Dark Paradise: A Revelation Series Novel (The Revelation Series Book 6) Page 6

  Lifting his chin, he slides his hands into the front pockets of his pants. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” He presses his lips together. “That your witchy friend doesn’t like me.”

  “Gage.”

  “I said witchy. Not bitchy. Though both apply.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “Most women fall all over themselves for me. You sorceresses, on the other hand—”

  “It’s hard to worship you when you’re always insulting or trying to kill us.”

  “No one’s died yet.” His response is quick. “Or gotten hurt.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” I argue, letting the double meaning sink in.

  Gage’s smile turns into something cunning and calculating as he taunts me. This is what he does best. This is the side of him that likes to prove a point. The dangerous and dark side. And for the love of all things magical and holy, I wish I didn’t react the way I do to this side of him. I try not to melt into a drooling puddle of goop.

  He takes a measured step toward me.

  “Cloak the store.”

  “It’s closed,” I barely manage.

  “I know it’s closed, but I need you to veil us from sight and sound.”

  I straighten and narrow my eyes at his demand, but after a moment, I mutter the spell and block out the rest of the world, so it’s just him and me. In this small, overheated, dimly lit store. Alone. Surrounded by soft indie music, books, and dust. Such a bad idea.

  My eyes lift and tangle with his intense gaze. Gage is everything I should stay away from. Everything that I was taught was trouble. And yet, when his eyes drop to the floor, then run up my legs covered in knee-high socks, over my schoolgirl skirt, across my chest hidden under an old band T-shirt, and up to my face, I can’t help but forget those teachings, replacing them with dark thoughts of tangled sheets and wandering fingertips.

  The heady scent of cigarettes mixed with the warmth of sage and the sweetness of smoky honey hits me as he steps closer. Slowly, his right hand reaches out and he lifts a strand of my hair in his fingers, twirling it as he stares at it like it’s the most precious thing in the world. After what feels like forever, he brings it to his nose and inhales deeply.

  “After you sleep in my bed, my pillows and sheets smell like you,” his voice is thin and rough. “It’s both suffocating and freeing, waking up, drowning in your lavender scent.”

  My knees weaken a little and I force myself not to turn into a pool of mush at the weight of his words. Holding my breath, I search his eyes, taken aback at what I see behind them. Gage is looking at me as if he’s trying to burrow himself inside of me.

  I gasp as his hand darts out and takes mine, pulling me to him so that our chests are pressed together. Our focus falls to our interlocked hands, and I can’t help watch, fascinated, as his hand seductively plays with mine. Like it’s something he always does.

  He entwines and unlaces our fingers, turning our hands over and caressing my fingers. At the intimacy of it, my eyes slide closed and I try to control my breathing.

  His forehead drops to mine. I swallow when his other hand comes up and his fingertips slowly and gently trace circles over my cheek. I try not to wilt under his touch.

  Giving in, I open my eyes and lift my mouth to his. As I exhale, his lips part and he inhales my escaped breath. My cheek buries itself into the palm of his warm hand while he releases my hand and cups my other cheek, holding my face carefully in his grasp.

  My open mouth presses to his open mouth and I tilt my head. We stay like this, simply exhaling and inhaling one another’s breaths. Gage’s hands wander over my face and neck, as if somehow the feel of me brings him peace.

  Our movements are slow. Calculated. Careful. It feels like we’re both afraid that if we move too fast, we’ll ignite something that won’t easily be put out. He bends his knees a bit and I grab his waist for support, curling my fingers into the hem of his black T-shirt.

  “What are we doing?” I whisper against his mouth.

  His hands slide off my face, over my shoulders, and down my back until they find their way under my skirt and onto my ass cheeks, covered by the thin cotton of my panties. He squeezes hard, forcing a whimper to fall out of me, which Gage catches in his mouth.

  “What we always do.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re trying to save me.” He tilts his head. “While I’m trying to get inside of you.”

  The shadows always present in his gaze have disappeared. His breath is warm and damp against my lips, causing everything inside me to awaken. Slowly his lips move against mine. As he kisses me, he inhales through his nose, like he’s finally able to breathe.

  I kiss him back, taking my time as I explore his mouth. A mouth I’ve kissed a thousand times before. Yet, for some reason, this kiss feels different than all the others. Every stroke between us is slow and deliberate, just enough, and yet not. He tastes of cigarette smoke and spicy honey. The combination is intoxicating.

  I deepen the kiss, savoring him.

  “Tell me to leave you alone,” he begs across my lips.

  I can’t.

  I don’t want him to.

  Not ever.

  I run my tongue over his and my fingers slide under the soft cotton of his shirt before moving up and over the hard planes of his back. I pull him closer so that our chests are pressed together, taking whatever he’ll give me. A habit of mine with him.

  Gage’s hands leave my ass and find their way to either side of my head, sliding into my hair. My heart flutters in my chest as he backs away a little. His smoldering eyes stay glued on mine as we stare at each other breathlessly. For support, I wrap my fingers around his wrists and he begins to back us up, guiding us between the bookshelves to the back of the store. I lick my lips as he presses me against one of the tall shelves.

  Trapping me, he grabs my face in his hands, placing a deep kiss on me that makes my legs buckle as he steals my breath. His warm tongue sweeps over my lips and into my mouth, causing me to release a faint whimper. I reach up and press my fingers into the back of his neck, pulling him into me, needing more of him. Needing to feel him against me. With a dominating grip he moves his hands to my waist and lifts me up, using his body to pin me against the shelf as he kisses me with a needy desperation of his own.

