Free Sweet Disgrace by Cherrie Lynn Page A

only seemed to drive her lust to greater heights.
    Suddenly, he jolted against her and cringed as if he were in pain, his eyes squeezing shut. She knew immediately it had nothing to do with any pleasure he was feeling; he was in real distress. Alarm flashed through her. “What’s wrong?”
    For a moment, he seemed to struggle to regain control of himself, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said raggedly. His eyes, when they opened, seemed to carry the wearied aftereffects of agony, but his gaze played over her face with a new determination. “Just touch me, Celeste,” he said. “Trust me enough to give yourself to me. I need this.”
    Was she mad to let him have such power? All the same, her hands skated feverishly down his back, feeling the muscles bunch and release as he thrust into her again and again. Weakness lapped at all her limbs. His kisses along her throat crossed the threshold into pain as his teeth sank into her. She only wanted more, turning her head away, giving him access. Helpless, she wrapped her legs around his waist, hanging on to him as the only reality in this wild new world he was leading her through.
    “Please,” she whispered, raising her hands to grab silky fistfuls of his hair. She didn’t know what she was asking him for, couldn’t gather her thoughts that far.
    But he seemed to know. His mouth released its feral grip on her throat and moved to her lips, and it was difficult to fathom a kiss so gentle and reassuring could come from the same being that ravaged her body. She moaned, melting into it, giving him what he asked for even if it was at her own peril. She did trust him, whether it meant she was insane or not.
    A heaven she’d never known before glimmered just beyond her reach. He brought it closer with every movement, every kiss. A moment later, with the barest stroke of his finger over her clitoris, he brought it crashing down over her.
    She cried out as her body arched taut as a bowstring under him, and he let out a purr and another rush of words she couldn’t decipher. She was beyond caring. The stars were raining down over her. Somehow, in the midst of it all, she felt him shudder, and curse, and release inside her. Every contraction of her internal muscles was met with a hot gush of his seed, as if she milked it from him. She tightened her legs behind him so that she received every drop he had to give her. It only seemed to drive her pleasure higher and higher. The first syllable of his name caught on her breath.
    “ Say it,” he said when she stopped, nothing demanding or severe about his tone. He was pleading.
    “Damael!”
    His head dropped to her shoulder, tremors wracking him. She caught him in her arms, held him close and fought not to sob. For him, for herself, for what they’d just done, what they’d just brought upon themselves.
    But he’d kept his promise. He’d made it worth her while.

    It seemed forever passed before they emerged from their cocoon of post-apocalyptic bliss. Hours, surely. Damael seemed content to lie on his back while she rested her head on his shoulder, one wing draped across him. He also seemed particularly fond of stroking the feathers.
    Celeste had often been envious of the demons for not having to carry their wings while walking the earth. But unlike that hideous webbed monstrosity on their backs, an angel’s wings were a status symbol and always represented, nuisance or no. She’d worked hard for hers, so she really shouldn’t complain. But she certainly didn’t think she’d enjoyed them this much since she’d first earned them. A wry smile touched her lips at the thought.
    Damael shifted under her to get a better look at her face. “What’s that for?”
    She lifted her head, resting one cheek in her hand. He immediately reached up to push a curlicue of hair away from her face. “Can’t I smile?” she asked teasingly. “Or am I supposed to be eternally downhearted at the plight of the world?”
    “Perhaps if you smiled