She started with one slow glide of her tongue, like she was treasuring the taste of him. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around the already swollen crown, gaze never leaving his as one hand began to stroke him teasingly.
The exaggerated gentleness was going to kill him. He could almost feel the grin in her movements, so he damn well knew she was doing it on purpose. Lifting his hips slightly, he groaned, tugging at the strands of hair still held in his grasp.
“Baylin, darling, I don't know how much more of this I can take if you're wanting a reaction out of me.”
With a tiny mumble of approval, she set to her task with glee. He had half a moment to wish he hadn't urged her on, before the only thing he could do was lay back and enjoy the ride. Her mouth was exquisite, her tongue rolling over him as her hand mimicked the rhythm she'd set.
Before long, he was arching into her grip, sweat beading on his brow as his muscles clenched and released with each roll of his hips. She'd abandoned using her hand completely, instead digging her nails into his thighs for leverage. Each time she sucked him deeper, he could feel her throat closing around his cock, the vibrations from her satisfied hums of pleasure rocketing through him and making his toes curl.
The hand buried in her hair shifted to the back of her neck, gripping tighter as he held her in place. Her feeble struggles to get closer to him stopped as he thrust upward, setting a punishing pace that stretched her lips wide.
With his angelic senses returned to him, he could now smell the sweet, heady scent of her arousal and it was taking everything he had to hold back, to stop from hurting her. Until she looked up at him, eyes dark with lust, mouth reddened from his demands.
“Raziel... please...”
It was the permission he needed. The submission he craved, that calmed the darker urges he'd kept hidden, even from himself. He'd always been different from his brothers. More aloof. Quieter. Preferring his solitude. He hadn't wanted to admit that he'd had a darker side even without being tainted.
Sitting up as much as he could, he moved his grip to her jaw, forcing her mouth open wider as he used his thumb and forefinger to lock it in place. His smile didn't quite match his eyes this time as he tugged her with his free hand until she was laying over his thigh, rounded ass tipped upward where she sprawled.
“Let's play a game, darling, and see who loses concentration first, shall we? I suggest you try to stay on task.”
Using his grip on her jaw, he lowered her head again, a shiver running up his spine as she threw herself into her task. Each time she attempted to control the pace or how deep he went, he tightened his hand in her tresses, shifting his hips slightly for a better angle. With his thumb still hooked in her jaw, she had no choice but to keep her mouth open wide, to allow him to take whatever pleasure he demanded.
And it was bliss, feeling her throat tighten around the head of his cock, the way her breath stuttered as he held her down, letting her breathe for shorter periods of time before he took possession of her mouth again.
Once he was fairly certain all of her attention was on taking quick breaths when she could, tears beginning to shine in those brilliant blue eyes as they swirled with need, he upped the game.
Sliding his free hand along her side, he cupped one firm ass cheek in hand before giving it a light slap. Having her jerk in surprise before she damn near melted against him with a muffled moan was a nice reward. When he wasn't so distracted himself, he'd need to remember to explore that reaction more fully. Instead, he continued on his original task, hand slipping between her thighs to find the welcome warmth that awaited him.
Her slick arousal eased his way for his fingers, where he matched the thrusts to that of his hips. Each time she seemed to be getting her bearings, he increased the pace and depth, turning his wrist slightly until each thrust slid against the taut bundle of nerves he knew would make her surrender come far sooner than she'd like.
It started with her toes clenching into the sleeping bags. Then the tremors began, moving up her legs until he could feel them straight through his shaft, where she'd paused with her mouth firmly wrapped around it.
He gave up pretending he was after anything else, and began to stroke against that swollen bud with enough pressure that she'd be unable to hold back. He felt her pussy walls spasming an instant before she gagged, mouth tightening on him with the same intensity as she held his fingers.
Back bowing as much as he'd let it, her tiny cries were like a symphony to his ears, the sweetest music he'd ever heard. He thrust upward again, holding her head down as he shuddered, body going tight as his balls drew up.
With every twitch and cry, she was damn near going to take him with her if he didn't pull away. Only the thought of burying himself so deep that she couldn't remember where she stopped and he began kept him from spilling into her mouth, of losing control.
Pulling free of her, he lifted her to her knees, lips finding hers for a rough, bruising kiss before pushing her forward again, this time in front of him. He didn't bother with preambles, with niceties. Hell, there was no time. When he sheathed himself fully, she gripped him so tight it was almost at that thin line between pleasure and pain, her body still keyed up from the climax she was coasting on.
Curling one hand around her waist, he grinned as he realized she'd curled her arms around the cooler, lifting herself upward enough to press back against his every thrust. She gave as good as she got, and that's part of what he loved about her. He wasn't worried about hurting her, of running her off. He wanted to fuck her into oblivion, to claim her, mark her in a way that linked her to him irrevocably... and she wasn't backing down. Damn, he loved this female.
