“Mmm, yeah. That’s the way,” she praised.
Her voice was a drug, luring him in deeper, making him crave more. More, more, more. The temptation was too much, and he had to—
Temptation.
The word echoed through his mind, a sword sharp enough to cut bone. She was a temptation. She was his temptation. And he was allowing her to lead him astray.
He wrenched away from her, and his arms fell to his sides, heavy as boulders. He was panting, sweating, things he had not done even in the midst of battle. Angry as he was—at her, at himself—his gaze drank in the sight of her. Her skin was flushed, glowing more than ever. Her lips were red and swollen. And he had caused that reaction. Sparks of pride took him by surprise.
“You should not have done that,” he growled.
Slowly, she grinned. “Well, you should have stopped me.”
“I wanted to stop you.”
“But you didn’t,” she said, that grin growing.
His teeth ground together. “Do not do it again.”
One of her brows arched in smug challenge. “Keep me here against my will, and I’ll do that and more. Much, much more. In fact…” She ripped her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, revealing breasts covered by pink lace.
Breathing became impossible.
“Want to touch them?” she asked huskily, cupping them with her hands. “I’ll let you. I won’t even make you beg.”
Holy…Lord. They were lovely. Plump and mouthwatering. Lickable. And if he did lick them, would they taste as her mouth had? Like that heady wine? Blood…heating…again…
He didn’t care what kind of coward his next action made him. It was either jump from the cloud or replace her hands with his own.
He jumped.
CHAPTER FOUR
LYSANDER LEFT BIANKA alone for another week—bastard!—but she didn’t mind. Not this time. She had plenty to keep her occupied. Like her plan to drive him utterly insane with lust. So insane he’d regret bringing her here. Regret keeping her here. Regret even being alive.
That, or fall so in love with her that he yearned to grant her every desire. If that was the case—and it was a total possibility since she was insanely hot—she would convince him to take her home, and then she would finally get to stab him in the heart.
Perfect. Easy. With her breasts, it was almost too easy, really.
To set the stage for his downfall, she decorated his home like a bordello. Red velvet lounges now waited next to every door—just in case he was too overcome with desire for her to make it to one of the beds now perched in every corner. Naked portraits—of her—hung on the misty walls. A decorating style she’d picked up from her friend Anya, who just happened to be the goddess of Anarchy.
As Lysander had promised, Bianka had only to speak what she wanted—within reason—to receive it. Apparently furniture and pretty pictures were within reason. She chuckled. She could hardly wait to see him again. To finally begin.
He wouldn’t stand a chance. Not just because of her (magnificent) breasts and hotness—hey, no reason to act as if she didn’t know—but because he had no experience. She had been his first kiss; she knew it beyond any doubt. He’d been stiff at first, unsure. Hesitant. At no point had he known what to do with his hands.
That hadn’t stopped her from enjoying herself, however. His taste…decadent. Sinful. Like crisp, clean skies mixed with turbulent night storms. And his body, oh, his body. Utter perfection with hard muscles she’d wanted to squeeze. And lick. She wasn’t picky.
His hair was so silky she could have run her fingers through it forever. His cock had been so long and thick she could have rubbed herself to orgasm. His skin was so warm and smooth she could have pressed against him and slept, just as she’d dreamed about doing before she’d met him. Even though sleeping with a man was a dangerous crime her race never committed.
Stupid girl! The angel wasn’t to be trusted, especially since he clearly had nefarious plans for her—though he still refused to tell her exactly what those plans were. Teaching her to act like him had to be a misdirection of the truth. It was just too silly to contemplate. But his plans didn’t matter, she supposed, since he would soon be at her mercy. Not that she had any.
Bianka strode to the closet she’d created and flipped through the lingerie hanging there. Blue, red, black. Lace, leather, satin. Several costumes: naughty nurse, corrupt policewoman, devil, angel. Which should she choose today?
He already thought her evil. Perhaps she should wear the see-through white lace. Like a horny virgin bride. Oh, yes. That was the one. She laughed as she dressed.
“Mirror, please,” she said, and a full-length mirror appeared in front of her. The gown fell to her ankles, but there was a slit between her legs. A slit that stopped at the apex of her thighs. Too bad she wasn’t wearing any panties.
