Page 2 of Under His Wings

That’s how I found myself in a girl’s position. Well, no, scratch that, that was a dumb sexist thought; I was a demon, not a total bastard, and I had to keep my standards. So, the real problem was: I found myself being led in the dance. I expected one of the side-by-side fun little skits, like Macarena, or Gangnam Style, but what Zach had in mind was a paired dance. A complicated, highly challenging dance that required flexibility and a quick mind, which made it fun... but it also demanded that I follow the angel’s lead. And I don’t know which part bothered me the most: the inherent submission of following someone’s guiding hand, or the complete concentration essential to be aware of Zach's every motion, every suggestion in the turn of his body, or the tilt of his head. I followed when he pulled, like a fish on a hook. I twirled away from him, but I was tethered by his hand. I bowed not only my body, but my mind to his whim.

“Well done,” he murmured as we finished with me being dipped low into an undignified end pose.

I flushed and looked away as he pulled me back to my feet.

“Does that mean I have entertained you?” I asked.

“Yes, you did. It was a joy to dance with you.” The smooth fucker bestowed a kiss upon my hand.

“Zach—”

He placed a finger on my lips before I could finish uttering the name I earned fair and square. I glared at him angrily.

“You asked if you could call me by my full name when we are alone. We are not alone,” he pointed out.

“Then let’s get alone,” I bared my teeth, almost certain that the angel was trying to wriggle out of the deal with this technicality.

Instead, Zach took my wrist again.

I couldn’t help the sharp inhale this time.

“My place,” the angel said, and dragged me out of the club.

Chapter 2

The minute we passed the door of his, admittedly quite nice, flat, I turned to the angel, purred out his name, and let my true nature show; my black wings spreading behind my back, the red horns on my head growing.

“Zachariel,” I savored the name on my tongue and stepped closer to the man.

“Hellion,” he responded levelly with the name I had given, not backing down despite our faces being now only inches apart. He didn’t ask for my true name; it was customary for demons to get a new moniker when they fell and he knew that. Not everybody could be Lucifer and rule Hell with an obnoxiously angelic name. ‘Bringer of the Light’? No, thank you! Admittedly, my name was just a placeholder after I fell, but I came to like it. So, Hellion it stayed.

Zachariel reached out and was the one to pull me into a kiss, destroying the space between us. Finally, we were on the same page. I was going to screw him so hard, make him see stars, take him like a beast. My lips opened, tongue twinning in a battle with the angel. Soon, my kiss grew teeth and a hand in my hair pulled me back.

“Bed,” the angel quirked his lips. “Before you destroy my room.”

I flushed, realizing only now that my wings preened up, spreading to their whole length in a display. It was an instinct not unlike in certain species of birds during a mating season. The only difference was that my wings were truly massive and, as such, they indeed threatened to knock down and destroy the things in the room with one careless move. I pulled the wings to myself and followed the angel to his bedroom.

Once we were there, my clothes flew and I was naked in record time. I was so quick the angel only shook off his outer layers and took off his shoes in the meantime. Even though he still had his shirt and pants on, I could see from his arms that his body was built with casual strength. I wanted to lick his abs. I knew they had to be there. For all their talk, angels were vain motherfuckers who liked to change their human forms to appease the standards of beauty that prevailed in the times and in the region where they appeared.

I imagined Zachariel in different eras with fluidly changing features and styles. The changes took time, happening slowly over centuries, but, if he lived as long as I did, it was likely he had looked different in the past. Long hair with braids when he played a Viking. A powdered wig on his head when he stayed in French Court. A slim mustache acquired in 19th century England. I thought he would nail each of those standards of beauty because the being in front of me definitely looked like someone who could be a model in the current times.

I licked my lips in anticipation, eying the angel like a piece of meat.

I reached out to undress him further, but he batted my hand away and instead pushed me backwards, until I fell onto the plush bed, sprawling on the covers. He climbed over me and kissed me.

I was ready for the battle of lips, the dirty slide of our tongues, and nipping teeth. Instead, my fierce offensive was met with a soft press of lips and kitten licks. When I tried to press the angel’s mouth open, he tangled a hand in my hair and kept me in place, sliding his lips to mouth at my neck instead, pressing soft kisses there. I tried for a dirty kiss again when he returned to my lips, only for the situation to repeat itself again, and again. I groaned in frustration and let my head fall back, surrendering to the languid, sweet kisses.

Zachariel rumbled in approval and the sound went straight to my dick.

While my mouth was occupied by the softest kissing session I have ever experienced, I let my hands roam all over the angel’s body, managing to at least undo the offending button-down shirt that kept me from the sculpted body. I explored the dips of abs and a satisfyingly full swell of pecs with both of my hands, greedily touching the skin, feeling the fever of desire rise in me as I wanted to rut against this perfect body.

Zachariel took my chin between his fingers, pressing down, making me open my mouth to deepen the kiss, as if it wasn’t me who wanted to do this from the start. My eyes flashed as I readied myself for the return of the heated competition.

“Be good for me,” Zachariel murmured before he claimed my lips in a kiss.

He pressed me down into the mattress with his body and slid his tongue in slowly, mapping my mouth thoroughly, as though he had all the time in the world. I let it go uncontended because his words made me freeze in place. My cheeks flushed as I realized my position. I was completely naked, under a still dressed man, who was once again fucking leading, like he did in the dance. And he wanted me to be good? I couldn’t be. I never had been good. Even if I tried.

“You are not fucking me,” I snapped, the warning bells ringing in my head. This was what the angel was trying to do, right? Make me his bitch? I enjoyed being the bottom sometimes, but it had to be on my terms. I had to be in control.

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