I was only vaguely aware of my cell phone ringing again, too immersed in the throes of passion for it to register, until my lover stopped moving on top of me and sighed—and not from pleasure. I turned my head to the side to peer over my shoulder at him. I felt his lips brush against the back of my neck.
Then: “Do you want me to get that?” my guardian angel and very sexy husband, Pershabael, murmured with a breathless voice in my ear.
He had the sultriest Southern drawl, and even him saying mundane things like that was enough to turn my insides to mush. I couldn’t have cared less about answering the phone right now, but he shifted his weight off my back, pushing himself up with his arms, and raised his amber-colored wings, flexing them along his spine as if he were preparing to do just that.
Since I was lying face down on the bed with my arms curled under my chest, there wasn’t really anything I could do to keep Pershabael from wandering off if he chose to do so, so I was sure my voice sounded as desperate as I felt at the thought of him getting up and going downstairs to answer my phone instead of continuing to make love to me.
“What? No! Let it go to voice mail! I want you to just keep right on doing what you’re doing!”
To encourage him, I pressed my shoulders into the mattress, raising my hips a little to push against him.
The angel obliged me by pushing back and wrapping his muscular frame around my body once more. He nuzzled my neck just below my ear and then gnawed and nipped at my flushed skin in between a succession of pounding thrusts of his hips.
I moaned in sensuous delight.
“But what if it’s important?” Pershabael panted, sounding somewhat concerned now.
“It’s not!” I declared and squeezed my eyes shut. He was one of those people who just couldn’t let a phone ring unanswered. “Don’t worry about it. Just…mind what you’re supposed to. Pay attention to me.”
I felt, more than heard, him chuckle.
“I am paying attention to you,” he half-protested. “Can’t you tell?”
He draped his head over my shoulder and his long, strawberry-blonde hair fell forward to mingle with mine on the rumpled sheets. He moved to kiss me.
Just then, the phone stopped ringing. I grinned and turned my head to better capture his lips.
“There. See? All better now. Kiss me!”
“Yes!” he gasped and crushed my mouth with his, taking the breath right out of me with his passion and sending renewed waves of arousal coursing through my body. I could feel every sweet inch of him gliding in and out between my legs. My need for release scaled new heights now and drove me wild with desire.
“Yes!” I repeated in an exhale of air. I writhed beneath the angel’s body to urge him on, loving the sensation of his luxuriously soft skin rubbing over mine.
“Mya,” Pershabael moaned my name. His hands sought mine and stretched my arms out over my head, further flattening me against the sheets. He shifted his position over my back once more, centering the majority of his weight to his hips and thrust into me even harder and faster. His wings snapped open and fanned back and forth slowly. A breeze carrying the fragrance of rain filled the bedroom.
I quivered with pleasure, really getting off on the fact I was actually married to my guardian angel—as if that unique aspect of our relationship had never occurred to me before. I simply reveled in his otherworldly nature, his celestial beauty, and his supernatural sexiness, each and every time we made love. Loving him was a true blessing and one I vowed to never, ever take for granted.
I could feel how I was moments away from losing myself to my desire when, of all things, the phone rang. Again. I groaned with frustration now and Pershabael hesitated for a split second, making his inquiry unspoken this time, but just as clear.
“Go!” I told him, knowing the continued ringing would only distract him from me until it stopped again. Clearly, whoever kept calling every ten minutes wasn’t content to leave me a voice mail message and would most likely just continue to call until they got through.
I moaned again in even more frustration as Pershabael’s body vacated mine.
With a little growl of his own, the angel rose off the bed and strode out of the bedroom to fetch my phone.
I raised my head to watch him leave, indulging in the view he gave me of his gorgeous, naked butt. There was something about the sight of all those hard, curvy muscles in motion that never failed to give me a little decadent thrill.
Rolling over onto my side, I reached up and pushed my hair back from my face and winced as my fingers snagged on a snarl. I tried to work it out without breaking any strands until I heard Pershabael bounding back up the stairs to return to me.
A moment later he blew into the bedroom and slid back onto the bed beside me, brandishing my phone in one hand and an orange in the other. As soon as I took the phone from him, he set about peeling the orange. I gave him a questioning look.
“It’s Miss Monica,” he murmured. “She sounds pretty upset.” He held up the orange. “Something tells me you’re gonna be awhile. I figured I might as well take advantage of the opportunity and refuel.”
