Page 4 of Touched By Sin
Dark hair. Dark wings. Dark eyes that flicker with flames. Even their shadows are dark. Angel boys are different. Light blue eyes, blonde hair, and sparkling white wings that reflect the sun.
“You’re cruel,” one of the boys comments, placing a cigarette between his lips. With a flick of his fingers, he conjures a ball of fire. The embers spark as he inhales deeply and extinguishes the flame.
“Maybe,” the boy in front of me replies, sliding his finger knuckle deep inside me, a wicked smile on his lips, “but she enjoys it.”
He smells of embers and firewood. I like it. It’s the scent the fairytales told me about as a child. The danger lurking in the woods that our elders warned us to stay away from.
“Don’t you, sweetheart?”
A second finger. I can’t breathe. My heart gallops in my chest, and my pussy contracts around him. I would be cast out if the elders found out about this. I’ve been touched by sin, and I’m no longer pure.
“Please, let me go,” I whimper.
“No can do,” he replies, sliding his glistening fingers back out. As I watch, he licks them clean, groaning darkly. “So fucking good.”
The air thickens with swirling cigarette smoke.
“You stole her. What now?” the boy who carried me here asks, his feet propped up against the black glass coffee table.
“I don’t know,” the boy admits, cupping my chin with his wet fingers. He inspects my face as if he’s never seen an angel before. He probably hasn’t. We don’t visit the underworld. “I was bored.”
More laughter. “You’re always fucking bored.”
“I want to dirty up her face. She sparkles, for fuck’s sake. What’s that shit about?”
One of the boys shrugs as he lights up his own cigarette. It amazes me how they can conjure up hellfire with their hands.
“Must be the holiness shining through.” He laughs at his own joke.
The boy in front of me considers this. “Maybe it’ll dull if we fuck her?”
“Maybe,” the boy on the couch agrees.
“Would you like that?” he asks me, jostling my face when I try to peer at his friends. “Want us to corrupt you beyond repair?”
I stare at the small horns peeking through his mussed-up hair. Does he have fangs too, like the stories say?
Leaning in, he whispers against my lips, “When we’re done with you, your wings will be dark with sin.”
“You won’t get away with this!”
His sinister chuckle makes me tingle in unfamiliar ways. It’s masculine and raspy—a pink tongue and a hiss from the coiled snake that lures me deeper into the woods.
Come closer.
“Baby, baby, baby,” he breathes, his hot breath tickling my ear. “You’re not in Eden anymore. You’re with the fallen angels.”
I try to crawl away, but he circles his warm fingers around my ankle and drags me closer. Back home, I wasn’t aware of my nakedness. Now I want to cover myself. The boys are dressed in dark material, their arms covered in intricate tattoos, symbols as ancient as time. I’ve heard about ‘clothes’ in our stories—pants, T-shirts, belts—but I never truly understood nakedness.
Now I do.
“Where are you going, sweetheart? We’re not done playing.”
“Please,” I beg, “let me go.”
He studies me for a moment before crawling on top of me and staring down at my face. His hair falls in his dark eyes when his lips curve into a smile. The white gleam of his teeth sends sparks down to my core. His hands are on either side of my head, his arms straining. I’ve never noticed a boy like this before.
“Never had a man lie on top of you,” he observes, echoing my thoughts.
