Salvation tastes like sin

The first time lightning cracked the sky above the grimy city, Azrael felt it like a brand seared across her hidden grace.

Not a warning, but an ache. It echoed the hollow space between her shoulder blades where wings of purest light had once burned, feathers now ash scattered across the steps of an indifferent Heaven. Down here, in the labyrinth of wet pavement, flickering neon, and the constant thrum of forgotten souls, she was just Rae. A woman with eyes too old for her face, working late in the dusty backroom of ‘Verity's Antiquities', cataloging fragments of other people's pasts.

The bell above the shop door jangled, a harsh sound against the quiet patter of rain that had followed the lightning.

Too late for customers.

Azrael didn't look up, her fingers tightening around a chipped Etruscan vase. Mortal exhaustion was a heavy cloak, but beneath it, the remnant of celestial awareness prickled. The air shifted, thickening, tasting suddenly of ozone, petrichor, and something deeper, darker... familiar. Like incense burned in a forbidden temple.

"Still hiding among the broken things, Angel?"

The voice was a low thrum, velvet over gravel, sliding down her spine and pooling molten heat low in her belly.

Not fear. Never fear with him. Just the inevitable, gravitational pull.

She turned.

Malakai filled the doorway, rain glistening on the worn leather of his jacket, plastering dark strands of hair to his temples. Exiled demon. Fallen star. Her ruin, or perhaps her only possible redemption. His eyes, the colour of aged whiskey catching fire, held hers. No mockery tonight. Just a hunger so profound it stole her breath.

He stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click that felt like a lock turning.

"It's raining," Azrael stated, her own voice sounding thin, mortal, compared to the resonance vibrating from him.

She gestured vaguely towards the damp city beyond the grimy window.

"Shouldn't you be... causing discord?

Tempting mortals?"

A slow, devastating smile curved his lips. He shrugged off the jacket, revealing a simple black shirt stretched taut over shoulders that spoke of contained, ancient power. He moved with a predator's grace, closing the distance between them, stopping just outside the circle of light cast by her desk lamp. The scent of him intensified, wet earth, leather, and that core of smouldering embers, uniquely Malakai.

It wasn't the sulfur and brimstone of lesser demons; it was the scent of deep, primal things, of storms and the heart of mountains.

"Temptation," he murmured, his gaze tracing the line of her throat, the pulse visibly fluttering there, "takes many forms, Rae." His voice dropped lower, wrapping around her like smoke.

"Tonight, the only mortal soul I find remotely interesting... is yours. And it's already so beautifully tempted."

He took another step. The air crackled, not with celestial wrath, but with raw, undeniable want. The worn wooden floorboards seemed to groan beneath his weight, or maybe that was the straining of her own resolve. She should push him away. Remind him of the chasm between them, her fallen grace, his infernal exile, the impossible dream of salvation that flickered in her chest whenever he was near. But the words died in her throat, incinerated by the heat in his eyes.

"I smelled the storm," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, yet it resonated in her bones. "I smelled you.

Heaven on the rain. Like lilies and lightning." He lifted a hand, not to touch her, but to hover near her cheek.

The heat radiating from his skin was palpable. "You feel it too, Angel. That pull. That we need to stop fighting what we are. What we could be."

Azrael's breath hitched. "Salvation..."

"Is a cage," he finished, his eyes blazing. "Surrender, Rae. Not to damnation. To this." His gaze flickered down to her lips, then back to her eyes, holding her captive. "To me."

The last thread of resistance snapped.

It wasn't fear that broke her; it was the sheer, overwhelming force of desire, ancient and undeniable, mingling with the bittersweet ache of her lost divinity. It was the look in his eyes, not conquest, but a desperate, shared yearning. A recognition.

She didn't move towards him. She simply stopped holding herself rigid. A slight tilt of her head, an unconscious parting of her

lips.

Permission.

Invitation.

