Angel Betrayed (The Fallen 2)

In an instant, they were on the bed. He didn’t start with her mouth. Didn’t start with those delectable br**sts. Instead he spread her beneath him on the bed. Sam took his time letting his hands slide up her thighs, and then when she was parted and ready, he bent his head and took his taste.

Better than wine.

He stroked her with his tongue. He worked her sweet flesh, enjoying every husky moan that broke from her lips. His fingers slipped inside of her. His lips feathered over her clit.

She jerked her hips up. Not to get away, but to get closer to his mouth.

Taste. Take. He did. Again and again, and she came against his mouth as she gasped out his name.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. He felt a push of power, and the room seemed to roll around him. He looked up and realized that he was on his back.

Seline smiled down at him; then she bent and took his aroused flesh into her mouth. Hot. Tight. And her tongue . . .

His back teeth clenched as he gritted out her name.

But Seline didn’t stop. She took him in deeper, and she swallowed. She sucked. Sweat slickened his skin as he fought to hold on to his control—that desperate control that wanted to crack.

Then she lifted her head and licked her lips.

A growl burst from his throat.

Seline straddled him, and the hot core of her sex pressed over the length of his cock. She leaned forward, positioned the head of his erection at the entrance to her body, and then she rose above him, her br**sts too temptingly close to his mouth.

His lips closed around her breast just as she pushed down with her hips. His c**k slid deep inside, and her hot, tight sex gripped every inch of him.

Fucking perfect.

She rose again. Slid down.

He licked her breast. Sucked the nipple. Let her feel the score of his teeth.

She pushed down. Rose up.

His control shattered. He grabbed her, wrapping his hands tightly around her waist. He rolled them and knew they were wrecking the bed. His hips drove down, and he thrust as deep into her as he could go.

Harder. Deeper.

The bed shook. Her nails scraped over his back. His hands bit into her waist. His c**k plunged inside of her.

Again, again.

Her eyes were closed. No f**king good. “Look at me,” he growled.

Her lashes flew up, and pitch-black eyes met his. The darkness had never burned so bright.

Yes.

She came as she stared at him. He saw the flash of pleasure wipe across her face as her inner muscles clamped around his cock. The ripples of her release stroked his length, and he erupted inside of her.

He held her as the tremors shook him. The pleasure burst through him, hot and long.

She held him, too, her grip so strong—almost as if she were afraid he’d pull away. She didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t about to let her go.

His stare was still on hers, and he wondered just what she’d seen in that wild instant when he’d only known . . . her.

Her skin glowed. Her cheeks flushed a light pink. The black of her eyes faded to warm brown as she stared up at him.

She looked beautiful, sexy, and . . . vulnerable.

A deceptive package.

Slowly, he withdrew from her. The wet glide of flesh on flesh had his c**k hardening again.

But as much as he wanted to take her more—over and over—there was danger coming.

He stared down at her body. His. No condom. His gaze rose back to hers. He hadn’t used a condom before, either, and . . .

“It’s all right,” she told him quietly. “I’m safe.”

No, she wasn’t. Neither of them had to worry about diseases, those didn’t spread between the Other, but safe? No, they were a long way from being the safe sort.

So they’d “trust” each other, but they’d both keep lying.

When she walked into her house, Anthea Johnson heard the soft rustle of footsteps. She smiled, knowing her husband was already home. She and Ron had planned to sneak away this weekend. They’d head out to the little cabin by the lake that Ron loved so much and enjoy a weekend of nonstop sex. “Ron?” Maybe she’d get lucky and come back pregnant. Oh, that would be—

She saw Ron sitting in the kitchen chair. She hurried forward. “Hi, honey, I’ll be ready in five . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized something was wrong with the angle of Ron’s head.

Not his head. His neck.

Very wrong.

Her scream echoed around her and shattered the windowpanes. She lunged forward and grabbed his shirt. “Ron?”

He slumped against her.

And that was when she heard the soft laughter coming from behind her.

Sam had found her clothes to wear. Or rather, Sam had sent Cole to find them. The jeans and T-shirt fit perfectly, and even the boots were the right size.

Never underestimate a demon.

Or an angel.

Dressed and semi-ready to face the world, Seline took a deep breath and said, “Your brother wants me dead.” The lust had cooled, and her energy was back, finally. A girl could only bluff so long, and now was the time to lay all her cards on the table.

“He wants me dead, too.”

Yes. He did. “Az told me that all the Fallen would die.” She was pretty sure that the guy had meant by his hand.

“It’s not easy to kill Fallen,” Sam murmured. “The Death Touch doesn’t work on our own kind.”

Well, that was interesting. She filed that little tidbit away in her mind.

Sam had pulled on a pair of jeans, nothing else, and her eyes wanted to stray down the muscled expanse of his chest as she looked at him.

Seline cleared her throat. “But the Fallen can die.” Just not by any weapon of man, so the legend and rumors claimed. No mortal weapon. No Death Touch. Now that sure raised the question . . . how had Az killed Omayo? The guy’s throat had looked like an animal ripped it open.

“This isn’t the first time Az has gone after a Fallen.” Sam’s rumbling words had her gaze flying to his face.

“He’s attacked someone else?”

Sam’s lips curved in a smile that caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. “Before his lily-white ass got kicked out, Az took it upon himself to deliver out justice to the Fallen.”

Justice. She did not like where this was going. “He left me alive deliberately,” Seline said. Not just a great stroke of luck on her part. Az had wanted her to live so that she could deliver his message. “He’s going after the Fallen.” No wonder he’d written Fallen on the wall—the guy had been marking, claiming his kill. “I don’t think he’s going to stop until they’re all dead.”