“Oh,” was all she could first think to say, her anger draining completely. But she needed to respond, had to think of something light, easy. “To answer your question, you want me because I’m made of awesome. And guess what? I will make you so happy you said that, warrior.”

Warrior, rather than angel. She’d never called him that before. Why? And why now?

“No. I will make you happy.” He ripped her shirt just as she had done his robe. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her breasts sprang free. Another tremor moved through him as he lowered his head.

He licked and sucked one nipple, as she had done to him, then the other, feasting. Savoring. Soon she was arching and writhing against him, craving his mouth elsewhere. Her skin was sensitized, her body desperate for release. Yet she didn’t want to rush him. She was still afraid of scaring him away. But damn him, if he didn’t hurry, didn’t touch her between her legs, she was going to die.

“Lysander,” she said on a trembling breath.

His wings brushed both her arms, up and down, tickling, caressing, raising goosebumps on her flesh. Holy hell, that was good. So damn good.

He lifted from her completely.

“Wh-what are you doing? I wasn’t going to tell you to leave,” she screeched, bracing her weight on her elbows.

“I do not want anything between us.” He shoved the robe down his legs until he was gloriously naked. Moisture gleamed at the head of his cock, and her mouth watered. Reaching out, he gripped her boots and tore them off. Her jeans quickly followed. She, of course, was not wearing any panties.

His gaze drank her in, and she knew what he saw. Her flushed, glowing skin. The aching juncture between her legs. Her rose-tinted nipples.

“I want to touch and taste every inch,” he said and just kind of fell on her, as if his will to resist had abandoned him completely.

“Touch and taste every inch next time.” Please let there be a next time. She tried to hook her legs around his waist again. “I need release now.”

He grabbed her by the knees and spread her. Her head fell back, her hair tangling around her, and he kissed a path to her breasts, then to her stomach. He lingered at her navel until she was moaning.

“Lysander,” she said again. Fine. She’d jump on this grenade if she had to; if he wanted to taste, he could taste. “More. I need more.”

Rather than give it to her, he stilled. “I…took care of myself before following you this day,” he admitted, cheeks pinkening. “I thought that would give me resistance against you.”

Her eyes widened, shock pouring through her. “You pleasured yourself?”

A stiff nod.

“Did you think of me?”

Another nod.

“Oh, baby. That’s good. I can picture it, and I love what I see.” His hand on his cock, stroking up and down, eyes closed, features tight with arousal, body straining toward release. Wings spread as he fell to his knees, the pleasure too much. Her, naked in his mind. “What did you think about doing?”

Another pause. A hesitant response. “Licking. Between your legs. Tasting you, as I said.”

She arched her back, hands skimming down her middle to her thighs. Although he already held her open, she pushed her legs farther apart. “Then do it. Lick me. I want it so bad. Want your tongue on me. See how wet I am?”

He hissed in a breath. “Yes. Yes.” Leaning down, he started at her ankles and kissed his way up, lingering at the back of her knees, at the crease of her legs.

“Please,” she said, so on edge she was ready to scream. “Please. Do it.”

“Yes,” he whispered again. “Yes.” Finally he settled over her, mouth poised, ready. His tongue flicked out. Then, sweet contact.

She expected the touch, but nothing could have prepared her for the perfection of it. She did scream, shivered. Begged for more. “Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please.”

At first, he merely lapped at her, humming his approval at her taste. Thank the gods. Or God. Or whoever was responsible for this man. If he hadn’t liked her in that way, she wasn’t sure what she would have done. In that moment, she wanted—needed—to be everything he wanted—needed. She wanted him to crave every part of her, as she craved every part of him.

Even his goodness?

Yes, she thought, finally admitting it. Yes. Just then, she had no defenses; she’d been stripped to her soul. His goodness somehow balanced her out. She’d fought against it—and still had no plans to change—but they were two extremes and actually complemented each other, each giving the other what he or she lacked. In her case, the knowledge that some things were worth taking seriously. In his, that it wasn’t a crime to have fun.

“Bianka,” he moaned. “Tell me how…what…”

“More. Don’t stop.”

Soon his tongue was darting in and out of her, mimicking the act of sex. She grasped at the sheets, fisting them. She writhed, meeting his every thrust. She screamed again, moaned and begged some more.