Malakai moved like the lightning outside. One moment he was a step away, the next his body pressed hers back against the sturdy oak desk, ancient ledgers and pottery shards forgotten. His mouth crashed down onto hers, not with gentleness, but with a claiming hunger that ignited every nerve ending. It wasn't a kiss; it was a conflagration. His lips were firm, demanding, tasting of rain and darkness and something inherently, irrevocably male. His tongue swept into her mouth, a bold invasion met with her own desperate surge, a clash that was pure, intoxicating fire.

A low groan tore from his throat, vibrating against her lips. His hands, large and impossibly hot, slid down her back, pulling her impossibly closer, molding her soft curves against the hard planes of his body.

She could feel the rigid length of him pressed against her belly, a blatant promise of what was to come. Her hands, trembling, found purchase in his damp hair, fingers tangling in the dark silk, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

He broke away only to trail scorching kisses down the column of her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered like a trapped bird. "So sweet," he rasped, the words hot against her damp skin.

"So pure, even fallen. It drives me mad." His hand slipped beneath the hem of her simple cotton blouse, calloused fingertips skimming up her ribcage. She arched into his touch, a soft cry escaping her as his thumb brushed the underside of her breast through the thin lace of her bra.

"Malakai..." His name was a prayer on her lips, a plea, a benediction.

He lifted his head, his eyes molten gold, burning with infernal light and something softer, fiercer. "Let me see you, Angel. All of you." His voice was thick with need, rough with command softened by reverence. "Show me the light you still carry. Let me worship it."

With trembling fingers, guided by his insistent hands, she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. He helped, his movements surprisingly deft, pushing the fabric off her shoulders. The cool air of the shop kissed her skin, raising goosebumps instantly chased away by the heat of his gaze. He unhooked her bra, baring her breasts to the dim light and his hungry eyes. A reverent sound escaped him, almost a sigh.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his gaze tracing the soft curves, the peaked, rosy nipples tightening under his scrutiny. He lowered his head, his lips closing around one taut peak, sucking gently, then with increasing pressure.

Fire lanced through her, straight to her core. His tongue swirled, teased, his teeth scraped lightly, sending jolts of pure pleasure-pain that made her cry out and fist her hands tighter in his hair. He lavished the same attention on her other breast, his free hand kneading the soft flesh, his touch possessive and adoring.

His mouth left her breast, trailing a path of fire down her stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her simple skirt and underwear. He knelt before her, looking up, his eyes holding hers captive.

"Surrender, Azrael," he commanded softly, the name she hadn't heard in centuries resonating in the small space.

"Surrender to this."

He slid her skirt and underwear down her legs in one smooth motion. She stepped out of them, standing bare before him, bathed in the dim light and the heat of his gaze. His hands slid up her calves, her thighs, spreading them gently but firmly as he settled between them. The first hot, open-mouthed kiss he pressed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh made her gasp. The second, higher, closer to her core, made her tremble. The third, his tongue finding the slick, swollen heat of her, made her cry out, her head falling back, her fingers scrabbling against the edge of the desk.

Malakai feasted. His tongue was a brand of pure, sinful pleasure. He licked broad, slow strokes through her dripping folds, savoring her taste, honey and salt. He circled her clit, flicking it with wicked precision, then sucking it gently into the heat of his mouth. Azrael bucked against him, moans spilling from her lips, incoherent pleas and fragmented prayers. He held her hips steady, his strength absolute, his mouth

relentless. He plunged his tongue deep inside her, fucking her with it, mimicking the rhythm she desperately craved, while his thumb rubbed tight, perfect circles over her clit.

The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter, a storm within her threatening to break. She could feel the echo of her lost wings trembling in the space between her shoulder blades.

"Malakai... please... I can't..." she gasped.

He lifted his head, his chin glistening with her essence, his eyes blazing up at her. "Come undone for me, Angel," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Let go. Fall."

