Demon Angel

speared through her. His eyes were dark as he unrolled the sheath over his cock.
    And then he bent, lifted her easily and set her on the edge of the large ottoman, hooked her legs over his arms. The leather was buttery soft beneath her.
    "Do you want to watch?"
    "No," she said and couldn't look away as he pressed against her, slid the thick head of his cock up and down, teasing.
    He pushed forward. Sank into her.
    It burned and stretched. Pain, just a little, but it was good— she hadn't felt it when she'd been a demon. She panted and writhed against her seat as he went deeper, feeding his shaft into her inch by slow inch.
    He paused, his breathing harsh. "Am I hurting you?"
    Yes and no were both lies, both truth. In answer, she pushed toward him. Full penetration, and she cried out, unable to contain it.
    "Aye, Lily—like that. Let me hear it again." He withdrew, then stroked thickly back inside. Braced his forearms on either side of her. Another thrust, slowly, and he groaned in triumph, in pleasure as another cry tore from her. "I'm greedy, too," he said.
    Her laugh ended on a scream as he began to drive into her, hard and fast, but even that sound was cut short as his mouth took hers and his tongue and breath pulled and pushed in rhythm with his cock. Unable to keep still, she arched up against him. Dropped her feet to the floor and lifted. And almost sobbed as the new angle allowed him even deeper, hitting just right with every sharp thrust, an overwhelming, terrible pleasure.
    He slid his hand beneath her, to support her or to hold her still for him, she didn't know, didn't care. Short lunges now, each one quick and unbearably perfect. And her orgasm ripped through her, an unexpected release that left her shaken, falling, clinging to him inside and out.
    Gradually, she became aware of his skin, slick with perspiration. The muscles in his back flexing under her hands. He slowed, waited as if to give her time to come back to herself.
    Had it always been like this: laughing one moment, intense and earth-shattering the next? Full of need, then certain she'd never want for anything else? She could never be restless with him, never bored—never had been. Even stillness with him was a constant revelation.
    She pressed her lips to his throat, blinked away the burning behind her eyes. "Four days is enough."
    And then she pivoted, knocking him back, sprawling atop him. Rode him as she'd promised once, threatened hundreds of times. His fingers tightened; she didn't remember threading hers through his, but their palms were locked together.
    "I can't love you," she said, and the thrust of his lean hips became erratic, a staccato beat.
    "Lie." He panted the word.
    She clenched her teeth, bore down, grinding against him. "I shouldn't love you." He tensed beneath her, and her name was a plea on his lips. But shouldn't was Lucifer's lie, not hers.
    "I don't love you," she lied instead, and he arched beneath her, shuddering. The pulse of his release sent tremors through her again, and she didn't resist the simple human pleasure of it.
    She lay on his chest, felt the racing of his heart, his ragged breathing. They eased, and he finally managed to say, "I should have given in the night on the wall walk."
    Laughing, she turned her head and bit his shoulder. Licked, tasted salt and warm, satisfied male. His hand smoothed down the length of her spine. She glanced up at him, but he was staring at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused.
    "I'll find a way, Lilith," he said quietly, and unease shivered over her skin.
    But she didn't object when he mistook it for cold and was kind to her again.
----

CHAPTER 29
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    "Oh, Liiiiil-LITH!" Her father's singsongy call became a roar, demanding obedience. She tasted dirt and blood, and her stomach heaved in revulsion.
    "If you puke, you're going to die." He sounded pleased by the idea.
    Lilith forced her eyes open. Lucifer perched weightlessly on her stomach like a vulture. He'd adopted the form of a tow-headed young boy, eight or nine years of age; his jeans and T-shirt were pristine and dry despite the misting rain.
    She tried to speak, but her tongue lay stiff and cold in her mouth. Lucifer tilted his head and smiled.
    "You've got just enough left in you," he said. Plunging two fingers into the wound in her chest, he wriggled them around. "If he'd taken your head off, I wouldn't be bothering with this now." He wrapped his free hand around her jaw; withdrawing his blood-slicked