Long thought dead, Seren finds herself free and thrust back into a world she no longer recognizes. Her hopes for peace and happy reunions are overshadowed by years of torment and rearing new threats. Once a beloved sister and emerging contender for...
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AZRIEL
Warmth pressed in on Azriel's chest—warmer than what he was used to. Without opening his eyes, he knew he'd unconsciously curled his wings forward so the female backed into him with her head taking up most of his pillow remained fully blocked from the view of anyone bold enough to enter his room unannounced. He suspected that no one with access to the Town House was unwise enough to risk a well-thrown knife aimed at their head.
As he remained still, acting as if he were still asleep to avoid waking Seren, Azriel considered how she'd gone from the far side of his generously sized bed to his side. Not only that, but he'd obviously encircled her with both his wings and arms, trapping her. He feared she'd wake and panic at being so close to his wings, but to pull them back would flood her with the early morning light streaming through the window that he hadn't thought to close the blinds over.
Our Seren and our singer, his shadows softly cooed as they slipped past his shoulders to glide against his neck. Their cool presence chilled the sweat starting to gather. Sleeping when they should be—
Shhh, Azriel hissed so softly that hardly any sound passed his lips. It was too early to be reminded of all the things his shadows had suggested he do to entertain Seren.
The antagonizing decision to either slowly untangle himself and move to the edge of the bed to give Seren space became irrelevant when he felt a light, tickling brush of a finger run along the inside membrane of his right wing. The sensation went straight to his groin, giving life to things he didn't let himself imagine too often.
Being part Illyrian, Seren must have been precisely aware of how her touch would feel to him. Try as he might, Azriel could think of nothing other than her exploratory fingers and the curve of her backside as he began to harden against her. That Cauldron-damned finger skimmed close to the thin area right below his talon, making it impossible for him to keep his eyes closed any longer.
"I find it odd that a princess of Night wakes so early," Azriel said through clenched teeth to keep himself from letting out a mortifying purr at her ministrations. He might be jokingly referred to as a bat and an occasional Illyrian baby, but he would not stoop as low as a common house cat.
Seren's finger tilted so that it was her nail running down his wing rather than the pad of her finger. She was provoking him. His erection reached a painful size, and it took five centuries' worth of a strict muscle training regime to stop himself from grinding further into her. "Would you prefer me to go back to being your sweet, sleeping Serenity?"
No, he most certainly would not. Azriel wanted her beneath him, on top of him, in the air with her legs locked around his waist. Sweet pretenses of a perfectly groomed female would never fit with how he saw Seren. "I'm sure you are aware of what you are doing, Seren." Just as he was acutely aware of his palm moving from her waist to just below her breasts. He was desperate to know if her nipples would harden under his touch. He had to take control of the situation—anything to stop his vivid imagination.