Spaghetti straps held the material in place on her shoulders and dipped into a deep vee between her breasts. Her nipples, pink and hard, played peekaboo with the swooping make-me-a-woman pattern.
She left her hair loose, flowing like black velvet down her back. Her gold eyes sparkled, flecks of gray finally evident, like in Kaia’s. Her cheeks were flushed like a rose, her skin devoid of the makeup she usually wore to dull its shimmer.
Bianka traced her fingertips along her collarbone and chuckled again. She’d summoned a shower and washed off every trace of that makeup. If Lysander had found himself attracted to her before—and he had, the size of his hard-on was proof of that—he would be unable to resist her now. She was nothing short of radiant.
A Harpy’s skin was like a weapon. A sensual weapon. Its jewel-like sheen drew men in, made them slobbering, drooling fools. Touching it became all they could think about, all they lived for.
That got old after a while, though, which was why she’d begun wearing full body makeup. For Lysander, though, she would make an exception. He deserved what he got. After all, he wasn’t just making Bianka suffer. He was making her sisters suffer. Maybe.
Was Kaia still looking for her? Still worried or perhaps thinking this was a game as Bianka had first supposed? Had Kaia called their other sisters and were the girls now searching the world over for a sign of her, as they’d done when Gwennie went missing? Probably not, she thought with a sigh. They knew her, knew her strength and her determination. If they suspected she’d been taken, they would have confidence in her ability to free herself. Still.
Lysander was an ass.
And most likely a virgin. Eager, excited, she rubbed her hands together. Most men kissed the women they bedded. And if she had been his first kiss, well, it stood to reason he’d never bedded anyone. Her eagerness faded a bit. But that begged the question, why hadn’t he bedded anyone?
Was he a young immortal? Had he not found anyone he desired? Did angels not often experience sexual need? She didn’t know much about them. Fine, she didn’t know anything about them. Did they consider sex wrong? Maybe. That would explain why he hadn’t wanted to touch her, too.
Okay, so it made more sense that he simply hadn’t experienced sexual need before.
He’d definitely experienced it during their kiss, though. She went back to rubbing her hands together. “What are you wearing? Or better yet, not wearing?”
Heart skidding to a stop, Bianka whipped around. As if her thoughts had summoned him, Lysander stood in the room’s doorway. Mist enveloped him and for a moment she feared he was nothing more than a fantasy.
“Well?” he demanded.
In her fantasies, he would not be angry. He would be overcome with desire. So…he was here, and he was real. And he was peering at her breasts in openmouthed astonishment.
Astonishment was better than anger. She almost grinned.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, smoothing her palms over her hips. Let the games begin.
“I—I—”
Like it, she finished for him. With the amount of truth that always layered his voice, he probably couldn’t utter a single lie.
“Your skin…it’s different. I mean, I saw the pearlesque tones before, but now…it’s…”
“Amazing.” She twirled, her gown dancing at her ankles. “I know.”
“You know?” His tongue traced his teeth as the anger she’d first suspected glazed his features. “Cover her,” he barked.
A moment later, a white robe draped her from shoulders to feet.
She scowled. “Return my teddy.” The robe disappeared, leaving her in the white lace. “Try that again,” she told him, “and I’ll just walk around naked. You know, like I am in the portraits.”
“Portraits?” Brow furrowing, he gazed about the room. When he spotted one of the pictures of her, sans clothing, reclining against a giant silver boulder, he hissed in a breath.
Exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for. “I hope you don’t mind, but I turned this quaint little cloud into a love nest so I’d feel more at home. And again, if you remove anything, my redesign will be a thousand times worse.”
“What are you trying to do to me?” he growled, facing her. His eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned, his teeth bared.
She fluttered her lashes at him, all innocence. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bianka.”
It was a warning, she knew, but she didn’t heed it. “I think it’s my turn to ask the questions. So where do you go when you leave me?”
“That is not your concern.”
Was he panting a little? “Let’s see if I can make it my concern, shall we?” She sauntered to the bed and eased onto the edge. Naughty, shameless girl that she was, she spread her legs, giving him the peek of a lifetime. “For every question you answer, I’ll put something on,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Deal?”
He spun, but not before she saw the shock and desire that played over his harshly gorgeous face. “I do my duty. Watch the gates to hell. Hunt and kill demons that have escaped. Deliver punishment to those in need. Guard humans. Now cover yourself.”
