Cinder X (Death Collectors #2)

Cinder X (Death Collectors #2) Page 21

“Why not?” I’m panting, grasping onto him so hard that my nails pierce through the fabric and into his flesh as I fight the desperation and overpowering need pulsating through my body.

“I don’t know…” He assesses me with contemplation before he leans up and kisses me again. The kiss is quick, testing, and then he pulls away, nibbling on my lip before he lowers his head back to the mattress and stares up at me again, looking torn and lost; baffled.

Something clicks inside my head. Asher has always asked for permission to kiss me, but this time he didn’t. I’m not sure what that means, or if it means anything, but something feels off.

“Are you okay?” I ask, pushing up on my elbows to look down at him.

He nods, a little bit dazed. “I just want you, so fucking bad.” The want flares in his eyes and he lets out a husky growl as he abruptly crashes his lips into mine so hard that I’m sure we’ll both have bruises. His fingers delve into my waist as he grabs ahold of me and then flips us over so I’m on my back and he’s on top of me. As his tongue then slips into my mouth, our legs entangle at the same time that his fingers search every inch of my body. His movements are uncalculated and out of control; trembling with eagerness, fear, and desire.

I grab onto the front of his shirt and slip my fingers underneath the fabric, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the ragged intake of his breath. I want to feel more of him so I glide my palms all the way up his chest, balling up the fabric, wanting to rip it off, but not wanting to break the contact of our lips.

He moans against my mouth as I bite on his bottom lip and suck on his tongue. His tongue ring grazes my teeth and it only makes him groan deeper. I need him closer, so close I can barely breathe. My legs part and he falls between me, pressing against me. I writhe my hips, feeling a slow burn building in my body, frantic to ignite. Flames. Heat. Fire. I’m blazing with passion while I start to helplessly pant; completely and utterly breathless as his hand slips under the waistband of my jeans and touches my bare skin.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers against my mouth as his fingers travel lower. “I’m supposed to follow all these rules, stay away from you, ask for permission before I do anything, but now… everything’s different.” He rocks his hips against mine and I gasp. “Everything’s changed.”

Before I can ask what he means, his hand drifts farther down my jeans and then slips under my panties. My breath hitches as intense heat courses through my thighs. “I don’t know what to do with all this freedom, but I want to do whatever I want.” His fingers enter me and my head falls back as I clutch onto his shoulder blades.

“Then do whatever you want,” I moan, my chest heaving as I fight to catch my breath.

He moves back slightly to scan me over with this needy look in his eyes then his tongue slowly slips out of his mouth to wet his lips, causing the metallic tongue ring to flick against his teeth. The sound makes me shudder while desire rushes through my body, only amplifying as I take in the sight of him. His inky black hair is sticking up in a sexy bed-head way and his solid chest is rising and descending ravenously, his eyes burning with lust.

I move my hand down the front of his shirt and feel the beat of his heart, which is surprisingly erratic. I leave my palm on top of it for a moment and his heart rate only quickens. Then, without hesitation, I glide my hand downward and slip my fingers underneath the top of his jeans. His muscles stiffen as my fingers brush against his pulsating hardness and it only makes me want him inside me more.

A sound of pure ecstasy escapes his lips when my fingers wrap around him. He falls into my touch, holding onto me with desperation. He seems completely different from last time. So much more vulnerable and emotional. What’s different? I struggle to place it and words form inside my head like a puzzle as I try to figure it out.

A stone statue

Perfect and Flawless

Though beneath the structure

Cracks are hidden

Weakness shows

Vulnerability stems

So easily breakable

Like fine glass

Dropped onto the floor

Shattered

Into pieces

They broke him.

“Ember,” he groans again as I run my fingers up and down him, feeling how hard he is for me; how much he wants to be inside me. Seconds later, his fingers start to move inside me and we feel each other together as we roll on our sides. A near scream escapes my throat as he slips another finger inside me, but I bite my lip, drawing blood while somehow managing to keep moving my hand, and at the same time I feel myself getting more lost in his touch.

I’m about to lose it. Combust into pieces. Ignite in flames. When suddenly he stops moving his fingers and brings his free hand to my hair. He tangles his fingers through it, pulling roughly on the roots, causing my head to tip back before his lips come down on my throat. He sucks and nips at my skin, trembling with ragged breathing. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s up with him. He’s so much more out of control. So much rougher, although in a good way.

Finally, I force myself to stop rubbing him and lean back from his bites and nips on my skin. “Asher?”

He tenses, momentarily unmoving, catching his breath before he reclines to look at me. “Is something wrong?”

I search his eyes for an indication that something’s changed inside him. “I don’t know… Is there something wrong with you?”

