“Yes!” she said, changing her angle of flight to follow.
“And am I not answerable to my consort?”
The words Elena had been about to say died in her throat. “Well,” she murmured, letting him catch her around the waist, “if you put it like that, I can’t exactly argue, can I?” It was an unexpected, breath-stealing gift, his open acceptance of her claim.
Blue fire licked in his eyes, his mouth brushing over hers in tiny, teasing bites. Then, will you dance with me, Elena?
She felt her eyes widen, her stomach fill with butterflies. “Now? Here?”
Raphael’s hands played over her ribs, his thumbs brushing the lower curves of her br**sts. Now. Here.
“But—” The air left her throat as he bit at her lower lip at the same time that he rolled one of her ni**les through the fabric of her tank. Wait. Wait. She had to ask him something before her brain turned to mush.
Rain and wind around her, fresh and wild and open, the archangel’s hand closing with open possession over her breast. I do not wish to wait.
26
God, she was sunk, putty in his hands. Only her discomfort at the question circling in her mind gave her the will to break the kiss, to suck in a breath . . . while the angel dipped his head to close his teeth over the frantically beating pulse in her neck.
“Surveillance!” she blurted out. “There are satellites everywhere! Won’t someone see?” She was too private, too possessive, to share this moment with anyone.
One hand stroking down over her back, to her bottom. I am an archangel, Elena. I have enough power to blow out every satellite in the world.
“That’s not what I—” She cried out as he bit down on her pulse then licked the small sensual hurt, her hands fisting in the thick silk of his hair.
No one will see us. A kiss that took over her mouth. I used my power to shield us from view as soon as we flew out of Manhattan.
She bit down on his lip this time. “Thanks for telling me.”
One strong hand clenched on her hip. “Biting is not nice, Elena.”
Oh, dear God. When he started teasing . . . Forget about the putty. She was melting into a big old pile of goo. Pushing away in self-defense, she tried valiantly to hover and failed. But she managed to turn her drop into a sweep that drew up into a vertical climb. Show me how angels dance, Raphael.
A second later, he was there with her, his body spiraling around her own as she climbed, his speed and agility so stunning that everything female in her resonated in response. Mine, she thought, this magnificent creature with his wings of gold and eyes of relentless blue is mine.
A shimmer in her peripheral vision and then ... sex. Pure sex and temptation and passion on her tongue. Dusting me again, Archangel? Licking the delicious, decadent taste of Raphael’s special blend of angel-dust off her lips, she flew through the fine, fine particles, feeling the wicked caress of it cover every exposed inch of her body—including her wings.
Next time, I will do it when you are clothed in nothing but skin.
She clenched her thighs at the sensual impact of that image. It would drive her mad, she thought, that level of sensation. But she’d always known that loving an archangel would be no easy matter. Smiling, she dropped without warning, simply folding her wings and plummeting to the earth.
She flared them out again at the midpoint, sweeping away in a different direction. Raphael was nowhere to be seen. Feeling smug at having evaded him, she was startled to see angel-dust raining down around her, streaking the night sky in shimmers of brilliant gold. Pushing back her hair, she glanced over her shoulder.
Her archangel was flying perfectly above her, his wings bigger, a midnight shadow over her body. Not fair, she complained. You’ve had a millennium and a half to learn these tricks. She tugged at the neck of her tank top, suddenly far too hot as the angel-dust worked its way through the material and into her pores to her bloodstream, the erotic kiss of it concentrated on the pulse between her thighs.
A light touch at her neck and the tank, then the sleeves, literally fell apart in her hands. “Raphael!” I can’t go about having my clothes scattered all over the state!
Even as she spoke, she saw tiny flickers of blue light up the night and realized he’d destroyed the fragments of her clothing. But that wasn’t at the forefront of her mind. It was the fact that she was nude above the waist. It made her feel painfully vulnerable.
No one can see, Elena. I promise you this.
Only Raphael could’ve made her believe that, made her trust. Taking a deep breath, she dropped the arms she’d crossed over her chest and looked around. She had no idea where they were, but it was pitch-dark below, so dark that it had to be—“The sea.” While they’d been flying above the clouds, Raphael had taken them out into the Atlantic, so far out that no matter which direction she turned, she couldn’t see any sign of light, of human civilization.
Exhilaration burst through her bloodstream, and she thought, what the hell. Do your magic, Archangel. She kicked off her shoes, somehow managed to get off her pants and underwear—though her flight path probably looked like that of a drunken bumblebee. Her clothing disappeared in flashes of blue, her skin sighing at the release. Flaring out her wings to their greatest width, she gave in to the hunger inside of her and rode the air currents with an untamed, open joy.
She’d never felt as carefree.
Raphael winged over her, slow and easy, almost lazily, and she got the feeling he was letting her play. It made her lips kick upward ... and then she tasted the angel-dust glittering in the air. Pure sex. The damn sneaky archangel had flown circles around her, until there was nowhere she could go to escape the exotic, aphrodisiac stuff. You realize this is war? she said, licking the dust off her lips, vividly conscious of it caressing every secret corner of her body.