Only One I'll Have (UnHallowed Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Sophie had other ideas when she gripped the collar and rip down the middle. She brought his hand to her mouth, licked his palm, and drew his index finger into her warm, wet mouth.

  His dick threatened to explode.

  You. First.

  A challenge flared in the depths of her eyes, and she went at his finger the way he went at her core, without reservation. Over and over, he plied her flesh with his tongue while she swirled her tongue around the tip of his finger with playful flicks, then sucked it to the back of her throat. He’d never seen this side of her, never imagined this wanton woman existed inside of sweet, gentle Sophie. And he loved it.

  On the brink of caving, he brought his free hand into play and shoved two fingers inside her. Her body went stiff, a shudder ran the length of her form, then she broke apart, her orgasm swallowing her, his finger trapped between her sharp teeth. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire immortal life.

  He freed his fingers from the tight clench of her mouth and pussy, and rose. The latter got licked clean as she slowly came back to herself.

  He drank the moment in—her, legs splayed, core wet from her orgasm and his tongue, clothes rucked up to her waist in disarray. Hell, all of her was in disarray, and he loved it.

  Her voice thick and raspy, she ordered, “Clothes off.”

  His shirt came off in a hurry. Next, the boots. The pants took a bit of effort to work over his stiff cock without breaking it in half. Plus, he liked the way her breath hitched with each bit of exposed flesh. He gave her a moment to get her fill. Then pointed at her shirt.

  She tossed away the tattered remains, leaving only the skirt and a diaphanous bra that had her nipples visible under the fine mesh. “Get naked,” he said in a voice he didn’t recognize.

  Eyes smoldering, Sophie rolled onto her stomach.

  Chay sucked in a sharp breath at the circular scars dotting the middle of her back. Ozzy had left his mark on her psyche, soul, and flesh. Hand trembling, Chay reached out and touched them, ran his fingers over the scars. She stilled, and murmured, “Don’t. Please don’t make this about that. Don’t let Ozzy win.”

  Sophie shifted to her hands and knees, her ass high in the air. Head on the comforter, she reached down to sweep the skirt off her hips. The sight of her open like that for him, glistening…blew him away.

  “He doesn’t belong here between us. It’s just you and me. And I need you. Only you, Chay.” Sophie spread herself wider and angled her head around. Those blue eyes of hers nailed him. She was right. They wouldn’t let Ozzy win.

  Chay ripped the skirt from around her waist. He fisted his cock, stroked himself. Her lips parted and her tongue appeared to wet her lips. Yes, she mouthed and wiggled her ass.

  Chay wasn’t religious, but, yeah, he’d just thanked Jesus.

  He dipped into her wetness. She stretched catlike and purred. Fucking purred as he slid home.

  Home. A homecoming.

  A primal instinct Chay couldn’t control took over. He went at her hard, his hips yanking back and slamming deep at a fevered pitch. The first time they joined, he wanted to make love to her. Not this frantic fucking that left no consideration for anything but coming. Repeated coming.

  The lust cleared from his head to see him drilling into her. Going balls deep, then retreating drenched with her essence. The slapping of their skins, the shaking of the bed. Her gasps every time he seated himself.

  He had to slow it down. Had to be hurting her.

  She pushed up onto one hand and nailed him with those eyes glazed from the insanity ignited between them, and he was lost. Every single time he stared into her eyes, lost.

  Her fingernails dug into his thigh enough to draw blood and she growled, a guttural sound that tightened his balls. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  Chay took that as another challenge, the second one of the night. He tapped her legs further apart, pushed her down with a hand between her shoulders so that her head was back on the comforter, and gave her what she asked for. He didn’t stop, not when her purrs deepened to pants, which flipped to whimpers between a mumbled “Yes” and “Oh, God.”

  He ran his hand down her sleek back. She arched into the touch, changing the angle of penetration. Wasn’t enough. He hooked one of her legs and lifted it.

  “Chay!” she cried.

