Satan

by Jianne Carlo

  “Perfect.”

  He raised his arm, she ducked under, snuggled close to his side, and rested her cheek on his bare chest. She studied the new TV. “Is it hanging?”

  “Yep. Suspended on that track.” He pointed the remote in his hand at the ceiling. “It can be moved three feet forward or back.”

  “Nice.” She yawned.

  “Want to slip into one of my T-shirts?” He swept her hair to one side and kissed her neck. “I have this strong hunch you’re not going to see the end of the movie.”

  She stiffened. “I promise to try.”

  “Don’t bother to, sweet Angel. Not for me. I’m more than content. Here you go.” He handed her a black T-shirt.

  “There are times when your anticipating my every move irritates the stuffing out of me, but this isn’t one. Turn for a sec.” She motioned circles with a finger.

  “So cute. You’re shy. And you’re blushing again.”

  An audacious smile chased his lips, but he gave her the back of his head. She wriggled out of her clothes including her panties, tugged the shirt on, and lifted her hips to tuck the hem under her butt. The T-shirt was extra-long and reached her mid-thigh.

  “Ready.” She balled up her tights, tank, and sweater and panties, eyed the bench at the end of the bed, and tossed.

  “Bingo,” he said when the garments plopped onto the center of the bench. “We’ll have to do a one-on-one hoop contest.”

  She blew on her bent fingers. “Hate to tell you this, but I’m a nine out of ten gal.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed. We’ll have to come up with an interesting bet for that contest.” He hauled her close, draped one of her legs over his thighs, toed the sheets and comforter up, and draped the warm fabric around her waist. “Comfortable?”

  She craned her neck to study his expression. “Absolutely. Satan?”

  “Angel?” He smiled down at her.

  “Jess tried to set us up together a couple of weeks ago—did you know about that?” Would the chemistry between them have been the same on a blind date?

  “No. When was this?” She liked the three frown lines that dragged his bushy brows together.

  “Thanksgiving. She invited me to go with her and Devil to the Chapman’s. When I dropped out at the last minute, she told me why she wanted me to come. Apparently, you always celebrate the holiday with the Chapman family, but you didn’t this year.” Why was she babbling on about such trivia? She stifled a yawn.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Angel dozed off and on throughout the movie.

  Satan’s thoughts wandered to her last comment about Jess setting the two of them up. He had pissed off Gavin and Colleen Chapman, Sinner’s parents, royally by not showing up on Thanksgiving.

  But one of his informants had pinpointed Malik Mansoor’s location four days before the holiday, and he had jumped at the chance to take the terrorist out. He had been searching for Malik since his last tour in Afghanistan.

  His last deployment as an active SEAL ended in catastrophic disaster. Malik and his ISIS troops stormed the medical center, captured Farida, her father, brother, Satan, and two of his TEAM members. Then they seized the entire village. Malik accused Satan of raping Farida, tortured him for two days, and forced Farida’s stoning to death. Satan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block the memory of Farida’s agonizing screams.

  Over this past Thanksgiving holiday, Satan avenged Farida’s death. What would Angel think of him if she knew? He glanced down at her and was immediately captivated.

  Satan watched Angel as she settled into a deep slumber. He enjoyed the slight nuances of her every sleep-stage. She went from that first light phase of snoozing, to the second in less than five minutes, her heart rate slowed, and her body temperature dipped a tad. He covered her shoulders with the sheets and pressed closer to share his body warmth.

  When she entered the REM stage, any remnants of tension left in her muscles vanished. She sank into the mattress and relaxed fully against him. Under her lids, her eyes began to twitch, and every so often, she pursed her lips. He hoped her reveries included reliving their time together. A slow, sensuous smile slid across her mouth. His half-hard cock went to full mast immediately.

  He rolled his eyes, fixed his gaze on the ceiling, and counted down from three thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine in jumps of seven in Uzbek, an obscure Afghani dialect. The mental exercise did the trick and also made him drowsy. He studied Angel for a while, and only after being completely assured she was entrenched in dreamland, did he allow himself to drift off.

