“And your tight butt,” Yancy pointed out impishly. “Damn you and your perfect genes.”
“Oh gee, thanks so much,” Angel snorted with a smile. “See you later, you lesbi-gay wannabes.”
“Psh! Don’t you wish,” Robin tossed at Angel’s retreating back.
Once outside, the wind scratched at her with icy claws and she found herself snuggling down into the wide butterfly collar of her coat. The heels of Angel’s black pumps clicked with resounding finality against the asphalt of the parking lot, as if the greedy world had swallowed the sound and refused its echo. She’d dressed nicely tonight, with as much care as she did every girls’ night out, but for once she felt herself enjoying the fine folds of her attire.
It was no surprise to feel the liquid in the bones of her hips, the fluidity of her stride lending a sultry sway. She’s grown used to it over the past several days—one of myriad things that had changed within her to reflect its presence on her exterior.
Not only was she more comfortable with her own body, Angel was finding herself more and more comfortable around others. Not so apt to let her imagination run wild and macabre in a crowd of strangers as she’d too often done before. It seemed silly that she’d ever felt so wound up in her own skin.
But she’d always felt a little out of sync. Awkward and clumsy. Perhaps not on the outside—not so people who didn’t know her would actually notice—but always inside her own mind.
Not so much anymore. Why? She still felt like herself but somehow…better. Richer. Improved. It was strange and alien. But she definitely liked it.
A month earlier, the old Angel would have imagined all manner of creepy-crawlies lurking in the shadows of the too-dimly lit parking lot as she made her way to her car. A few weeks earlier, Angel would no doubt have felt a small thrill of forbidden danger in the solitary darkness.
Tonight, she felt not so much like would-be prey as she did full-on predator.
She felt the strength in her long legs. The sturdiness of her even spine. There was power within her, lurking beneath her skin, begging to be harnessed. Her breath hitched. The centers of her palms tingled, her fingertips sweat-dampened. The ground beneath her hard-soled shoes had never felt so solid.
It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to burst into a full sprint, just to run. Just to feel the wind in her tresses and the world real and firm beneath her fleet steps.
The only reason she fought against the urge was that it was just so alien.
Angel loved to run. But this compulsion, this nerve-racking tension making steel bands of her muscles was like nothing she’d ever felt. Though if she dwelt on it, the feeling did remind her somehow of Otto. Of the tension that draped him like fitted cloth, and the wired fury of his enthusiasm when he kissed her.
She stopped a few paces from the car, catching up with the racing breaths that trembled through her, hands fisted at her sides.
“Get a grip,” she panted, willing her galloping pulse to slow.
The scream of hot tires on asphalt reached her ears, muffled at first, as if she’d plugged her ears with foam. The sound rose in a crescendo that found its mate within her bloodstream. But there was no panic in her excitement and when Angel whipped her head about, it was without surprise to see a gorgeous crimson sports car sliding sideways toward her. It slammed to a halt, the passenger door a mere half-inch away.
Mesmerized, practically drooling with envy, Angel reached out and trailed her fingers over the glossy red paint. Cars, especially fast ones, were her Achilles heel.
The window, tinted a shade beyond illegal black, whispered down. “Get in.”
“Otto,” Angel breathed in awe, “Is this the new Audi—”
“Zero to sixty in four seconds, baby.” He threw her a wink, but the line of his mouth was tense. “You want a ride or not?”
“Oh yes, please,” she moaned, fingers fumbling in her haste to open the door.
“I thought you’d like it,” he said in his chocolate voice before throwing the gearshift straight into first and peeling out of the parking lot with enough force to throw her head back against the sinfully soft leather seat.
The engine was a powerful purr and not one bump in the road made it past the mighty suspension to disturb the peace inside the car. Outside, the world sped by at impossible speeds, the countryside no more than a blur of shadows. As the digital odometer stopped climbing at 187 mph, Angel knew in her bones they were somehow topping speeds much higher.
No more than a moment had passed. But miles separated the Angel of Fell Falls and the Angel in this amazing car with this incredible man.
