Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

her.
    “ San Giorgio,” she spat out. “He is everywhere here in Venice. But where is he now? Will he help you slay the dragon and save the maiden? Do you even know which is which?”
    Do I know which I am? she wondered. Am I the dragon or the maiden? Am I both?
    “Right now, looking into your eyes, I can tell what you think of me,” Luciana said fiercely. “That there is something fragile and innocent inside of me that needs to be saved. You couldn’t be more wrong.”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Perhaps it’s you who need to be saved,” she taunted. “There is something dark within you. I can feel it. Something yearning for release.”
    It was very quiet here in the street, with the silence of sleeping Venice surrounding them.
    He backed her into a dark doorway, beneath a stone arch that could have belonged to a private home, a shop or a restaurant—it hardly mattered to her which. All that mattered was him. He pressed into her, trapping her body against the door.
    She felt a tremble run through her own body as his lips brushed over hers, gentle at first.
    And then not gentle.
    Seeking, demanding, a pent-up fire in him fiercely seizing her mouth. Burning.
    As it was, pinned between his body and that door, there was nowhere to move.
    Nowhere to go.
    Yet inside, she had taken flight. The heady rush of desire—or was it his muscled arm—lifted her so that she was off one foot, her thighs opening for him, one leg lifting to ride his hip. His hands held her, lifting her off her feet entirely, bracing her against the door. His fingers dug into the backs of her slim thighs as he ground his hardened cock against the softest, darkest place of her. The only thing separating the most intimate joining was the barrier of their clothing, the zippered fly of his jeans and the thin silk of her panties.
    Darkness. Her territory.
    And yet, here on the familiar streets of Venice, she felt as though she were venturing on to new ground entirely, here in the arms of this man. Of this angel.
    She slipped her hand between them, rubbed the flat of her palm against the hard, hot bulge behind the fabric of his jeans.
    She wanted him inside her.
    He groaned, throbbing in her hand, pulsing in her palm as though he might explode any minute.
    Power. The balance had shifted back to her, the epicenter of her control held in the palm of her hand, in her fingers wrapped around this gloriously hard erection of his.
    He kissed her, more deeply, a deep, guttural groan vibrating through her. His hand slid up her throat, caressing, his thumb rubbing against the pulse point there.
    How easy it would be to simply unzip his fly, she knew. Free the hard length of him. Guide him to herself and open for him. And then feel him sliding into her, the girth of him filling that void inside her, the power of that connection shared between them in the most intimate way possible.
    She opened her eyes.
    Madness. Absolute and unquestionable.
    Yes.
    * * *
     
    They stood in that darkened doorway, learning each other’s bodies, the contact of each other so heightened and new, as though they had entered some other world.
    The dark pull of her was an attraction that made Brandon think thoughts he had never even imagined before. Sensual images of the two of them flickered through his mind. Sweat-slicked in the height of fervor, joined in the most intimate and sacred of ways, their bodies moving together as they reached for the state of ecstasy.
    As their lips met again, he resisted the urge to press farther, his body aching to push into hers, already flush against the door. No fireworks tonight, but the explosion of lust inside of him detonated.
    Desire radiated through him, hot and pure. Slipped into his bloodstream faster than any poison. More potent than any drug. More dangerous than death itself.
    Then Brandon broke off the kiss.
    From the shadows of that doorway he saw a figure high above them, silhouetted by moonlight. Up among the statues on the top of St. Mark’s Basilica, was the Archangel Michael.
    Brandon saw him now. And so did Luciana.
    The Archangel circled down from the dark heavens, wings outstretched, more monumental than any statue, more glorious than any painting ever managed to portray him. A myriad of colors undulated in his wings; a dazzling display of light poured from him as he approached, circling down from the sky overhead.
    Brandon let go of the demoness. She ran, her dark hair swirling around her as she turned to look back at him,