mirrored wall and strolled down the long aisle of clothes fit for ballrooms and coronations.
“It’s stunning. We’ll take it,” Muriel said to the saleswoman.
“Are you sure?” I was trying to see what Tristan disliked about it. “It doesn’t make me look like an overgrown ballerina?”
Muriel rolled her heavily kohled eyes. “It does not.” As I retreated into the changing room, she trailed me inside and helped me with the zipper. “I don’t know what Tristan’s problem is today, but if he doesn’t snap out of it, I’m going to have words with Jarod.”
“Don’t.”
Muriel’s hands stilled at the bottom of the zipper. “I don’t like the way he’s acting.”
I turned, holding the dress up with my hands. “He just needs time to adapt.”
Her navy eyes drilled into mine. “Fine, I won’t say anything to Jarod, but I won’t promise not to have a conversation with Tristan.”
It was as good a compromise as I would get.
“Try these three last ones on, and then we’ll head to Valentino.”
I nodded, and she let herself out. I peeled the dress off and laid it on the leather upholstered bench next to my purple dress Muriel had laundered and ironed for me even though I hadn’t asked.
I wiggled into a tight black chiffon number with long see-through sleeves and tiny hook closures that fastened up the front. Before even stepping out, I knew Jarod would like it. A glimpse at the price tag made me grimace. I was tempted to pretend it didn’t fit, but knowing Muriel’s hawkish perspicacity, she would see right through my lie.
My lie, which would surely cost me a feather.
Tristan joined us at the register and paid in cash, handing over so many pink and purple bills guilt bubbled inside me anew. The two bodyguards Jarod had appointed to me for the day scooped up the shiny black shopping bags even though it seemed counterintuitive considering they’d been sent to protect me, not to carry around bags. But I’d learned after the first boutique that it was useless to insist on carrying my own purchases.
The store guard unlocked the doors, which he’d sealed shut during our shopping—every establishment had done the same. Even though it was to offer me privacy, it never ceased to make me feel uncomfortable when salesclerks escorted straggling customers out of the boutique so I could roam around undisturbed.
As Jarod’s bodyguards loaded the trunk of the black sedan in which they’d followed us, Muriel and Tristan walked me to the next store.
“I think I bought enough,” I said.
While I’d tried on clothes, Muriel had picked shoes and costume jewelry to
match each outfit.
Tristan snorted. “Jarod told me you’d say that. He also told me to spend all the cash he gave me, and you’ve barely put a dent into it.”
My eyelashes hit my browbone. I hadn’t tallied up every price tag, but I was pretty certain we’d spent close to thirty grand, which was insane.
Completely insane.
“Fine, but this is the last store, okay?” I mumbled.
Tristan opened the glass doors, then grabbed a saleslady and ordered her to clear the boutique. I feigned great interest in the pyramid-studded bag collection as disgruntled customers were funneled onto the street.
Muriel plucked a small red shoulder bag from the shelf. “We’ll take one in each size. Which colors would you like, ma chérie?”
“You choose.”
She picked out the colors and requested shoes to match. “Now, onto clothes.”
As we started down one aisle, another saleslady made her way to us, tucking a black shirt into a black pencil skirt as though she’d just gotten into work. “This is such an honor,” she gushed, pushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. A diamond solitaire, bigger than my thumbnail, glimmered on her ring finger. When I didn’t say anything, she added, “To serve l’amie of Jarod Adler.”
Muriel pushed a hanger with a sky-blue twinset into the girl’s arms.
A small “Oomph” flew through her parted lips as she clutched the outfit. “I’ll get a dressing room going.” She swiveled on boots that must’ve come from the store considering how fancy they were, embellished with the same pyramid-like rivets as the bags.
As Muriel pulled out almost every hanger on the first rack, I gazed out the store windows. One of the bodyguards had stayed outside and was corralling passersby. I was almost surprised no paparazzi had arrived or angry archangels for that matter.
I’d take paparazzi over Asher any day, though.
Feather (Angels of Elysium Book 1) Page 29