The silence stretched, reed thin and trembling.
Otto slung the car around a curve that should have been impossible to follow through at their speed, with only one capable hand on the wheel.
The other hand, until now resting on the six-speed gear shifter, moved to fall on her upper thigh.
“Otto?” Angel could feel the tension in him. She could taste it around the edges of her tongue and it held the flavor of numbing cloves. All the nervous energy she’d been feeling flooded through her and she put her hand on top of his.
Together they moved his palm until it rested on the mound of her sex.
She could hear her breath in the too-quiet confines of the car. Otto could doubtless hear it just as well. And dash it all to hell, to the center of the pit and back, but Angel did not care.
The car rounded another sharp turn.
Otto’s hand shifted, found its way beneath her skirt.
Angel gripped his muscled forearm with both hands and held on tight.
The landscape around them changed, the lights of a city bleeding by in streaks at the windows. And Angel found herself lying back, the seat lowered all the way, staring up at an ocean of stars through the sunroof.
Otto’s breath rasped. “We were supposed to talk first.”
But Angel was beyond words.
The car was spinning. The world was racing and they were spinning in circles at speeds no car should have been capable of achieving. They were in a death spin. And Otto’s hands weren’t on the wheel. His hands were on her.
His hands. And his mouth. They owned her. They bathed her in adoration. They punished her with brutal need. They worshipped her. Hated her. Adored her.
Her pantyhose ran when his clawed fingers grazed her calf. He gripped his too-big hand around her ankle and somehow he’d positioned himself between her legs. He hooked her leg around his waist, fitting them tightly together.
The driver’s seat was empty.
The car spun around and around in endless circles.
Angel’s skirt was gathered up above her hips and Otto’s hands found the waistband of her pantyhose. A few jerks and he was cursing. “These things are too damn tight, how the hell do you even walk in them?”
Impossibly Angel found herself laughing. Her head was swimming. Her vision blurred behind a veil of ecstatic tears. Her heart felt nuclear and meltdown was imminent. Her lungs screamed for air, even as she panted wildly. Somehow the poles of the Earth had shifted, its orbit ended, and Angel was adrift in endless space.
The only thing that kept her from a dizzying spiral into the depths of forever was Otto’s unrelenting grip on her. He centered her. Grounded her. Tied her to what scrap was left of reality.
Her pantyhose ripped, the modest pink panties beneath them tearing with the sound of wet rice paper. Then…bliss!
Fingertips found her slit, traced and teased. When Otto found the slick reward for his appeal, he let out a triumphant cry and kissed her feverishly.
But Angel would not let him rush this time, no. She wanted to learn his body, too…feel his desire for her in the nuances of his form…feel his need as he so easily felt her need in the hard pucker of her nipples, the wetness of her cunt and the fevered kisses she pressed wherever her lips could find his flesh. It was only with her hands and fingers that she saw what he wore, for her eyes were blind in the swirling lig
hts. But she could hear him, taste him and smell him. These were the roadmaps she used to discover him.
His turtleneck was made from the softest, finest cotton. It hugged every curve, every swell of muscle, and he had so many. His nipples were hard beneath the fabric and it was only then she realized he sported a piercing through each one.
“That’s it, that’s perfect, that feels so good.” He choked out the words as his lips devoured hers. She tasted his breath, dark like coffee, sweet like sugar and smooth like rum. “Pinch them. Be cruel, my Angel.”
She pushed his shirt up eagerly and gasped at the heat baking off his glorious skin. The tiny glint of diamonds at the ends of each barbell through his nipples winked through her shimmering vision and she grabbed them with her fingertips, gently—oh so gently, yet oh so firmly—pinching the hard, swollen peaks.
His hips bucked and she felt the impact between her legs like a meteor had slammed home. “Oh!”
“Angel…” But he was as far from words as she.
His skin was hot and smooth but for a carpet of hair on the high swell of his pecs. The hair was more like fur, smooth as glass, soft as satin but somehow too thickly dense to be as earthly as that. And if darkness had a texture, and Angel knew it must, then his texture—skin, hair, mouth and eyes—was pure midnight.