  It was his name leaving her mouth on a long moan. He dropped her leg, gripped her bra, and ripped it from her. It fell away to dangle on her arms. He leaned over, ground his pelvis against her ass, and reached for her breasts. He cupped them, caught her rigid nipples between his fingers, and gently squeezed. She came apart beneath him, bucking, jerking, her hands pounding the bed, her pleasured cry muffled in the sheets. He refused to stop, kept at her, wanting to give her more pleasure than she’d ever had with anyone else, more passion than she’d ever had in her life, supplant the bad memories with this moment of them.

  She reared back, whipped her head around, and he met her passion-glazed eyes. He’d never seen such raw beauty in his entire life.

  Her walls milking him, his orgasm started at the base of his spine, a lit match to a stick of dynamite with a short fuse. His back bowed, his head kicked back as he shouted her name and joined her in bliss.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You could have taken him.”

  The sound of the deep, raspy voice struck every nerve in Scarla’s body. She knew someone was there in the corner of the spacious room, directly behind her. Chay was her first guess. He’d been her most frequent visitor. Or maybe it was Kush. He’d shown up almost as frequently, along with the others.

  The one person she hadn’t seen was now here.

  Gadreel had been absent since Siberia and she hadn’t the nerve to inquire where he’d vanished to, and why…if he’d heard about her defeat. Well, she had her answer to the last question.

  “In three moves.”

  That voice, if she could bottle it she’d make millions. Gravelly and deep, it scraped against her nerve endings, sending them into hyper-awareness of him. Only him.

  Her nipples puckered and tension coiled low in her groin. A reaction to prolonged celibacy, she told herself. It had been eight months since her last random hookup. Dating while you had nosy UnHallowed all in your busy was next to impossible. They refused to understand a woman had needs or was it that she had needs? Or was it they refused to see her as a woman? She’d hoped saving their asses in Siberia would have changed that. So much for hoping.

  She reached for the bedside lamp. A soft halo of yellow light beat back the darkness, but it could only do so much in the spacious bedroom. Shadows clung to three of the corners.

  Braced for the sight of him, she rolled over, onto her opposite side. Seated on the edge of a midnight blue chaise, Gadreel, formerly the Archangel of Weapons, was more shadow than UnHallowed. Leather covered every inch of him except for his head, neck, and hands. He had a close trim on the sides of his head while the top was inches longer, wavy, and jet black like his leathers. A beard hugged his jawline, along with a goatee and trim mustache, a roadmap to the most luscious pair of lips she’d ever seen.

  The shadows sloughed off his shoulders as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His features were intense, though pale. The skin over his sharp cheekbones seemed translucent in the dim light as if his new grace swarmed beneath the surface.

  And his eyes, gunmetal blue, cold and hard, piercing and clear of any red. “It wasn’t his skill that beat you.”

  She blinked, took a second to clear the fog from her brain, and said, “What are you talking about?”

  His gaze narrowed and the corner of his mouth curled in a snarl. “You let him beat you.”

  Anger stiffened her spine. She didn’t want to return to that night, had managed to avoid any thought of it for what, a day? Now, he shows up to dredge shit up. And did he say let?

  “Let! I didn’t let her beat me.” This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have, especially with him. “How woul
d you know anything? You weren’t there.”

  The second the words left her mouth, a memory of a blackbird smothering her surfaced. I hallucinated. She was certain. Now… “You were there. I didn’t know—”

  “You weren’t prepared.”

  She ignored his rudeness. “I admit I was distracted.” By you, she didn’t add. “But I was prepared.”

  “Distraction has no place in the cage,” he snapped, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Distraction added to your loss. Not being prepared is what caused your complete failure to defend yourself.”

  Scarla tossed the light blanket away and swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. Leave, stay, hide in the bathroom until he went away until they all left her alone, the indecision was acid in her blood, eating her from the inside out.

  She wasn’t a runner. It wasn’t in her nature to run from anything. She twisted around to face him. “I defended myself fine in Siberia. In fact, I saved your ass and killed hundreds of demons.”

