I pull back, my brain finally catching up to the rest of me. "How's my favorite ass doing after last night's wild ride?" I ask, tracing a finger down her spine before gripping that perfect peach that took quite the pounding last night.
Because I'm nothing if not a considerate lover. Captain Consideration, that's me.
"I rode you harder than a prized stallion at the Kentucky Derby."
Seraphina laughs, and I can't help but smile at the sound. "I'm perfectly fine," she assures me, that sassy little eyebrow quirk appearing. "Remember, I can heal. Perks of being an angel."
Ah yes, her healing mojo. It's not quite the premium package like Dani's Infinity Stone superpower, but it's more like the basic subscription plan of supernatural recovery. Just enough to handle a night of passionate acrobatics without the awkward morning-after limp.
Angel girlfriend = self-repairing bedroom toy with unlimited warranty. This is definitely a win for Team Lucian.
I roll her beneath me in one smooth motion, my aching cock nestled against that slick, sweet pussy. She arches into me, a soft purr vibrating through her chest that I feel in my bones. Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I inhale deeply, drowning in her scent—vanilla, cinnamon, and something uniquelyher.
Fuck. I'm addicted. This angel is my drug of choice, and I'm a willing junkie.
Her emotions wash over me through our bond, a tidal wave of love and desire that threatens to sweep me away. It's a feedback loop of passion, her arousal fueling mine until I'm drowning in need. My hips align with hers, the promise of paradise just one thrust away—
Cue record scratch.
A distinctive pop from downstairs shatters the moment, freezing us both in place. Seraphina's eyes widen, mirroring my own surprise. We don't need words to know what—or ratherwho—just interrupted us.
"Dani," we chorus, becauseof fucking courseLittle Miss Save-the-Realms would pickthisexact moment to pop back into existence.
Cockblocked by the prophecy. Again. This is getting old faster than Erik's sword collection.
Seraphina launches from the bed like she's been catapulted, leaving me with a severe case of sexual whiplash. My brain's still stuck in sexy-time mode while Phina is already halfway into her clothes, her movements are quick, golden skin and flowing hair.
I slide into my jeans, wincing as I tuck away the evidence of our interrupted morning activities. The look on Seraphina's face—that pure, radiant joy at the prospect of seeing her best friend—almost makes up for the blue balls I'm now sporting.
Almost.
Her eyes dance with excitement as she smooths down her hair, a futile attempt to hide her 'I've been thoroughly ravaged' look. Those golden locks are a certified sex-tornado aftermath—no amount of finger-combing is going to hide our bedroom Olympics.
I should give her a medal for that performance. Olympic-level flexibility deserves recognition.
I catch her hand as she practically vibrates with anticipation, pulling her close for one last taste. Her body melts against mine like she was custom-made to fit there.
Fuck. I'm addicted to this angel harder than humans are to their stupid phones.
"To be continued," I purr against her ear, letting my fangs graze the sensitive skin. Her shiver goes straight to my still hard cock like a heat-seeking missile.
Down boy. We've got a family reunion to attend before I can bend her over the nearest surface and make her see stars again.
Her smile could light up Times Square. And my heart melts at the sight.
Fuck. When did I become this sappy?
The moment my feet hit the bottom step—
"What theFUCKis that?" Dani's voice could shatter bulletproof glass at fifty paces.
Ah yes, the universal Brax introduction. Never gets old.
I round the corner to find a tableau of supernatural shock and awe—Dani with her jaw practically unhinged, Rhyland doing his best impression of a Viking shield wall between her and our resident demon, Erik looking stoic as ever (though his hand's suspiciously close to his blade), and some blonde who's staring at Brax like she's witnessing an eldritch horror emerge from the toilet.
Brax, in all his ten-foot, charred-skin glory, towers in the living room. The stench of sulfur and burnt Pop-Tarts wafts through the air like the world's worst air freshener.
"Who are you?" Brax rumbles, smoke curling from his nostrils like a dragon with a sinus infection.