His eyes widen and then he slides away from me, appearing lost as he lifts his hand up to rub his eyes. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything anymore.” His hand falls to his lap and his voice comes out as soft as a feather. “Do you remember when I said there were punishments for breaking the rules and that I was going to have to pay for getting involved with your life?” he asks and I nod, sitting up beside him. He reaches out and brushes the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, shaking his head. “They—Michael—well, at first he just forced me to stay away from humans, but then I went into the shadows and he was more upset.” His voice is unsteady. “Everyone thinks I’m a traitor and Michael made… he made me…” He sucks in a sharp breath and the words spill out of him. “He made me human again, or at least, stripped me of my wings.”

My jaw drops. “Like your mother?”

“Yes,” he whispers, shutting his eyes. “I’ve been banished.”

Chapter 10

I’m pretty sure Hell has frozen over or maybe it’s Heaven, since he’s an Angel. I’m not even sure how that works, though, if there’s a Heaven or Hell. From what Asher’s just shared with me about Angels of Death and his leader, I’m not sure Angels are quite as good as I thought.

Heaven and Hell

Reapers

Angels

Heavenly or Evil

Are they?

Aren’t they?

It takes me a second or two to find my voice again. “What does that mean exactly?” I gape at him, stunned. Shocked to the point that I feel sedated.

He swiftly shakes his head and sits up, grabbing onto me and sitting me with him. “It means that I’ve been banished like my mother and can no longer be with the Angels of Death. I’m still immortal, but I don’t have all of my Angel abilities such as my strength or the ability to fly.” He frowns as if he’s just realizing this.

I inspect him meticulously, running my fingers through the soft locks of his hair, taking in his eyes; they are the same slate grey, yet they look different somehow. “So you don’t have your wings?” I ask, placing my hands on his shoulders.

He reluctantly shakes head. “No, I have them, but they’ve stripped the power from them.”

“Can I—Can I see them?” I have no idea why I’m asking, other than I’m curious. I’ve seen them once in the graveyard and they were so beautiful that I couldn’t find words to describe them.

“You want to see my wings?” he asks, shocked and a little appalled.

With caution, I nod. “Unless it’s too weird.”

He’s silent, considering my request, and then he scoots to the edge of the bed and rises to his feet. He takes a few steps then turns in the middle of the room, glancing from side to side at the narrow space between the walls.

“I’m not sure if there’s enough room in here,” he utters quietly. “But I’ll try.”

I move to the edge of the bed and plant my feet on the floor as he starts to unbutton the plaid shirt he’s wearing; undoing each button unhurriedly. He’s definitely nervous, and so am I. I’m not even sure why, other than it makes everything feel that much more real. We can kiss and touch all we want, but as soon as he brings out his wings, all I’ll be able to think about are Angels and Reapers and how I’m a mix of both.

When he gets the last button undone, he sucks in a large breath, straightens his arms at his side, and the shirt falls off him and onto the floor. Lean muscles carve his stomach where his skin is as smooth as porcelain. On his one side, there is a tattoo of an angel with tears falling from her eyes, her black hair flowing to her back where feathers molt. On his opposing rib there’s an inscription that tells a story.

Unable to control myself, I get to my feet and walk towards him. Quivering slightly, I reach out and touch him, running my fingers along the cursive tattoo, feeling him shudder under my hand, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nigredo caped terra et possederunt corpora mortale,” I read the tattoo aloud, baffled on how I even know the language. “Ignis acquiritur super agros et fames possederunt maria. Mors vincit iram et Angelos morte. Erat, sed omne sacrificium unum contrarium. Morte puellae umero uno utrisque coniunctum esset electio salvificem mundum. Sed non facile ad pugnam.”

“You’re making me nervous, Ember,” he says and my eyes rise from his stomach to his face, which is equally as beautiful.

“Sorry,” I apologize with little sincerity. “I couldn’t resist.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and then releases it, wisps of his hair fluttering away from his face. “It feels so good to hear you speak our language.”

“But how can I?” I whisper. “I don’t even understand what I just said.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. “It’s the Angel blood inside you.” He pauses, his eyes locked on me as his muscles start to tighten like a rope winding and knotting. There’s a loud snap and then his back hunches over. Moments later, a tip of a wing peeks out from each side of his shoulders; pointed angles that are concealed by the softest black feathers. They continue to stretch and grow until a pair of wings span from his back across my bedroom, similar to the painting on my wall. They nearly take up the whole length, wall to wall, and are incredibly powerful as well as strikingly beautiful.

I don’t speak as he straightens his back, standing to his full height while watching me, waiting for me to say something. I chew nervously on my lip, words connecting in my head, forming a description I’ve wanted to write for weeks; ever since the last time I saw him in the cemetery.

Translucent beauty

Feathers and perfection