  When Satan opened his eyes the next morning, his first focus was Angel’s profile. He grinned and smoothed a couple of curls off her cheek. He had fallen asleep spooning her and neither of them had budged from the intimate position.

  His morning boner, nestled in the seam of her T-shirt coated ass, twitched. Though he intended to bury his cock in her tight heat soon, Satan had no intention of hurrying their first lovemaking of the day. He tightened his hold on her and luxuriated in the feel of her in his arms, and the hint-of-perfume smell filling his nose. In repose her full lips softened into a luscious pout, and a hint of her two snow-white front teeth, the central incisors, showed through a slight gap.

  I don’t want to fall for you. Her fervent declaration echoed in his brain.

  A wry smile chased his mouth at the irony of his current situation. Because of his wealth, he was accustomed to women hunting him with a fervor that bordered on the obsessive. He couldn’t tabulate the number of times he’d been told “I love you” by a female after his money.

  Now, here he was falling fast and furious for Angel, and she had all but proclaimed her intention to fight her feelings for him to the bitter end.

  Why?

  He understood that the violent and sudden loss of her entire family had made her relationship-phobic, perhaps even commitment-phobic. But was her wariness due to the notion of entering any kind of relationship, or was it him she wanted no part of? He had no intention of giving her any ease in his pursuit of her total and absolute commitment to him, to them. Storm her battlements, annihilate her objections, and seduce and insinuate himself into the very fabric of her life—that was his strategy.

  She rubbed chilled toes up and down his calf.

  How bat-shit lucky was he to have met his Angel? That lightning bolt instance of recognition the second their gazes met two nights ago had been reinforced with every passing moment spent with her. The fervent determination to have her sweet face as his first sight upon opening his eyes cemented his decision—he wanted her in his bed and in his home for the foreseeable future.

  There had been a time in his life when he dated only beautiful women— centerfolds, beauty pageant winners, supermodels, and hot young actresses. Not once had he felt this peculiar combination of burning desire, a fierce compulsion to protect her at all costs, and this paradoxical urge to plant roots. He’d always considered himself a hermit and a wanderer, and hated being in one place for too long.

  What was it about her that had him so enthralled?

  It wasn’t as if she could be considered beautiful in the classic sense of the word.

  He scrutinized her features; high forehead, a tad too long to be considered elegant, her nose a bit too sharp right at the tip to be called noble or Grecian. But her mouth, those succulent ruby lips, transformed her from pretty to striking. Her glorious hair, truly a crowning glory, and those big baby blues added a touch of the exotic to her intriguing looks.

  The rhythm of her breathing changed, she stirred, and stretched an arm over the empty pillow on the side of the bed. The lust he’d kept at bay since awakening torpedoed through him. His cock steeled and his testicles went taut. No way would he permit his dick to rule this fuck. He wanted her to feel cherished, and to prove to her what was happening between them was more than monkey sex and fun.

  Keeping his movements slow and steady, he lifted her silky hair away from her nape, and nuzzled her soft skin. “Mornin’
Angel.”

  She rolled over onto her side, linked her hands behind his neck, and gave him the most loveable sleep-fuzzed grin on the planet. Her lashes fluttered when she blinked a couple of times, and then looked right into his eyes. “Morning to you, too.”

  Her drowsiness was reflected by a sexy gravel quality in her voice. His groin muscles tensed. “Sleep well?”

  “Like the proverbial log. You?” She nosed his sternum and kissed his chest.

  “Yep.” He cupped her butt and ground his erection over her cotton-draped mound. “Woke up totally refreshed.”

  “I see that. I did too.” She lifted a leg over his hip, caught his forearm, and positioned his fingers on her wet folds.

  Damn hell. How hadn’t he noticed she’d taken off her thong? Fuck. If he’d know that her bare pussy was beneath the T-shirt she wore, he’d never have slept a wink.