His thumb pressed harder, his tongue delving deep once more. The command, the sensation, the sheer rightness of it shattered her. Pleasure exploded through her, white-hot and blinding, tearing a ragged scream from her throat. Wave after wave crashed over her, shaking her to her core, her body convulsing against his mouth as he drank her release, drawing out every last tremor with relentless lips and tongue.

Before the last aftershock had faded, Malakai surged to his feet. His eyes were wild, primal. He fumbled with his belt, the button of his jeans, the zip, his movements urgent. His erection sprang free, thick, hard, and flushed, pulsing with need. He gripped himself, stroking once, twice, his gaze locked on hers, filled with awe and raw hunger.

He lifted her effortlessly, sitting her on the edge of the desk, scattering papers and artifacts. He stepped between her thighs, the broad head of his cock pressing against her slick, swollen entrance. He paused, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot and ragged on her skin. "Look at me," he rasped.

Her eyes, still hazy with the aftermath of her climax, focused on his. In those fiery depths, she saw not damnation, but a reflection of her own fractured grace, her own desperate need. She saw the tension, the eternal struggle ,salvation offered, salvation denied, momentarily eclipsed by something simpler, purer. Desire.

"Yes," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

He groaned, deep and guttural, and pushed forward, sinking into her heat with one powerful thrust that stole the breath from both their lungs. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her in a way that felt less like invasion and more like homecoming.

He stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt, his eyes squeezed shut, a tremor running through his powerful frame.

"Azrael..." Her name was a broken prayer.

Then he moved. Withdrawing almost completely before driving back in, deep and hard, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm. The desk scraped against the floor with each powerful thrust. Azrael clung to him, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back through his shirt, her cries mingling with his low growls.

The friction was exquisite, the fullness divine punishment and ecstasy rolled into one. She met him thrust for thrust, arching her hips, taking him deeper, losing herself in the primal dance.

His mouth found hers again, the kiss messy, desperate, tasting of her and him and storm. One hand gripped her hip, holding her steady for his pounding, the other slid between them, finding her clit again, still sensitive, still throbbing. He rubbed, his touch firm, knowing exactly what she needed. The dual assault was overwhelming. The coil tightened again, impossibly fast, deep within her core.

"Malakai!" she cried out, her body bowing against his.

"I know, Angel," he groaned against her lips, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, losing their rhythm. "Come with me. Fall with me."

His words, the desperate friction of his thumb, the feel of him pounding into her very soul, tipped her over the edge again. Her climax ripped through her, even more intense than the first, a supernova exploding behind her eyelids, turning her vision white. She clenched around him, milking him, her body convulsing uncontrollably.

Her climax triggered his. With a roar that seemed to shake the dusty antiques on the shelves, Malakai buried himself deep and held still, pulsing hotly inside her. His release felt like lightning in her veins, pure, raw power flooding her, merging with the echoes of her own pleasure. He shuddered against her, his forehead pressed to her shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

They stayed locked together for long moments, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the drumming rain against the shop window. The scent of sex, ozone, ancient paper, and their mingled sweat filled the small space.

Slowly, the world came back into focus. Malakai softened inside her but made no move to withdraw. He lifted his head, his eyes finding hers. The infernal fire had banked, replaced by a look of profound wonder, tinged with a vulnerability she'd never seen before.

Azrael reached up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, her fingers trembling slightly. The tension between salvation and surrender hadn't vanished. It hummed beneath the surface, a fundamental chord of their existence.

But in this moment, sticky and sated against the old oak desk, surrounded by broken relics and the aftermath of the storm, it didn't matter. For now, they were simply Rae and Malakai. And salvation, she thought hazily, her limbs heavy with spent pleasure, tasted remarkably like sin.

He leaned in, brushing a kiss, soft and lingering, against her sweat-damp temple. A promise, perhaps. Or just a moment's fragile peace in the endless, complicated dance between Heaven and Hell.