Sariel snorted, but he smiled. “Cherub it is.”
Seymour kissed Sariel, going for Sariel’s tie and loosening it. It dissolved in his hands and he pulled back to see that Sariel was already completely naked. “Right. So. You’re not actually wearing… clothes?”
Sariel blinked. “No.”
“Okay. Well, that makes things pretty easy.” Seymour laughed, grabbing at his own shirt to peel it over his head.
Sariel lunged at the exposed skin, and he immediately latched on to Seymour’s nipple.
The sudden suction and press of Sariel’s teeth made Seymour gasp, and his shirt got tangled around his arms. It was still stuckon his head, but he was far too busy basking in the heat of Sariel’s mouth to function.
Sariel’s teeth seemed to go on and on, and his tongue was incredibly thick. Seymour had never considered his nipples to be particularly sensitive, but whatever Sariel was doing created the most intense bolts of pleasure. Each one went straight to his dick, and he bucked upward, seeking friction as he finally got his shirt off.
“No.” Sariel pushed Seymour’s hips down.
“Mmm, c’mon,” Seymour pleaded.
“Patience,” Sariel said firmly, his eyes and halo bright. “I will not rush this. I wish to savor it.”
“You say savor. I saytorture.”
“That is not correct.” Sariel turned his head to lick Seymour’s other nipple.
“Daddy likes to take his time. Got it.” Seymour shuddered, his body twitching from the new wave of pleasure. He really did try to hold still, but Sariel’s mouth was too damn good. He groaned, his hips jerking upward again. “Fuck.”
Sariel gazed at Seymour, giving his nipple another teasing lap. “Are you intentionally disobeying me? Or do you wish to be punished?”
“Uh.” Seymour’s mind reeled. “What gets me off faster?”
“Is that your only goal?” Sariel sat back on his knees, looking Seymour over. “An orgasm?”
“That’s definitely the idea, ain’t it?”
“And what if I said it is the journey that I enjoy?” Sariel slowly untied Seymour’s boots. “Not the destination?”
Seymour didn’t think anyone in the history of the universe had ever taken this much time to remove footwear, and he longed to kick each one off across the room. He waited, however, taking a deep breath before replying, “Well, I’d say that’s up to you. Seein’ as how you’re in charge.”
Sariel seemed pleased by that, and after removing Seymour’s boots, he peeled off each sock with an equally maddening lack of haste. “Yes.” His eyes glowed, and his voice dropped low as he purred, “Daddyis.”
Seymour’s chest heaved, and a surge of undiluted lust punched right through his loins. He wanted Sariel inside of him, whatever that meant, and he wanted it right now. He’d never known anyone who truly had such a dominating presence, whose very voice commanded immediate compliance, and Seymour was practically melting into a puddle.
It was a stark contrast from the sweet and often oblivious man he met in a cemetery.
Here, in this bed, the angel was calling the shots without question.
“Yes, sir,” Seymour replied automatically, licking his lips.
“Good boy.” Sarielsmirked, and he unbuttoned Seymour’s jeans. He went for the zipper next, and he pulled it down so that the click of the teeth sounded like firecrackers in molasses.
Seymour grabbed the sheets as he panted, his cock aching where it remained trapped by the ever-tightening denim. He nearly cheered when Sariel pulled his jeans off at a nonagonizing pace, and he was now left in nothing but his boxer briefs.
Sariel stroked Seymour’s knees, thighs, and hips, using his palms to map out every inch of bare skin. His wings flickered into view, so long that they stretched out across the bed on either side of him. A seam filled with golden light opened up in Sariel’s cheek, likely the start of the transformation he’d wanted to warn Seymour about.
Instead of being scared, Seymour was delighted.
It probably took Sariel a certain level of concentration to maintain his human form, perhaps even for the angelic one Seymour had already seen. Knowing he was enough to makeSariel lose that control was thrilling, and he was excited to see Sariel in his full monstrous glory.
Sariel slid his thumbs under the waistband of Seymour’s boxer briefs so he could finally—yes, fuckingfinally—remove them.