When he noticed one of her hands moving to slide between her thighs, he couldn't help the groan that echoed in the tent. Reaching up, he curled one of his hands around her throat, pulling her back until her eyes met his. “Did I say you could touch yourself, darling?”
As she started to answer him, he tightened his grip, watching as her eyes widened, the denial she'd been about to utter cut off before she could voice it. He couldn't last long. The mix of innocence and siren in her expression, the surprise tempered with wanton need... it had him cursing, releasing her throat enough for her to get in a quick breath before he tightened his fingers again.
Her struggles had her ass rocking against him, burying his cock to the hilt when he felt her arch, feeble fight leaving her as she went almost limp in his arms, mouth opened in a silent cry.
This time, as she came, he joined her, beginning to thrust slowly again through her release, dragging the moment on as long as he could. Releasing her throat, he brushed her hair away from her neck, pressing soft kisses across her shoulders as he shook with the intensity of the release both had desperately needed.
Against all odds, this woman was made for him. She held her own against him, she completed him. Where the hell had she been all his life?
As the sun rose over the campsite that morning, the two were curled against each other, one of Raziel's legs thrown over Baylin's, her face nestled against his chest. He felt wholly satisfied in a way that he never had before, in a way he'd never thought could exist for him.
This pint-sized female had stormed into his world and turned it upside down. Yet... she'd been exactly what he'd needed, it seemed. He hadn't known the beauty he'd been missing all this time by refusing to let himself experience the world.
Now, he held her in his arms and he couldn't honestly say he wanted for anything else. Even her soft mumble of irritation in her sleep as he shifted her to get more comfortable made him smile.
He thought he'd miss Heaven, the only life he'd ever known. That he'd feel empty without his brothers near, without his battalion to command. They hadn't entered his mind once since he'd found her once more. He wouldn't waste time feeling guilty... they likely hadn't given him a second's thought, either.
Now, he had the rest of his life to figure out where they went from here. For whatever reason, his brothers didn't take his
angelic powers this time around. He was Fallen, and yet... he wasn't. Not truly. He was an aberration, yet again, and that boded well for no one. Why wouldn't they cast him out fully?
Why risk him being Fallen with his powers intact? Knowing them, they were up to something. He only wished he had some sort of warning as to what it was. They weren't the sort to be trusted, and he'd be furious if their mistake put Baylin in danger once more.
Tightening his hold on her for a moment at the thought, he forced his grip to loosen as her eyes fluttered open, sleepy gaze finding his in the soft rays of the morning sun coming through the plastic window of the tent.
“Hi.”
He grinned, brushing a stray tendril of hair away from her cheek. “Good morning, darling. Are we ready to go home now, or do you still need time to find yourself?”
She nodded, dragging herself into a seated position after she twisted out of his arms. “Let's go home, Raziel. I don't need to search anymore... you came and found me on your own.”
Let's go home. It sounded so foreign to include himself in the equation. Imagining himself in her tiny apartment, sharing her space, her life for the rest of their days. Thinking about the future, now that he actually could imagine them having one. And yet... it all felt so perfectly right.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michael had been working himself into more of a temper for hours now. When an Archangel officially fell, they were supposed to choose someone among their ranks to take his place. The new vessel would absorb their brother's powers, and essential take over their duties and command. As they were the core of power for the angels, they couldn't be a man down, unlike the other factions of angels that could regroup on their own.
Archangel's needed to keep their hierarchy intact, so a new leader for Raziel's battalion had been selected. Except when Michael had gone to retrieve Raziel's ampulla, he'd found it empty. None of the them would admit to what amounted to an act of treason against their kind, though Michael knew at least one of them was responsible, if not all of them. He simply had no proof. Yet.
In the end, they'd chosen to stand together as one. Gabriel knew he hadn't done it, and he doubted Uriel would have. That left Raphael. Either way, to go against Michael was courting disaster, so a unified front would be necessary, since Uriel would undoubtedly stand with Michael. Clearing his throat, Gabriel stepped forward.
“This was a unified decision, Michael. You know as well as we do that more relics have been stolen over the centuries than even we are aware of. Judging by the catastrophe that was just averted, we cannot afford to keep blinders over our eyes about this situation. We cannot step foot in the areas these relics are located. Our brother can.”
Truthfully, he had no idea if that had been Raphael's thoughts on the matter when he'd chosen not to take Raziel's grace. He feared it'd been some small degree of empathy and kindred, with no real political pull behind it. However, it served as a good reason, regardless.
After giving it some thought, Gabriel had realized it truly was their best way forward. They couldn't retrieve the relics. Raziel had technically fallen, as he'd renounced his ties to Heaven. Yet, his Grace hadn't been taken, so he still had his angelic powers. He could now walk on unconsecrated ground. He could sense the relics, touch them without fear of reprisal.
Their brother was in a position now that no angel had ever been in before. It was a boon to their cause, and Gabriel intended to use it as such, whether Michael and Uriel agreed with it or not. They'd never had such an opportunity before to retake what was lost and protect the mortal world. After all, that was their sworn duty, was it not?