  “Yet you lost to a human in the first round.”

  No point wasting time defending the truth.

  “You are a good fighter.”

  Thanks for throwing me a bone. “Good? I’m better than good.” She trained with the best and the UnHallowed. They made sure she knew how to handle her body and her power. How to take a punch and dodge a punch. How to kill with her bare hands or with any weapon at her disposal.

  All of that and she lost. In the first round.

  Scarla huffed through a sigh and closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. She stood and went to the window. Dawn had arrived, bringing an ombré assortment of orange and pink rays. She opened the blinds a fraction to beat back the gloom closing in on her, unafraid of the effect the rays would have on the UnHallowed now that he had Braile’s grace. Shadows clung to the entire section of the room where he sat, his face and hands the only things visible in the unnatural inkiness.

  She stepped forward, her pace measured to lean against the bedpost. Preternaturally still, his gaze tracked her. She’d never felt like prey until this moment under his predatory stare, not with any of the UnHallowed. They were her friends, her protectors, her brothers, her father. Never had any one of them assessed her as if she were a meal and they hadn’t eaten in a millennium. It made her uncertain, edgy, needy. Yeah, like she needed more doubt in her life.

  A part of her, the violent batshit crazy UnHallowed half, wanted to stomp over and rearrange his neutral face. The rest of her, the defective human part, wanted him to open his arms and give her a safe harbor to hide her soul within.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She missed Chay, needed a hug from her father, but he was off protecting Sophie, who wanted nothing to do with her.

  And she wasn’t an UnHallowed anymore.

  A budding migraine took root in her temples.

  “Three moves,” Gadreel repeated.

  Attention back on him, she gave in and snapped, “What three moves?”

  “Throat, legs, chest. His center of balance was weak. You should’ve taken him to the mat.”

  “Where she would have pinned me.”

  “Humans need to breathe. Cut off his air, take out his legs, follow up with a stunning blow to the heart, and he would have been done.”

  She paused, her rebuttal suspended as she sorted through the scattered memories of the fight. Everything had happened so fast. Could he be right?

  “That wasn’t your biggest failure,” he stated in a tone full of contempt.

  “Oh really?” She’d had enough of this interrogation-intervention. “What was? Please don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Your arrogance. You entered the cage certain you’d win, not because you were the better athlete but because you were UnHallowed, and when that failed, you had nothing to back you up, no skill, no training.”

  “That’s a lie! I’ve been trained by Chay, Sam, Kush, Riél, and martial arts experts.”

  “Then you’ve learned nothing.” His gaze raked her. “Your body is a weapon, a tool of your will, and you’ve wasted it.”

  She rushed across the distance separating them, stopping when she was in striking distance. Chest heaving, hands balled into fists at her sides, she waited for his gaze to rise and met hers. “So I’ve wasted my body? What have you done with yours that’s so valuable.” He opened his mouth to answer and she shut it down. “That wasn’t a question for you to answer. It was a statement. I’ve been with the UnHallowed for twenty-four years and not once have I met you. You’re like the others who’ve never left the shadows, prefer the darkness over the light, a recluse who hadn’t gotten over the Great Betrayal or the Great Fall, whatever you call it. You’ve been hiding yourself away, rather than dealing with your fucked-up existence, and you have the nerve to scold me about mine. You don’t know me. So keep your insights about my life to yourself.”

  Like a mountain rising out of the mist, Gadreel unfurled from the chaise and rose to his full height. Six feet and six inches of muscle towered over her, and she wasn’t a small woman. Lanky, yes, but at five feet eleven and a half inches, she’d been called an Amazon. Many of the UnHallowed were taller than Gadreel, the tallest being Sam who topped off at six-eight. None had ever made her feel dainty…until now.

  Stubbornness kept her rooted to the spot and not retreating. She locked onto his gunmetal blue gaze and refused to back down.

