Chapter 84 Chapter 84
Chapter 84 Chapter 84
Adrianna's hand slips into mine, her fingers cool and trembling but gripping tight, like she is afraid one of us will vanish if she lets go. We walk in silence down the dimly lit hallway of the mansion, the air thick with that post-rescue tension—part relief, part the lingering stink of supernatural angelic bullshit that clings to everything. Our footsteps echo softly on the hardwood, hips brushing with every step, sending little jolts of heat up my arm. I steal a glance at her profile, the way her dark hair falls messy over her shoulder, her lips bitten and swollen from whatever ordeal left her shaken. Fuck, she is beautiful, even marked by the chians that held her for a few days. My thumb strokes the back of her hand instinctively, tracing the faint scars given to her from the asshole angel Levi had mentioned in passing. The soul bond hums between us, a dark thread of shared fury and need, revenge simmering like a promise. I would make sure that Levi and Apollo tortured the fiend even more on her behalf.
We push into the kitchen, the cool marble island gleaming under the low pendant lights, a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. I do not let go of her hand until I have to, reluctantly releasing it to rummage through the fridge.
“Grilled cheese?” I mutter, voice rough from crying, pulling out butter, cheese slices, and bread.
It is mundane as hell, but right now, it is grounding—something normal in this twisted world of honorable demons and scumbag angels.
She nods, leaning against the counter, her eyes following my every move. I fire up the stove, slapping butter into a pan that sizzles hot and angry, matching the burn in my chest. As the bread hits the heat, I grab tomatoes from the pantry, dicing them quick and rough, tossing them into a pot with garlic and herbs. Tomato sauce from scratch—comfort food with a bite, just like us. The scent fills the air, rich and tangy, cutting through the faint ozone tang that gets left behind each time the boys teleport. I flip the sandwiches, cheese oozing golden and melty, stealing glances at her. Gods, the way she stands there, arms crossed under her tits, pushing them up in that worn shirt—it is torture. My pussy clenches at the memory of her body under mine, these past few weeks of frantic fucks where we would grind together, slick and desperate, her moans echoing in my ears like a drug.
Adrianna moves then, graceful despite the exhaustion weighing her down. She pulls a bottle of Beaujolais from the wine rack, the deep red liquid glugging into two glasses with a soft pour. She slides one across the island to me, her fingers brushing mine again—electric, deliberate. Then she perches on a stool, legs crossing, watching me with those heavy-lidded eyes that scream silent longing. Her gaze traces my arms as I stir the sauce, down to my hips swaying with the motion, and I feel exposed, raw, like she can see the ache building between my thighs. The silence stretches, comfortable but charged, our breaths syncing in the quiet hum of the kitchen.
I plate the sandwiches, dipping them in the steaming sauce, and slide hers over before grabbing my own. We eat slowly, the crust crunching under my teeth, cheese pulling in sticky strings, sauce coating my tongue with acidic heat. But my mind is elsewhere, swirling like the wine she sips. Fuck, I have always been attracted to her even when we were just colleagues—those sharp curves, the fire in her eyes that matches my own. But these past weeks, screwing her senseless, tasting her cum on my lips after I would bury my face in her dripping pussy, it cracked something open, gave me hope. I care about her, yeah, but it is more. When that feathered fuck snatched her right from under me, it ripped my heart out. I am in love with her, deep and filthy, the kind that makes me want to pin her down and fuck her until she screams my name, owning every inch of her soul. The kind that makes me want to find a way to eradicate that angel even if it means destroying my soul in the process.
Levi and Adrianna—they got their own thing with Apollo, both being in love with him, but not with each other. It is a tangled mess of lust and bonds, demons, angels and ancient deities grinding out their revenge in blood and cum. Levi and I fuck each other sometimes, sure, we even have love for each other, but not like what I feel for Adrianna. I love Apollo too, in that rough, possessive way—picturing his thick cock slamming into me, his hellfire eyes locked on mine—but I could survive without Levi and Apollo. Hell, I would thrive, as long as Adrianna is there. One day without her, and I would shatter, I almost did shatter these past few days. The thought of telling her twists my gut— what if she just wants to stay as fuck buddies? Her riding my strap-on, pussy clenching around it as she comes hard, whispering dirty encouragements, but nothing deeper. What if my confession scares her off, leaves me aching for a future where she is not spread out beneath me, begging for more?
She sets her glass down, licking a drop of wine from her lower lip, and my gaze drops to her mouth, imagining it on my clit, sucking greedy and wet. The warmth between us builds, unspoken desires bubbling under the calm—her foot nudges mine under the island, a subtle press that shoots straight to my core. I shift on the stool, thighs rubbing together to ease the throb, sauce forgotten as I watch her chew, slow and sensual. The soul bond flickers, dark fantasy threads weaving revenge into our quiet intimacy, hints of an angels' downfall and demonic claims lingering like foreplay. My free hand itches to reach across, trace her collarbone, dip lower to cup her breast and pinch her nipple until she gasps. But I hold back, letting the tension simmer, my thoughts a storm of love and lust, fearing the words that could change everything.
We finish eating, plates pushed aside, the silence now heavy with possibility. Her eyes meet mine, dark and searching, and I wonder if she feels it too—this pull toward something rawer, deeper than the fucks we have shared. The night stretches ahead, full of stories she will spill and sins we might commit, the mansion's shadows hiding whatever demonic revenge brews outside. But here, in this moment, it is just us, hands close enough to touch, hearts pounding with what-ifs and wants.