I frowned mightily. I was determined not to be awhile. I was simply going to tell my dear young friend that I was presently indisposed and would have to call her back later. I pointed a finger of warning at the angel, who had just popped a section of the orange into his mouth.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” I growled.
He just grinned at me. “Darlin’, I may be immortal, but I’m not a machine.”
That made me grin, and even more anxious to get back to what I was doing with him until I fixed my attention on my phone call, and heard Monica sobbing on the other end. I sat up and clutched the phone to my ear.
“Monica! What is it?” I demanded.
Since Monica worked at my art gallery, handling all the online listings and sales of my artwork, I thought something must have happened there if she were calling me at home like this, but then I realized it was later than I had first thought and she’d been off work for hours. Time does pass quickly when you’re having fun. I could certainly attest to that.
“I’m sorry to bug you,” she sniffed. Her voice cracked with emotion. “I didn’t know Percy was home.”
I sighed, feeling self-conscious. I hadn’t told anybody he was ‘home’ because I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s not like any of our friends could come and visit him when he was in the form of an angel, so these homecomings were more or less kept under wraps. The only reason he could come to me in his angelic form at all was because I lived out in the boonies, in an isolated, renovated, Gothic rectory and its eight acres of graveyard named, Idlewild, which was over a century old, so no one ever came to pay respects in it anymore. And Pershabael wasn’t the only angel to grace these grounds. I’d met other heavenly hosts over the past few years since I’d moved here.
My daddy had left Idlewild to me in his will along with a two million dollar trust. Now I passed the time painting the angels who visited me within the cemetery’s hallowed gates, and selling their portraits in my art gallery located in town. It was my favorite thing to do in all the world in between Pershabael’s stays.
We’d kind of come up with a vague story that had just enough truth to it that people seemed to buy it without question. I more or less fed Monica, and everyone else even remotely close to me, the impression that my husband was a missionary who traveled a lot to far, remote locations, in order to explain his long absences and inaccessibility whenever he was back in heaven where all the good little angels resided.
It was only natural, I suppose, for Monica to assume when I did get access to my inaccessible husband, the ‘do not disturb’ sign got hung on the rectory’s door, especially when we hadn’t answered the phone right off.
“It’s all right. He kind of dropped by unexpectedly.” The truth. “We were just having a little after supper snack.” I looked over at the angel and got distracted by the way he was licking the juice from the orange off his perfect lips.
“I just have to talk to you,” Monica went on. “Can you come over?”
My whole body shrieked in protest at the thought, but my heart seized with concern.
“Monica, tell me what’s wrong!” I ordered her. Before I had even fully decided what I was going to do, I climbed off the bed and headed towards my dresser for some clothes. As I struggled into my underwear, I could hear her crying again, attempting to form coherent words.
“It’s…it’s Marco,” she answered and broke down all over again.
Now my seizing heart all but stopped. Just hearing the name the fallen angel, Mazriel, used while in his human persona, was enough to turn my blood into ice water sometimes. Especially since my dear young friend and said dark angel were dating.
I took a deep breath. She was right. I had to go to her now.
“Monica, I’m on my way, all right?” I closed the phone and tossed it aside on the nightstand. I grabbed a tee shirt from my dresser drawer along with the first pair of jeans I saw out of my closet, and pulled them both on.
Pershabael stopped chewing his orange and blinked up at me with those big, blue eyes of his. “Anything I can do?” he offered.
I grimaced back at him. “Yeah. Don’t move. Not a muscle. I’m going to go find out what this is all about, and then, I’m coming right back to ravish you some more. Got it?”
I leaned forward to kiss him one more time before heading off. He kissed me back and turned his head, opening his juicy, succulent mouth and grinding his full, sweet lips against mine—evidence of his lingering passion.
“Oh God,” I moaned, forcing myself to pull away from him. “You taste delicious.”
He laughed, stretching out his wings, and eased back onto his elbow on the bed. His eyes glittered with amusement.
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered thickly.
“Mmm, promise?” I murmured, all but backing out of the room.
The angel winked at me. “Promise.”
He bit into another section of orange and the juice from it sprayed tiny droplets onto his chest and clung in a mouthwatering display to the sparse dusting of hair between his shapely pecs.
I had to turn around right then and there or I would have never made it into the hall. With a tortured-sounding moan, I trudged down the stairs.