  “There’s a time to attack and a time to retreat. A warrior… A woman knows when that is. I expected too much since you are too young to be either.”

  She sputtered, the snarky reply got trapped in her throat as Gadreel threw her a final bored glance and vanished into the shadows.

  “Fuck you!” she screamed at an empty corner, then raged for the next half hour, her brain caught on a loop of recriminations and the middle finger salute. Her phone saved her from the spiral. Someone had sent her a text.

  She snatched it off the nightstand and swiped a finger across the scene.

  It was from Dimi.

  YOU OWE ME. AND I WILL COLLECT.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It took forever for Sophie’s heart to stop racing, her limbs to stop trembling, and for her senses to realign. Make that her common sense.

  Slumped on the bed in a boneless heap, she didn’t react when Chay crashed next to her. Passion clung to his features and his eyes were clear of any crimson. He was gorgeous, while she was wrecked.

  He brushed her hair away from her face and traced a finger down the side of her cheek to her jaw, then across to her lips. His slow, methodical caress of her lips left her aching for him again. She watched him, the intensity on his face was the same regardless of the task.

  He slid his hand to her nape and brought her close, forehead to forehead. He smelled of sex with a hint of cedar and musk, an aphrodisiac to her senses. She inhaled his scent, absorbing him into her lungs.

  “Do you realize how beautiful you are?” he murmured.

  She’d never felt beautiful, not with Ozzy. The spell Chay had woven around her shattered and she pulled away.

  “Hey.” He brought her back to him.

  The way his hand tightened a fraction before sliding to her shoulder in a soft caress, she flashed back to a time when the hand on the back of her nape left bruises. “No.”

  Sophie yanked out of his grip and scooted to the opposite side of the bed. She snatched a pillow from the headboard and wrapped her arms and legs around it, shielding her front. Flimsy armor, but it was all she had.

  A slew of emotions crossed his face at her actions—fuck—he didn’t deserve this, but she was caught in a loop, a spiraling sinkhole she wasn’t sure how to climb out of.

  He sat up, his movements careful.

  “Did I hur—”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She hugged the pillow tighter to her front. “This wasn’t wrong. It was exactly what I needed. So, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said in a carefully neutral tone, belying the crimson creeping into his eyes
.

  “This isn’t about you, Chay.”

  He lunged to his feet. Naked, he glared at her. She couldn’t stop her gaze from taking a hungry stroll down his lean body. He was beautiful, every inch defined perfection. Broad shoulders, defined chest, corded arms, an abdomen that doubled as a washboard, and that V muscle pointing the way to his groin. Presently flaccid, yet still, damn impressive.

  “Not about me?” He dragged on his pants.

  “Well it’s not,” she snapped, pissed at him in general, and pissed he was getting dressed.

  He yanked on his shirt. “You think this was a mistake?”

  How could she think that when her body hummed with satisfaction. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

  He paused. She couldn’t meet his gaze, didn’t want to hear, much less see his answer all over his face. His hesitation was more than enough. The bed shifting under his weight startled her. She froze as he crawled across the king-sized bed toward her. He took his time, probably giving her an escape window she considered using. A quick roll to the left and she’d be off the bed and in the safety of the bathroom.

  As if a bathroom door can keep him away from me. She stayed put and studied his prowling gait. He stalked her like a big cat and shit, it was erotic. Her pulse ticked up and didn’t stop as he scooted within a foot of her.

  “Mistake,” he murmured, “the mistake was we stopped.”

  She wanted to disagree and couldn’t.

  “Talk to me, Sophie.” He waited much too close to her.

  Where to start? And what to say? What was safe? What wouldn’t be ripping a scab off a raw wound?

  He shifted to his side and stared at her, though she wouldn’t return his gaze. “Why did you go to your ex’s grave?”

  She grimaced in embarrassment and fury at the same time. “Just like I said. I couldn’t dig him up, so I did what I could. I peed on it.”

  Instead of a scolding, Chay grinned. “Sorry I missed that.”