“You know his heart as well as I, Michael.” Raphael spoke up, bowing his head in deference. “Raziel fought the darkness with a furor none of us could have likely matched. He succeeded in the impossible tasks given to him, against all odds. I believe he deserves a chance to serve as the Hand of Heaven on the mortal realm, to still be of some service to us.”
As his brother paced, Raphael went silent. When Michael was impotently raging, it was easiest to lay out the facts as calmly as you saw them, and let him digest them in his own time. By the end of it, he'd be convinced he came up with the idea and it was the most brilliant decision he'd ever had. Diplomacy at its finest. Finally, he turned to face them, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.
“While he has proven himself, the female he has chosen to bed down with is a cambion. This places her in an untenable position. She cannot be trusted.”
At that, Gabriel had no choice but to speak up. He likely wouldn't have, had it been anyone else. But Michael didn't concern himself with mortal affairs all that much, unless one of his brothers brought an issue to him. Due to that, he could be incredibly short-sighted at times.
“You're wrong.”
As all eyes turned to him, he raised a hand for silence. No one had ever flat out told Michael he was wrong. Yet Gabriel wouldn't let this prejudice stand.
“You didn't see the Arch in the aftermath, Michael. I did. It is not just closed. It is disintegrated. It is shattered. All magical power it held is rendered inert. If the demons are wanting to stage a revolution, they can no longer use the arch to do so.”
“None of us could have done it. Our souls, blessed as they are, are not pure. We are warriors. We have blood on our hands. For a good cause, yes, but we are not exemplary beings. Raziel could not have closed the portal. In the last moments of his mortal life, he trusted Baylin to make things right. “
“And despite her origins, she turned out to be the purest of all... someone who could not only handle all of the relics at once, but could channel their power without harming herself, and direct that energy to obliterating the darkness of the portal within the arch. You're wrong, Michael. Baylin is the hero we've sorely needed. Raziel is simply the conduit.”
Epilogue
Raziel turned to glance at Baylin, lips quirking upwards at the sight of her. She stood at the bow of the small boat, hands braced on the wooden barricades. Her eyes were closed, her dark tresses dancing behind her shoulders in the breeze. The thought crossed his mind that she looked like an angel before the irony of it made him let out a short laugh.
As the noise caught her attention, she turned, coming to fold herself into his welcoming arms. The water was slightly choppy, the trip not as smooth as it likely could have been. After a visit from his brothers... yes, plural, Raziel and Baylin had been recruited, of a sort.
The arguments made sense. The archangels couldn't continue the work Raziel and Baylin had started. It had to be finished by them, as well. It explained why his grace hadn't been taken from him. There had been an ulterior motive the entire time.
He should have known, truly. They'd settled into a life together seamlessly. Raziel had found a calling somewhat, as a substitute professor of religion and history. The credentials were faked, obviously, but it wasn't as if he didn't know more than even the books did. First hand knowledge beat ancestral stories any way he looked at it. He and Baylin just... fit. There were no real arguments, no mistrust. Of course they bickered, but truthfully, he loved her fiery nature and wouldn't have it any other way. Making up after a spat was the best part, regardless.
It was all too comfortable. There had to be a catch. When his brothers had shown up with a list of demands in tow, Raziel felt like, finally, the other end of the scale had dropped. They'd thought they'd averted the apocalypse. As always, the story wasn't that clear.
They'd simply averted one. Demonkind would never be content to stay in the shadows. They would always fight to free themselves, aided and abetted by humans who were hungry for power, or simply didn't know any better.
Scattered on earth in hidden crevices both known and unknown lay objects with powers the world could scarcely dream of. Objects that, in the wrong hands, could wreak havoc and destruction on the place Raziel had claimed for his home. Could put Baylin in danger. That could not be allowed.
So he found himself on a boat, accompanied by Baylin, even after
he'd put his foot down on her coming with him. That worked out as well as he'd expected it to. She was too curious for her own good, and this site had been the cause of too many conspiracy theories for her to miss.
They were sailing past Nova Scotia into Mahone Bay to what was once called Smith's Island, then renamed to Gloucester Isle. The rest of the world now knew it as Oak Island. As it was privately owned, they were avoiding the causeway used to transport large equipment and heavy machinery to the digging areas and sailing to the Easternmost tip of the island. Besides, they weren't headed to the areas that had already been excavated.
No, what they were after was the underground drainage systems that started at Smuggler's Cove. Altogether, there were five drains across the island, which seemed purposely man-made to funnel seawater at high-tide into drainage channels on the island. Of course, it also helped hinder those seeking treasure elsewhere.
What few people thought about was why someone had started digging there in the first place. The drains had been added after, which helped funnel water towards the infamous Money Pit and swamp on the island. No one questioned which had come first. Perhaps they should.
Ashes of Eden Page 16