Demon Angel

sex. His marks.
    "My angel, above. The firmament between." He touched her face, her breasts and belly. Moved his other hand, still between her thighs, where she was hot and wet. "Flood and furnace. It has left its mark, but there is no part of you that is Hell for me— and the only torment would be losing you again." He drew her back down against him.
    "Good," she said fiercely against his mouth. "Because I'm too greedy to let you take your love back, and too selfish to push you away."
    "Good," he echoed, and traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. Dipped inside to taste before pulling back. "Let me be kind to you, Lily."
    But it was not kindness when the delicious torture of his fingers halted, and he withdrew his hand. She snarled in protest, but he only laughed, the sound roughened by his arousal. "Up," he said, pushing her up over the length of his torso, tugging down her waistband at the same time.
    "Oh, yes," she said as she realized his intent, and scrambled forward on her knees, kicking at the pants until they came off. "God, yes, be kind. Be very, very—" The heat of his mouth seared through her, and she fell, her elbows hitting the rug, bracing her only by virtue of their construction, because every other bone in her body seemed suddenly weak and useless.
    She gasped as his tongue brushed her clit, when it returned to stroke more firmly. Then she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. His hands curled around her thighs, held her against him—but she wasn't going anywhere. Not with his tongue licking, darting, suckling. Trembling, she looked again, and he tilted his head back to watch her watching him, canted her hips to keep her against his mouth.
    Leisurely now, he licked through the soft folds. Used his lips to tease at her clit. Her jaw clenched against the whimpering moans of pleasure that built inside her with each luscious slide of his tongue, and she only heard the wet slick sounds, the low encouraging noises that came from his throat. Until he said, "Open for me, Lily," and she laughed, shuddering with need, wondering how she could open any more for him.
    He licked. "I won't settle for half." She thought he was throwing her words back at her, and she shook her head. He needn't worry—this wasn't half, he was giving her everything. But he growled with frustration and rolled her over. Pinned her wrists to the floor. "You don't have to hide from me. Lie, if you must, if you can't tell me with truth. But don't hide. Not when I'm touching you, not when I'm inside you."
    And she realized she had been holding back, refusing him her response except for those she could not control. She'd been conditioned for too long; denying herself any pleasure, denying the acknowledgment of it.
    She pulled her hands free. She didn't have to use her strength; he let her go, but didn't move from between her legs. His muscles were rigid with tension. His eyes searched her face, as if waiting for her to come to a decision.
    And a part of her rebelled— he'd hidden from her —but the need in his expression quelled that vengeful little voice. She would do unto him in this, if only this—if only Hugh.
    "I don't want you to touch me," she said.
    His lips parted, his head bowed in relief. "Lie to me again," he said.
    She grinned, and smoothed her hands over the muscular planes of his chest. "I don't want you inside me. I don't want you to be kind to me." She tugged, and his shirt joined his glasses on the sofa. Threaded her fingers through his dark hair, pulled him down and kissed him long and deep. His fingers worked between them, and then his skin was bare against hers.
    He filled her palm, his length hot and hard. Each stroke of her hand pulled a harsh breath from him.
    "I don't want to fuck you until you can't walk."
    He groaned, thrust into her tight grip. The protuberant head was slick, and she swirled her thumb over it.
    Laughing softly, she said, "I think you have a word fetish. Fuck." She whispered it into his ear, and he jerked against her.
    "Why, my virtuous Norman knight likes a dirty Anglo-Saxon word. And lies."
    "Only when you say them." His laugh was tortured.
    She licked his mouth. "I don't want you to fuck my—"
    "Lilith, for god's sake!" He fumbled with his pants, lying discarded beside them. "I need pity."
    She did, too. He rose up on his knees, and he was beautiful, his erection ruddy with need, arching toward his navel. Her breath hitched, and the slow, throbbing ache centered in her core twisted,