  She was wet and ready, and fuck if he wasn’t too. Next time he’d do the cherish bit. The desire flooding his veins and feeding his erection had him focused on fast-forward screwing pronto. He fought for restraint.

  Managed a feeble Uzbek backward count from one hundred to ninety-seven, but she wrapped her hands around his turgid arousal, glanced down their bodies, and set the crown of his cock to her core.

  Logic, and any self-control shackles remaining fractured.

  She shifted, shot him a saucy up-from-under peep, and lifted her hips.

  Her pussy clamped the head of his dick. She did a maddening circular rimming of his glans.

  Every muscle in his body went taut. He balled his hands to prevent himself from rolling them over, driving into her pussy, and seating his dick to the hilt. Beads of sweat peppered his hairline.

  She frowned at him. “I can’t figure out how to make this work.”

  A groan escaped his lips. “No worries. I’ve got this.”

  Their position eschewed deep penetration and would drive both of them nuts in no time. She scooted higher, kissed him, stared him straight in the eyes and murmured, “I think this will go down as my best adult Christmas morning ever.”

  Before he could reply in kind, she planted her lips over his and ravished his mouth with a feverish desperation. Inflamed by her passion, he raised her leg to his waist, and shoved his cock into her pussy. He could only get half-way inside her quivering walls. His breathing went erratic. He pumped harder and faster, suckled on her tongue, ate his way around her lips, and tweaked her clit.

  She broke away. “I need all of you.”

  Certain he wouldn’t last all of three minutes with her under him Satan gripped her hip bones, and rolled onto his back. “Ride me, Angel. Ride me home.”

  With a flip of a hand she tossed her shiny red curls over one shoulder, set her palms on either side of his pelvis, and with excruciating slowness sheathed his dick to the base. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  She arched, he reached for her breasts, and circled his hands around the perfect mounds. She did a side-to-side action and then rose off his dick and rammed back down, hard. From the waist down, he was on fire, and ready to detonate.

  Her lifting and falling quickened, and he couldn’t get his mouth to her tits, so he leaned on one elbow, planted his lips over her nipple, and suckled the stiff tip with a frantic avarice. Her pussy walls contracted around the length of him. The climax ripped him apart. He grabbed her bottom and pounded into her, changed the angle of his thrusting, and clenched his jaw as she came again.

  When her orgasm began to wane, she bent over at the waist, and panted. The curtain of her hair hid her expression from him, and he had to see her, so he flicked the heavy locks to one side.

  Damn, he loved her like this, blue eyes glazed, a half-smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Stay with me, Angel.”

  She met his stare.

  “That’s it. I want us together on this last one. Keep looking into my eyes.”

  He pounded her G-spot and willed his climax back until her vaginal walls clamped his dick. The floor of his pelvis went rigid. His groin blazed. His testicles pulled up hard and fast, and he jetted into her core.

  “For you.” He curved his hand around her head and tongue-fucked her through their mutual orgasms.

  She shuddered and collapsed on top of him, head to one side with her cheek resting on his chest. He didn’t have the energy for a self-satisfied smirk, but wrapped his arms around her back, and caressed the twin dimples right above the curve of her ass.

  An overwhelming wave of contentment washed through him. He finger-combed a tangle from a long curl, sniffed the lemony scent of her hair, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Merry Christmas, Angel.”

  She shifted back, craned her neck, and looked at him. “Merry Christmas, Satan. That doesn’t sound right. Is there such a thing as an oxymoronic phrase? Or did I just invent it? Oh heck. Merry Christmas, Lorcan.”

  He grinned, shook his head, and tweaked her nose. “You’re adorable.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but adorable is a first. I’m too tall to be adorable. Cute, petite women are adorable.” She traced a figure eight around his nipple.

  “You, Angelica O’Malley, are hereby Satan-certified as adorable. Matter settled.” He liked her impish expression, the way her baby-blues twinkled mischievous intent, and the up-from-under peep she sent him.

  “Takes one to know one. You are hereby Angel Da—I need the bathroom.” She pushed off his flagging erection, darted to the arched entrance opposite the bed, and disappeared into the sitting area.

