*Chiara

Chiara reeled from her flight (or was it a fall?), into impossible pleasure with Logan. She almost tightened her legs when he began to pull away, leaving her empty, but then he gripped her chin, pupils black with lust.

"On your knees, Chiara."

How dare he tell her to get on her knees? She was Chiara, wielder of morning's light—

"On your knees, so I can fuck your mouth."

Her heart stumbled as her core clutched with renewed warmth. A shiver rippled through her wings, still outstretched behind her, nearly against the wall where she sat on the edge of a broken gambling table. Wings always gave away too much emotion, and this time, they betrayed her wantonness.

She slid from the table and dropped to her knees in front of him. Although a distant part of her railed that no angel accepted an order like this, the rest of her submitted to him, and his desire. She wanted him to take her this way, dirty, sinful. Tingling thrills danced up her skin, humming along her nerves, sparking in her stomach. She was alive with erotic bliss, that afterglow of sex, and ready for more.

She wanted to watch him come undone by her this time. Golden light from distant torches flickered gold on his brown skin and reflected in his eyes. He gleamed with a sheen of sweat, every muscle taut and straining as if he was ready to fight, or constantly had to fight himself for control. What would he be, out of control?

She shivered.

He would be hers, no matter what.

She tipped back her head and opened her mouth, hands running up his thighs. He hissed on an inhale and stroked himself. His cock, wet with their sex, bobbed and stiffened as she watched, mesmerized. A new drop of liquid formed at the tip and she licked it clean, rubbing the flat of her tongue over the hyper-sensitive slit. She hummed in pleasure.

Nostrils flared and body almost shaking, he grabbed her hair. "You will suck me until I cum in your mouth."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I will suck you until you cum and then I will swallow it, every drop."

As he groaned, she wrapped her lips around his tip, teasing him with tongue, tasting him—his salt, her own fresh scent and taste of her sex mixed with his. He said he wanted to fuck her mouth? She would fuck him with her mouth.

Knees rasped on rough carpet. Raucous voices and laughter filtered from the busy hall, not two lengths away. Shadowy forms even moved in the darkness behind the pillars, some creeping closer and watching. She didn't care.

Forcing her wings closed, she pulled him deeper in her mouth, sucking hard, then letting up the pressure, she moved back, dragging the tips of her teeth along his shaft. He half convulsed, bending over her.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered. He took her hair on both sides of her head. "It's too much."

But he didn't free his cock from her mouth. She sucked, pulling him in, soaking him, stroking him with her tongue, stretching her jaw with his girth until it ached, and then kept sucking him, one hand working the bottom of his shaft.

Her other hand cupped his ball and squeezed. He shook from the effort of letting her pleasure him. He fisted her hair, stars burst in her eyes and she sucked him harder. His pelvis rolled gave languid thrusts, fucking her mouth to the back of her throat. She coaxed him higher, nails now planted in his buttocks.

He grunted and panted, thrusts coming faster. "You are destroying me, Chiara..."

Lifting her eyes, she traced up his pelvis, to the sharpened V and ridged bulges of his abdomen, his wide chest, the tendons popping in his neck and face clenched against the rising orgasm. She would bring him to his knees, as well. The thought spurred her heart faster. A sharp longing spiked in it, different than the lust that consumed her. She would pleasure him, drive him as mad and mindless as he made her, making up for all the time she was chained to the wall too far to touch him. The past months were a rift of pain that opened in her and she banished them with the sight of Logan, gloriously cruel, standing above her.

This deadly demon—in her power.

She pulled his cock as deep as she could, half choking, not caring, tears stinging her eyes and barely able to breathe. She didn't care. She would make him cum in her mouth and she would drink every drop. Her tongue rasped over the ridges and veins along his cock, teased the taut bulb of the tip, and savored each groan she forced from his mouth. A skittering pleasure flowed over her, drawing her nipples into tight peaks and sending a rush of wetness to the needy spot between her legs.

This heavy cock had fucked her there and was now fucking her mouth, and greedy lust made her want more.

Perspiration shone gold on his light brown skin, licked by the distant torches and flames, her own skin flushed as warmth swept through her. She was doing this to him. He was coming undone, unraveling with every sinful thrust into her mouth.

He punched the wall above her head. "Chiara, oh fuck."

Every nerve thrummed with her power to make him lose control. He was spiraling, she could tell. His wide cock jumped and twitched in her mouth as she laved and sucked it, still working the bottom shaft with her hand. The other held onto his tightened ass cheek, nails digging into his skin. Without warning, he groaned low and dangerous and his seed exploded in her mouth. She sucked and swallowed, working his cock, milking him dry.

Fingers tangled in her hair. His muscles popped and strained, a dark shadow moved under his skin and an unnaturally low growl escaped his mouth, but he was hers.

Panting, the squirts of thick cum slowed and she swallowed every drop, then licked him clean. His teeth clenched as she stroked his wide shaft, wringing the very last bit of pleasure out of him.

"By the Sleeping Kings, my love," he breathed. "I will fight all of Hell to keep you in my bed."

***

*Logan

Chiara lets go of my cock and I sink to my knees—joining her on the floor to cup her gorgeous face. "If there was time, I would bend you over this table and take you again." He pressed his forehead to hers, regret bitter in his gut. "But there isn't. We have to go. Now."

