Archangel's Storm

heat, feminine muscles pulsing on his rigid flesh. The pleasure was almost pain, the bite exquisite. Turning his mouth to brush against her own, he continued to work his cock into her, slow and relentless.
    “Jason.”
    Flexing his hips at the whimper of sound, he forced himself to halt. “Does it hurt?” he asked bluntly.
    A dazed look. “It burns and yet it feels good. I want you in me.”
    That was all he needed to hear.
    Sliding his hands under her thighs, he lifted her legs off his hips and pushed her knees up and wide, his strength more than enough to keep her pinned as he thrust into her to the feel of her nails digging into his back as her body spasmed around him, bathing his cock in molten desire.
    Then he began to move.
     

23
    H onor sat in sunlight rich as honey and as languorous, a glass of orange juice in hand and Dmitri’s white shirt loose and comfortable around her, watching her husband pace back and forth across the sprawling gardens that surrounded their private villa. He held a phone to his ear, gave clipped orders in a tone that said he expected to be obeyed.
    He’d asked her if she wanted to explore the countryside, but all she wanted was to be with Dmitri. They made love in the sunshine and in the dark, played bedroom games that caused her to blush, and fed each other treats they had delivered from a discreet grocer in the nearby village. It was a lazy, hazy existence, and she was glad for it after the horror of what had gone before.
    Of course, Dmitri couldn’t disconnect completely from the Tower that had been his responsibility for centuries, nor had she expected it of him. What mattered was that the instant she looked at him in a way that said she needed his attention, the phone went off. There was no doubt in her mind that she was the most important part of her husband’s life . . . important enough that he would give up immortality should she choose a mortal existence. Because that was something else she understood; her Dmitri would not choose to go on after she died. He’d survived once, wouldn’t again.
    Striding back to her, he placed his cell phone on the wrought iron table that held a plate filled with slices of fruit she’d cut for them to share. “What are you thinking?” He leaned down, hands on the arms of her chair. “You’re tense.”
    And he’d figured that out from meters away, while she’d believed him engrossed in his conversation. “I almost wish,” she said, putting down her juice and tucking her feet up in the chair, “you hadn’t given me time to rethink my choice.”
    His head dropped, and it was instinct to stroke her fingers through his hair. “I’m a bastard, Honor.” Fierce voice, his eyes locking with her own. “We both know that.” When she would’ve spoken, he shook his head and continued. “I damn well rigged your original decision—maybe I thought I was giving you a choice, but by asking you when I did, I made sure that choice was the one
I
wanted.”
    Trailing her fingers down his neck and over the faded gray of his T-shirt, she said, “Was that meant to shock me? Hmm?”
    His lips, so sexy and tempting, curved. “You realize most people are intimidated by me.”
    “Really?” It was a blatant tease. “How strange.”
    He laughed, her Dmitri who had never laughed like this when they’d first met, with the light in his eyes. “You are definitely not Ingrede.”
    She’d wondered if he truly understood that when they married, understood that while she carried the soul and the memories of the woman he’d danced with on a field of wildflowers, she’d been shaped by the winds of another life. Now she saw the knowledge in his eyes, saw, too, the heart-piercing love he had for the woman she was in this lifetime, a hunter scarred but no longer broken. “Oh?” she said with a smile she could feel in every cell of her body. “I don’t seem to recall your first wife accepting your every word as law.”
    “I do believe your memory must be faulty.” Eliminating the inches that separated them, he claimed an unashamedly sexual kiss that melted her bones. When he trailed his lips over her jaw and down to the pulse in her neck, she fisted her hand in his hair.
    “Take me.” It was an offer she’d make only Dmitri. “You haven’t fed today.”
    But instead of sinking his fangs into her willing flesh, he lifted his head, frowned. “I don’t want to weaken you. I can have some blood packs delivered—”
    “No. You feed