If he liked the sharp pain of her fingers on his nipples, he loved the punishment of her teeth on his plump lips. They kissed hard and furiously, and all the pent-up frustrations of her time wasted since meeting him was answered by his own need. They each tasted the copper sting of blood in their mouths, their kiss out of control, the pleasure an exquisite pain. Their blood joined as their bodies yearned to, their tongues mating as their loins fevered to mate.
And the car spun. Around and around. Endless circles.
“You make me feel everything, Angel. Everything I could ever dream,” he bit out, and a hot drip of sweat beaded off his brow to splash onto her mouth.
She darted her tongue out to taste its saltiness, but was stunned to taste the sweet indulgence of cocoa instead. “God, who needs chocolate body butter when you’re around,” she laughed, and licked the line of his throat.
He stiffened over her. “Don’t tempt fate. Don’t say that word.”
Angel frowned. “What word?”
He melted over her, his hands rabid, savaging her clothing until she lay upon the ragged tatters of material, naked and shivering.
Fear and lust, excitement and dread were at war inside her. Something in the cadence of his breath, in the tone of his voice when he uttered wordless sounds, told her with a certainty that he waged similar battles within himself.
He thrust his thumb into her, the thickest of his digits, and she cried out.
She tore at his belt and popped the button on his flawlessly tailored slacks.
Otto wore no underwear and his cock fell broad and heavy into her frantic hands. Muscles deep within the well of her center clenched and Otto no doubt felt them suckle at his thumb, as he pressed deeper into her. His skin was as hot as a dying star, the wet tear at the crown of his throbbing erection scalding. Capturing the tear, Angel brought it to her mouth and darted her tongue out greedily.
Sweet heaven but the taste of chocolate was in this as well.
“I’ll taste like cinnamon if that’s your pleasure,” Otto ground out between his clamped teeth, before shoving her hands aside and grasping himself in one sure fist.
Angel froze.
Otto’s cock was firm and insistent and his aim was true. He fitted himself to her as if born conjoined with her, and the feel of him—while perfect and divine—was pure sin. The tight fit was a sacrament, the heat of their union a communion. Their passion was a testament to something wholly beyond that of mortal yearning.
“Otto?” Angel felt the immense size of the world and her tiny spark within its maw.
A shadow moved over him, inside him.
Within her, an answering shade stirred.
The lights were stars. And all of the stars fell.
As he fell on her.
In her.
Through her.
“God!” Angel screamed and Otto roared, throwing himself into her until they were fully joined.
He caught her to him, his arms crushing her to his heart. She gripped him in her arms, her legs around him, her head lax, neck arched. His mouth hovered over her throat. His breath was hot and fast, and hers was shallow while she learned to breathe around the invasion of his body in hers. Where their skin touched she blistered, where their flesh did not meet she died.
The car spun out of control.
Otto drove her up, holding all her weight at an impossible angle. They found a rhythm as old as the tides but as new to them as a divided cell, for they had found perfection the likes of which they’d never imagined possible.
She was Otto. Otto was Angel. They were one entity. One thundering heart.
And the car spun round and round. The city lights were firecracker sparks beyond the tinted windows. The tires screamed their banshee wail. The speed was impossible. And there was no driver behind the wheel, only between her legs.
When he came, she went too. When he fell, Angel sank down with him. The dark swallowed her up, enveloped her, deafened her. Silence and darkness. The eye of their storm…
“You’re not human!” she cried out. “You can’t be. What are you?”
I am a man who is more than a man. I am a creature of shadow and devilry. I am all the pleasure you crave yet would deny yourself save in your most secret dreams. I am Other. His voice echoed in her head; her ears had forgotten sound. “Or Otto, if you prefer.”
“What’s happening?” She clutched at him in the nothing, wondering at his mercurial changes in mood and the unimaginable disquiet of her own thoughts. “Otto, what’s going on?”