She pulled on her scraps of black clothing while he rebuckled his armor. Several demons and humans hover nearby, eager to join in and satisfy their own lust and he hissed for them to stay back. One demon came too close to his angel. Logan shoved him back, took his sword and hitched his chin at Chiara. "Go."

Pulling her behind, he blinked briefly as they stepped into the light of the hall again. Within minutes, they were lost among the hundreds of tables and thousands of humans and demons enjoying themselves there. Chiara stopped suddenly.

"This hall is endless," she whispered, voice in awe. "We could stay here. We could lose ourselves in here and leave later when things calm down."

Of all the idiotic...

Arm around her waist, he leaned close to whisper. "Things, as you put it, never calm down here. Lucius is dead, an original fallen angel. They will never stop looking for his killer, and I hate to mention it, but you stand out in a crowd."

At the same time as he spoke, another male demon sidled closer. Rage was already bubbling to a boil in Logan, when the bastard reached toward her wings, whispering, "Sweetest beauty, let me touch your skin and feathers, let me pleasure—"

A sword flashed in his face, wielded by a growling Logan. "Touch my—" He stopped. He almost said angel, but corrected himself. "Touch my verbrekan, and I will slice off your arms."

A heavy stillness hung between the two demons for a long moment, until the other decided she wasn't worth the fight. He raised his hands for peace and stepped back.

"We keep moving," Logan said and took her arm to hustle her along.

She pouted, obviously not listening to him.

Logan blinked, realizing where he was—they had stopped next to a different table, one he recognized. His brother, Jeraar, rarely came into the halls to enjoy himself. He might have been born in a warrior class demon form, but he was clearly other—more like the mystics or book crawlers. The last time he saw his brother in here, he had been sitting at this table, the only glass table in the hall, surrounded by human players, men and women. When Logan approached, Jeraar looked at him, then very clearly looked at the empty space next to him, his brows knitting in a confused frown.

You bring your own treasure, don't you, he said, and tossed his cards to the table. I've got nothing.

Logan, standing exactly where he had been that day, looked at his side. What had been space at his side then was now filled with Chiara, her hand in his.

No. That wasn't possible.

The dust of the arena filled his nose and mouth.

His brother had seen her—his angel, a century before she was here.

It wasn't possible.

Chiara leaned towards the tables, decked with food and drink. He yanked her to his side. "We have to fucking go now."

Before he lost his mind and she lost herself to the sin of this hall.

"We could stay," she whispered.

"That's sloth in your mind," he said. "There are no easy paths, no easy ways in Hell. There is only struggle and pain if you don't want to give in."

"And if I didn't want to resist any more?" she asked. "I'm so tired of resisting, or trying to resist and failing. Let us stay here and enjoy each other."

"Not possible. Keep going."

"They think I'm a verbrekan, you said it yourself. They accept me."

Verbrekan, that abomination, the offspring between angel and demon. He shook his head. "No. They want to fuck you, but the guards will take you back to the dungeons whether you are angel or verbrekan, and have you killed, eventually."

"And what if I turn? Become a tenebrist?" she asked.

Logan whirled. "Are you mad? Those monsters?"

"Why? What are they exactly?"

"Tenebrists are formed when the angelii in the angel breaks, becomes filled with wrath. They are horrible even by my standards and destroy everything in their path. This isn't a solution to our problem, trust me, my sweetest."

"And the original fallen? Why didn't they become tenebrist? Why did they change to demons?"

"You know, my schooling didn't exactly cover history or monstrosities," he muttered. "From what I understand, the original fallen chose demonic forms. They chose sin and that is why they became demonic, able to control their demonii, as angels control their angelii."

She pulled to a stop. "That's it. That's the answer. If I choose sin—

His hand clapped to cover her mouth. "Don't say it. Don't even think it."

She shoved his chest, but he didn't budge.

"I don't even know if it's possible for an angel to truly fall and not become tenebrist anymore. I don't have the answers, except to say that becoming a demon destroys everything you are. They would tell you to fight, and you would fight. They would tell you to kill and you would kill. You would become their animal, their beast, they would be your masters. Everything you love or care about will be meaningless."

She shook her face free. "I could stay here with you."

"You wouldn't love me, Chiara. You wouldn't even care about me." He paused. Then, letting every word fall like an axe. "Demons don't love."

"You don't—" Understanding bloomed in her eyes.

"Demons desire, demons want," he said, ruthless in his raw honesty. "No, I don't love you. I will never love you."

"Then what is this between us?"

"Nothing but games and an arrangement for freedom." He forced her forward. "

She caught his arm and yanked him around, to face her.

"This," she said, pulling him close, "is nothing?" For a moment, he thought she would kiss him. She wavered, but no tears filled her eyes. Instead, she put his hand on her chest, over her heart.

He ripped it free to fist a handful of hair at the back of her neck, face tight with fury.

"Do that again, and I'll be forced to put a dog's collar around your neck so the others don't suspect you of having true feelings," he hissed in her ear.

"And I'll run my blade through your gut without blinking," she said.

He pointed, eyes narrowed. "Good. There's my Chiara, my fighter. Keep going."

He would do what he had to do and say what had to be said to get them out. Alive.

*** Thanks for reading! Have a good one and hit the star! ***