Налини Сингх - Archangel's Sun

“Yes.” Aegaeon, butting in again. “It’s possible the infection did cross the border.”

“Within the week,” Titus said. “It’s a priority for the team on the task.”

Dropping her arms, Caliane spread out wings edged with a glow. “Then we’re done here—unless any of you have an argument with the decision?” When no one raised an objection, she said, “The Cadre has spoken.”

The archangels began to sign off. Raphael did so with a smile for Sharine that reached his eyes. For a second, Titus was sure he saw a glitter of light in the Cascade mark on Raphael’s temple, but no, the mark was as dark as it had been since the end of the war.

“I’ll call once you’re at Lumia,” the pup said to Sharine, “and we can speak longer.”

“You need rest, Raphael.” Maternal chiding. “I can see you haven’t been eating or sleeping as you should.”

That Raphael simply took the chiding told Titus there was much he didn’t know about the relationship between Sharine and the youngest member of the Cadre. So much life she’d lived, so many loves she nurtured in her heart.

“I’ll recover.” Raphael’s smile formed creases in his cheeks. “So will my city. Elena has voluntarily promised to organize a block party when New York shines once again.”

“I await my invitation!” Titus boomed; he’d had a grand time at the last one. But this time, he’d either dance in the streets with Sharine . . . or he’d stay home, a brokenhearted mess of a man.

The image should’ve made him back off, run. It was the one thing he’d never wanted—to be so reliant on a woman’s favor. But not only did he stay in place, he gloried in the lush caress of her voice as she farewelled Raphael. “My love to you both. Tell Elena I wear her gift each and every day.”

“I know my consort will be glad to hear it.” Raphael signed off.

When Titus saw Aegaeon hovering in wait, he sent his technician a mental command to “accidentally” cut the connection. At last, he was alone with the woman who’d ruined him for all others.

He had no fucking idea what he’d do if it all went wrong.

Turning to her, he held out a hand. “I’m filthy now, but after I bathe, will you spend the night in my arms?” The next hours would be the last free ones he’d have for weeks—perhaps months—to come. “I must rest before I fly back to my troops. I wouldn’t do it without you.”

A slender but strong hand sliding into his, eyes of champagne light dazzling in their penetrating beauty. “Yes.”

But she didn’t pull away at the door to his suite, to wait for him while he bathed. No, she followed him inside, then very deliberately locked the door. He’d landed on her balcony when he flew home, so his balcony doors were already shut.

Heart thunder and breath tight, he stood motionless as she moved toward him.

When she dropped her hands to his left gauntlet, he held it up and allowed her to unclasp it. She put it aside on a nearby table, then returned to unclasp the right gauntlet. He had to go down on one knee so she could remove the shoulder guards, and though he’d never knelt before any other lover, it didn’t feel wrong to kneel for her.

This, what lived between them, it was no game of power.

It was a thing deep and true and terrifying.

Rising again after the shoulder guards were gone, he spread out his wings so she could unclasp the intricate mechanisms of the back guard and breastplate, then lifted off both and put them on the table beside the other pieces. His next action was to strip off his black undershirt. His boots and socks, he’d already abandoned on her balcony, they were so encrusted with gore.

It left him dressed only in battered pants of dark brown.

Taking his hand, Sharine led him to the bath that Yash had already prepared—his steward, when not out in the field, was a stickler about doing certain tasks himself. It was a huge tub, as befit an archangel and a man of his size. Steam rose from the surface, the water a milky aqua-blue as a result of the natural minerals of the springs from which it was fed.

He looked down at the filth of himself and grimaced. “I need to wash off first.” Not a man in any way uncomfortable with his body, he went to strip off his pants so he could step under the large showerhead to the right when a sudden heat burned his cheeks. “Do you . . . ?”

Husky laughter. “Did I not tell you archangels have the same parts as any man?”

He was about to scowl at her when she put her hands to the bottom of her tunic and pulled it off over her head. He almost swallowed his tongue. Sharine wasn’t wearing a singlet today.

Holding his gaze, she pushed down her pants and the little scrap of lace and silk she’d been wearing beneath.

Titus was finding it difficult to breathe, and when she said, “Hurry,” he thought his rib cage would crack in two.

Almost tripping over himself in his haste to strip off his pants, he looked up just in time to see her undo the tie on her hair. A river of gold-tipped black tumbled down her back, almost reaching the curve of her ass.

He hitched on the last word. It seemed a highly inappropriate way to think of the Hummingbird.

But this wasn’t the Hummingbird. This was Sharine, who stepped under the falling water and gave him a look sultry and impatient. He joined her, his hand already on her very fine ass. Turning, she picked up the simple washcloth he preferred over the fripperies his staff occasionally attempted to foist on him, and soaped it up.

Then, as he threw back his head under the cleansing cascade of water, she ran the washcloth over every inch of him she could reach, wiping away the blood and gore and the stain of death. He’d been hard since the moment she entered his suite but his erection was a rigid length of iron by the time she was done.

Closing soapy fingers around it, she stroked.

He gripped her wrist. “Enough torture for now, Shari.”

Laughter full of primal delight and a kiss so reckless that he gripped her hips and hitched her up. She immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. Pressing her back against the simple black tile of his bathing chamber, her wings a dazzle of color, he reached down between her legs to pleasure her . . . only to find her slick in a way that had nothing to do with water.

A groan tore out of him as he broke the kiss to look down, watch his fingers move on her, in her. She clenched around his finger, her hands tight on his head when he bent to suck one dark pink nipple into his mouth.

He could feast on her for days, months, years . . . forever.

Shoving aside the need in his heart and all that it implied, he worked another finger into her. She wrenched up his head. “Enough.” Chest heaving, she kissed him again, all tongue and demand. “I would have you now, Titus.”

He could no more deny her than he could suddenly become a quiet man. Moving backward and out of the water, he sat down on the wide ledge of his bath, with her seated on him, and then he let Sharine take him. He, a warrior archangel who’d never allowed anyone to have him, allowed her whatever it was she wished. She was incredibly tight and at one point, he gripped her at the waist to slow her descent.

“No pain, Shari.” It came out ragged, the pulsing heat of her clenching on the top half of his cock scrambling his mind. “I’ll never cause you pain.”

“I’m just”—a breath—“a little”—another breath—“out of practice.” Pushing away his hands, she put her own on his shoulders and sank home with a soft cry that almost made him lose his seed then and there.

Muscles quivering— he, Titus, quivering —he held motionless as a hunting lion as she adjusted to his length and girth. Her core spasmed around him. It tore a primal and aggressive sound out of him, but Sharine didn’t scare. She slid her hands up his chest as she leaned in to kiss the center of his Cascade tattoo.