Page 30 of All's Hell That Ends Well

His strength pumped into me, into every cell, every nerve, my entire being buzzing with his energy. And there was so much. So, so much. Holy shit. If this was still but a part of what he contained…how was he even holding himself together? He had to be bursting at the seams with the amount of power he carried within.

That was how I felt right now.

His taste was so addictive that I wanted to drink more, pull even deeper from the well of power that was his blood, take more of him inside me, but it was too much. I felt close to exploding with the sheer strength throbbing through me, like my physical body wasn’t enough to hold all of it, like my skin might burst under the pressure.

With a gasp, I tore my mouth away from his neck, and the next second, Azazel tilted my head to capture my lips in a kiss. The iron tang of blood lingered on our tongues—his blood and mine mingling together in a fusion of hearts and souls and bodies.

Our power, combined and fortified, pulsed outward in waves that rocked the air, rattled the room. I barely noticed the sounds of crashing and crunching around us, all my attention on the male with whom I’d joined in the most complete way possible.

We moved together, locked in a rhythm of lust and love, and Ifelthis pleasure as I felt my own. It was like an echo, a ping of sensation that I recognized as coming from him, and each time it throbbed through me, it drove my own arousal even higher. Which prompted yet another, stronger pulse of pleasure from him.

We were mirroring and reflecting each other’s ecstasy back and forth between us, heightening it every time, and it built, built, built, until it reached a combustion point.

I came with a hoarse cry, my body convulsing around him, and he followed me over the edge almost instantly. The room shook, the air whirring with heat, the scent of smoke stinging my nose.

My entire body feeling raw and soothed at the same time, I blinked, trying to regain my vision. Azazel came back into focus, lying half on top of me, holding his weight off a little so he wouldn’t crush me.

He regarded me with such open love, the echo of which I felt like a coruscant explosion in my heart. I’d seen the depth of his feelings for me written on his face before, had felt the force of his power gentling when he touched me, and I’d heard him clearly voice his love for me. Now, though, Ifeltwhat he felt. My lips parted on a hitching breath, my chest drawn tight with happiness and bliss and the deep affection for this extraordinary male I was lucky enough to call my own.

“I love you,” I whispered as I reached up and traced his lips with my fingers.

He grasped my hand, turned his head, and placed a kiss on my palm. A surge of warmth rushed through me—adoration and devotion, the reflection of what he felt—a second before he roughly said, “I love you.”

So rare, these words from him. Though I supposed he’d have even less need to voice them now, given the new bond between us that allowed tendrils of our emotions to reach each other.

It was hard to wrap my brain around what had just happened.

Between us, a new connection had grown, much stronger than the bond we’d had before. I now felt him almost like an extension of myself. His power, his energy, the heave and fall ofhis breaths, the depth of his soul, his emotions—it all pulsed at the periphery of my awareness, a steady ping to my senses.

“I’ll have to get used to feeling you this way,” I muttered.

His gaze was fathomless as his eyes mapped my face. “Regrets?”

I fought a smile, and lost. “Do you need to ask? Aren’t all my feelings laid out to you now?”

His grin was swift and brilliant and left me breathless. “They always have been.”

I narrowed my eyes.

He didn’t even have the good grace to look sheepish, the rascal. “Love, you were an open book when you were human. Your feelings were written all over your face, informed your scent, or steered your thoughts that you used to throw around like confetti.”

I gasped. “I did not!”

“You tossed them about like the Mardi Gras floats throw their beads.”

“That is an oddly specific comparison. Have you been to Mardi Gras? Did you mingle in the crowd? I can’t even imagine you doing that.”

His smirk caused my stomach to make a cute little somersault. “I don’t usually show myself when I visit Earth. I tend to get…swarmed.”

I squinted at him with suspicion. “By lusty women?”

His grin was answer enough, and I was about to go on a rant about handsy women who should keep their paws off my man when he stole the words from my lips with a scorching kiss.

“The point I wanted to make,” he said after he’d efficiently scrambled my thoughts, “is that I have always been privy to your feelings. Though not like this. Not through experiencing them as if they were my own. It’s…far more intimate than I’d thought.” He played with a lock of my hair. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.I appreciate the deeper insight into what makes you tick. And feeling the way you get jealous about me is just?—”

He made a chef’s-kiss gesture, the rapscallion.

I growled at him. Actually growled, like some intimidating beast. Whoa, I could do that now?

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