Finally, she splintered apart. Bit down on her bottom lip until she tasted blood. White lights danced over her eyes—from her skin, she realized. Her skin was so bright it was almost blinding, glowing like a lamp, something that had never happened before.

Then Lysander was looming above her. “You are not fertile,” he rasped. Sweat beaded him.

That gave her fuzzy mind pause. “I know.” Her words were as labored as his. Harpies were only fertile once a year and this wasn’t her time. “But how do you know that?”

“Sense it. Always know that kind of thing. So…are you ready?” he asked, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

He must not know proper etiquette, the darling virgin. He would learn. With her, there was no etiquette. Doing what felt good was the only thing that drove her.

“Not yet.” She flattened her hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his back, careful of his wings. He didn’t protest or fight her as she straddled his waist and gripped his cock by the base. Her wings fluttered in joy at their freedom. “Better?”

He licked his lips, nodded. His wings lifted, enveloped her, caressing her. Her head fell, the long length of her hair tickling his thighs. He trembled.

Would he regret this? she suddenly wondered. She didn’t want him to hate her for supposedly ruining him. “Are you ready?” she asked. “There’s no taking it back once it’s done.” If he wasn’t ready, well, she would…wait, she realized. Yes, she would wait until he was ready. Only he would do. No other. Her body only wanted him.

“Do not stop,” he commanded, mimicking her.

A grin bloomed. “I’ll be careful with you,” she assured him. “I won’t hurt you.”

His fingers circled her hips and lifted her until she was poised at his tip. “The only thing that could hurt me is if you leave me like this.”

“No chance of that,” she said, and sank all the way to the hilt.

He arched up to meet her, feeding her his length, his eyes squeezing shut, his teeth nearly chewing their way through his bottom lip. He stretched her perfectly, hit her in just the right spot, and she found herself desperate for release once more. But she paused, his enjoyment more important than her own. For whatever reason.

“Tell me when you’re ready for me to—”

“Move!” he shouted, hips thrusting so high he raised her knees from the mattress.

Groaning at the pleasure, she moved, up and down, slipping and sliding over his erection. He was wild beneath her, as if he’d kept his passion bottled up all these years and it had suddenly exploded from him, unstoppable.

Soon, even that wasn’t enough for him. He began hammering inside her, and she loved it. Loved his intensity. All she could do was hold on for the ride, slamming down on him, gasping. Her nails dug into his chest, her moans blended with his. And when her second orgasm hit, Lysander was right there with her, roaring, muscles stiffening.

He grabbed her by the neck and jerked her down, meshing their lips together. Their teeth scraped as he primitively, savagely kissed her. It was a kiss that stripped her once more to her soul, left her raw, agonized. Reeling.

He was indeed her consort, she thought, dazed. There was no denying it now. He was it for her. Her one and only. Necessary. Angel or not. She laughed, and was surprised by how carefree it sounded. Tamed by great sex. It figured. After this, no other man would do. Ever. She knew it, sensed it.

She collapsed atop him, panting, sweating. Scared. Suddenly vulnerable. How did he feel about her? He didn’t approve of her, yet he had gifted her with his virginity. Surely that meant he liked her, just as she was. Surely that meant he wanted her around.

His heart thundered in his chest, and she grinned. Surely.

“Bianka,” he said shakily.

She yawned, more replete than she’d ever been. My consort. Her eyelids closed, her lashes suddenly too heavy to hold up. Fatigue washed through her, so intense she couldn’t fight it.

“Talk…later,” she replied, and drifted into the most peaceful sleep of her life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

FOR HOURS LYSANDER HELD Bianka in the crook of his arm while she slept, marveling—this was what she’d craved most in the world and he had given it to her—and yet, he was also worrying. He knew what that meant, knew how difficult it was for a Harpy to let down her guard and sleep in front of another. It meant she trusted him to protect her, to keep her safe. And he was glad. He wanted to protect her. Even from herself.

But could he? He didn’t know. They were so different.

Until they got into bed, that is.

He could not believe what had just happened. He had become a creature of sensation, his baser urges all that mattered. The pleasure…unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Her taste was like honey, her skin so soft he wanted it against him for the rest of eternity. Her breathy moans—even her screams—had been a caress inside his ears. He’d loved every moment of it.

Had he been called to battle, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to leave her.