Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

clenched. Never had she craved a man with such hunger, never had she been more aware of her own femininity. Raphael could snap her like a twig. And for a woman who had been hunter-born, that wasn’t a threat . . . but the darkest of temptations.
    Her hand fisted under the water as she remembered how he’d made her cut herself. She hadn’t forgotten, had no romantic fantasies that he’d change, become more human. No, Raphael was the Archangel of New York and she had to be ready to take that man to her bed. The water lapped at her breasts as he settled on the opposite side, his wings folded to his back, his hair beginning to curl from the steam.
    “Why the delay?” she asked, having seen the blatant evidence of his arousal.
    “When you’ve lived as long as I have,” he said, eyes heavy-lidded but definitely on her, “you learn to appreciate new sensations. They are rare in an immortal’s life.”
    She found she’d moved toward him. He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until she straddled him as he sat on a ledge below the waterline, her legs wrapped around his waist.
    He settled her firmly against him.
    Sucking in a breath, she said, “Sex isn’t new to you,” and rocked her heat over the exquisite hardness of him. Good didn’t begin to describe how it felt. How he felt.
    “No. But you are.”
    “Never had a hunter before?” She grinned, nibbling on his lower lip.
    But he didn’t smile. “I’ve never had Elena before.” The words were husky, his eyes so intent she felt owned.
    Draping her arms around his neck, she leaned back so she could look into his face. “And I’ve never had Raphael.”
    At that moment, it felt as if something changed in the air, in her soul.
    Then Raphael’s hands spread on her lower back and the feeling dissipated. Nothing, she thought, it had been nothing but an overactive imagination. She was tired, frustrated, so damn greedy for this immortal who’d made no secret of the fact that, lust or not, he might yet kill her.
    “The rules,” Raphael said, catching her gaze, holding it.
    She pressed closer, continuing to rub her heat along his aroused length. Today, she needed the pleasure Raphael could provide. And if there was a little sensual cruelty mixed in with the pleasure, so be it. “Yeah?”
    He stilled her movements with those powerful hands of his. “Until this ends, I’ll be your only lover.”
    Her muscles tightened at the absolute possession in that statement. “Until what ends?”
    “This hunger.”
    The problem was, she was afraid this fury would never end, that she’d go to her grave craving the Archangel of New York. “Only if you meet a condition of mine.”
    He didn’t like that, his bones sharp against skin gone taut. “Tell me.”
    “No vamp, human, or angel honeys for you either.” She dug her nails into his shoulders. “I won’t share you.” She might be a toy, but she was a toy with claws.
    His expression thawed, those cobalt eyes holding a distinct gleam of satisfaction. “Deal.”
    She’d expected to have to fight him. “I mean it. Not one lover. I’ll cut off the hands they used to touch you, dump their bodies where no one will ever find them.”
    He seemed amused by her gruesome threat. “And me? What would you do to me? Shoot me again?”
    “I’m not feeling guilty for that.” But she did. Just an eensy bit. “Does it hurt?”
    He laughed, and the open pleasure in it was a caress. “Ah, Elena, you are a contradiction. No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s healed.”
    She wanted to be a tough-ass, but that smile of his was doing things to her, melting her from the inside out. “So, what turns on an archangel?”
    “A naked hunter is a good start.” He pulled her harder against his cock, holding her in place when she would’ve wiggled. “My wings,” he told her, kissing her neck, finding that sensitive little spot just above her collarbone.
    It made her soften, return the favor. “Wings?” She nipped at the tendons of his neck, feeling languorous heat crawl up her body—she’d thought she wanted a short, hard fuck to screw up her brains enough that she could come down from the adrenaline buzz, but now that she was in his arms, a slow descent into sensual oblivion sounded far better.
    When he didn’t answer, she decided to do some exploring of her own. Moving one hand, she stroked firmly along the top edge of his right wing. He went tense against her, the waiting kind of tense, the kind that told her