  Stunned by her abrupt departure, and by the glimpse of her horrified expression, he jerked to a sitting position, and tried to isolate what had triggered her strange reaction. He replayed the morning, but found nothing untoward. Maybe she simply really had to pee.

  He rolled off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. She had on his bathrobe, and was brushing her teeth. He stood behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders, and after she rinsed and spat, asked, “Everything okay?”

  She colored, but met his reflected stare. “Sorry about that. I, um, well you know—I had to go.”

  “No biggie.” He dropped a kiss on her curls. “I’m going to grab a shower in one of the other bathrooms.”

  “We could shower together.” She covered his fingers with hers.

  “We will, believe me. You, a ton of foamy lather, and my dick in you’s gonna happen soon, but not right now. I don’t want you sore. You, missy, have presents to unwrap.” He nibbled on her ear.

  She sighed. “You shouldn’t have—”

  “I did. And don’t think I didn’t notice that gift bag that you hid behind the chair.” He loved the way she pinkened all over and the flash of guilt shadowing her features.

  “It didn’t feel right. Us spending Christmas together and not giving you a tiny token. I’ll shower and dress quickly and then come down?” She raised her brows.

  “Take your time. I’ll get started on breakfast—another Destiny dish.” He brushed his lips to her temple, turned around, and hurried out of the room before the image of her covered in sexy foam became too overwhelming.

  Satan glanced at his semi-hard dick and shook his head. He was thirty-eight and reacting like a horny teenager. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew she hadn’t had regular sex for over a year, he’d be screwing her right now even though they’d both climaxed not fifteen minutes earlier.

  He showered, dressed, jogged down the stairs, and retrieved the gifts he’d purchased from the coat closet. Though he hated the Christmas holidays, he absolutely relished buying presents, particularly those for Sinner’s nieces and nephews. He adored children. Whistling the strains of White Christmas, he made his way to the library, and placed the bowed and ribboned packages under the tree. Changing the tune to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, feeling inordinately happy, he ambled to the kitchen, grabbed a mug from one of the open shelves, and brewed a cup of java.

  The microwave clock registered eight-thirty, he decided to catch the
end of the news, grabbed the remote, and hit the down key. The flat HD screen slowly descended from the ceiling. He turned the device on, rested the remote on the counter, and walked over to the fridge.

  Destiny had left him a frittata—some sort of eggy Italian dish—for them to have for breakfast. He opened the refrigerator door and checked the appliance’s shelves.

  “I’m Damien Duval signing off for morning news. Tune in to WBCN at noon for The Midday News. Until then stay tuned—”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Angel was half-way across the kitchen before she spied the television screen. She recognized Damien Duval, the morning news co-anchor for WBCN, glanced at the microwave clock, and a bolt of white-hot panic hit her.

  She glimpsed Satan’s jean-clad ass, realized his head was in the fridge, and hunted frantically for the TV’s remote. She took off the second she saw the black stick lying on the counter, snatched the device, and hit Off right as Damien announced, “Stay tuned for Ange—”

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. She pressed a palm to her chest certain her heart would smash through her ribs at any moment.

  “That was quick.” Satan, holding a foil-covered dish, shot her a wide grin. “You look incredible. Love the bow.”

  Too terrified about her near miss to fake a smile, she blurted, “Can’t take credit for the idea. Jess suggested it. I thought it might be too assumptive. You know, me being your Christmas present.”

  She wore a full-length, sleeveless navy dress with a square neckline. The straps of the gown crossed in the back and tied into a large, silky bow at the base of her spine. One tug and the entire outfit would slowly slide off her body.

  “I’ll be sure to thank her next time I see her. Why’d you turn off the TV?” He walked over to her and kissed her forehead before heading to the oven.

  “Didn’t feel like listening to the world’s woes. How about we have a media-free and tech-free couple of days? I turned off my cell when I got here. According to Arianna Huffington, it’s a proven immediate de-stressor.”