He gripped her, steadying her. Anything you desire. Everything you could ever want.
“I don’t understand.”
His mouth found hers. Does it matter so much? Why can’t you just have fun with it? His tongue flickered over her lips. Enjoy it. Revel in it, in us, together. Love it. I know I do.
Sight and sound came roaring back. Otto was ripped from her embrace. A chill like death breathed through her. Angel shrieked.
The car stopped.
Or it had never moved.
With dazed eyes and a galloping heart, Angel looked about them, seeing the restaurant parking lot where they’d first begun their journey. They were both in their seats, fully clothed.
“Otto. What the hell…?”
He chuckled, but for once there was only a little amusement in the sound. “Exactly. At last, my Angel, you’ve spoken the right word.”
Chapter Five
She cowered against the door. The exquisite luxury of the impossible car no longer held any value to her. Nothing touched the panic and the pain that tore her with dull blades. “I don’t follow.”
“Of course not.” He shook his dark head. “But you will. You’ve guessed closely enough to gain my confession.” He looked at her with urgency and caught one of her hands in his. “Not that I could keep it a secret, not for long, not with you. Will you hear me, Angel? Will it excite you, do you think? If I tell you everything?”
She had no idea what he was babbling about. But he didn’t seem to need any response from her, spoken or silent.
“It’s too late for you, you know. Our deal was sealed the night we first met.” He saw the question in her eyes. “You’re mine, Angel. All of you, heart and soul. Get used to it.”
The weight of his words, the literal truth in them, struck her. Her instinctive denial was swift and absolute. “No.”
“You can’t undo what we have done.” He snorted with a wry grin. “I’m not human, you’re right about that. But we’re in it now. An angel and a devil, that’s what we are to each other. Light and dark. The sacred and the obscene. One cannot exist without the other. Just as I am a devil, you are a perfect creature made solely for
me.”
“That’s not possible. You’re talking gibberish.” Angel swallowed around a hot, iron lump in her throat. “You’re not the devil and I’m no angel.”
He laughed and once more the lighthearted Otto was there for her to recognize. “The devil? No. I’m a devil, yes, but there is no one devil. Just as there are many shades of night, there are many types of creatures such as I am. I’m what you might describe as a…” He seemed to search for the appropriate word. He seemed to enjoy telling her as well. “A mischief-maker. Yes. A dealer in bargains and a harbinger of chaos to order.”
He grinned, awaiting her reaction.
Angel gaped.
“I’m a devil. A creature of magic. See, I can do things like this.”
Angel looked around and saw that the car had instantly transformed into a gleaming black phaeton with two brilliantly white horses. She blinked and then the Audi returned. “Oh my god,” she rasped.
His lips twisted and his eyes glowed with a crimson inferno. “It was no coincidence that we met at a crossroads. No chance meeting. I was drawn to that place, to your need.” He rounded on her, crowding in on her, until their breath tangled. “I liked you, Angel. From the first moment I saw you smiling at the thrill of meeting a man who could obtain illegal documents for your friend’s lover. I liked you.” His words tumbled in a rush. “And so for that, for your sake, to preserve your innocent joy, I fought against claiming you. For the first time in my existence I fought my nature.”
Thinking back, Angel saw too clearly. “Your rumpled clothes. Your lost shoe…you were a mess.”
“I grabbed every tree, every rock that separated me from you on the long walk. I dug my heels in and cursed my lot, for when you arrived at the crossroads on a moon-bright eve—at midnight of all times!—and made your wish for a car that worked, I had no choice but to go. I had no other option but to bargain, tit for tat, barter something you valued in exchange for what you wanted so desperately at that crucial moment.”
“I never offered you my soul,” she cried. “I never struck a bargain with you—”
“No. Thank your gods for that, Angel, thank them every night for the rest of your life that you didn’t offer anything more than—how did you put it? Ah, yes.” He leaned back in his seat. “‘We just f-fucked’.” Angel’s voice erupted from Otto perfectly and she couldn’t help but cry out with overwhelming fear.
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