  I wrap my legs around him and kiss him back, hard, as his lower body pushes into me, setting off a delicious friction between us. There are so many things I want and need him to say. The questions are all right at the tip of my tongue. None need to be spoken now. After a long, drawn-out kiss he pulls back and we stare at each other.

  “I need you.” He moves his thumb across my lower lip. “So fucking much.”

  For a moment, I’m speechless as I search his eyes.

  Even though the words make me sound like I’m a necessity, he’s looking at me like he always does, as if I’m an indulgence.

  “Then take me,” I offer myself to him.

  Leisurely, he strokes my cheeks with his thumbs, almost as if he’s contemplating his next move. Impatient, I tighten my grip on his neck. Gage drops his forehead back to mine, placing a gentle kiss to my lips but keeping a sliver of space between us.

  Out of the blue, he whispers across my mouth, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I breathe.

  “This.” With one hand, he rips my panties off and tosses them to the side.

  When his fingers glide over me, between my legs, all thinking ceases. He groans deep in the back of his throat and my entire body tightens in response to the sound, leaving me breathless all over again. At his touch, I arch against the bookshelf, full of need. A need that only Gage ignites within me, and only he can extinguish.

  With his other hand, he reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a condom, then holds it up to my mouth. With my teeth, I open the package for him and, unrushed, he reaches between us, undoing his belt and the button on his pants. His shoves his dress pants and boxers down just enough to
bare himself to me before he slips the condom on.

  I gasp and dig my nails into his neck when he thrusts fully into me. It takes me a moment to accommodate his size, but when I do, the feel of him makes me wetter and more needy for him. Cupping my ass with his palms, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, then lowers me down onto him slowly, kissing me at a matching pace as he slides in and out of me, savoring each inch and swallowing each of my pleas and breaths. I can feel the restraint he’s using tonight, the care he is taking in not moving too fast, trying to make me feel appreciated and special—his way of apologizing to me for the other morning.

  My fingers curl into the hard blades of his shoulders as I arch upwards against all the hardness that is Gage pressed against me. With one hand he lets go of my ass and slams his palm against the bookshelf with a frustrated grunt. I whimper as he shifts and continues to slide in and out of me, searching for what he needs.

  Heat spreads throughout my body, scorching every inch of me, making me feel like I’m on fire. I tense with pleasure followed by the long release of my orgasm that has me floating and drowning in warmth.

  There is a small tremor in Gage’s hand still on my ass, holding me up. He leans back, panting as he silently watches me, waiting for my cue as to what he should or shouldn’t do. I smile at his sudden concern. He’s never done this before—it’s honestly hot as hell.

  “Let go,” I whisper.

  Taking my lips again with a violent kiss, he tilts his hips into mine, pressing into me harder, almost painfully, pushing me against the shelf as he buries himself so deep inside of me that it’s hard to tell where he begins and I end. My breath catches at the intensity.

  In the bliss of the sensation, he falls apart around me with a guttural groan, followed by the release of a string of dirty words. After a few deep inhales and exhales, he slowly pulls out of me, staring down into my eyes. I manage to unwrap my legs from his waist.

  Without moving away, he carefully lowers me so my feet touch the ground, toes first, then heels. One of his hands lifts and with the backs of his fingers, he strokes my cheek.

  “You okay?” he asks quietly.

  Biting my lip, I nod, unable to speak.

  Unsure of what’s happening between us tonight.

  “Be right back,” he says, removing the condom and tying it off.

  With a small step backwards, he redresses himself, then picks up my destroyed panties off the floor. As he makes his way to the bathroom, I mutter a quick spell under my breath, producing a new set of underwear out of thin air, and quickly slide them on. Just as I’m fixing myself, Gage reappears, seeming amused with me. With a sexy swagger, he makes his way over to me and sifts his fingers through my messy, just-fucked-against-a-bookshelf hair. Letting him, I sigh and drop my focus to the cross necklace he wears.

  I lift my hand and run my fingers over the chain.

  He flinches, as if my touching it causes him physical pain. Gage always does this when I touch it, so I’m used to it by now.

  “You didn’t take it off,” I point out in a lulling voice.

  “What?”

  “You always take it off when we—”

  The rest of my words dissolve when I look at his face.

  His eyebrows pinch together and, looking wounded, he steps away, leaving my fingers dangling in the air between us. As if realization dawns on him, my words pull him out of whatever trance he was in.

  Seconds ago, it was only him and me in the bookstore. Just us. Now, I see the moment she returns like a dark cloud. A shadow crosses over his face, taking hold of his heart. Gage’s eyes turn dark. I watch him, helpless. Wanting to ease the hurt that has slid back into his heart.

  He clears his throat. “I didn’t come here to fuck you against a bookshelf.”

  I try not to flinch at the bite in his words. It’s his way of putting space between us. Another thing I am used to from him after all this time. Crossing my arms, I dip my chin. “Jesus, Gallagher. I didn’t ask.”

  “I know!” he snaps back.

  “Why are you here?” Annoyance fills my voice.

  “I need your help.”

  “Are you in some sort of trouble?” I ask, knowing he is.

  Let’s be honest, this is Gage.

  When isn’t he in trouble?

  I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he stares down at me. He’s up to something, something I’m not going to like. Something he wants me to get on board with but knows I won’t, hence his hesitation.

  Gage swallows a few times, afraid to ask me whatever it is he wants.

  “I’m waiting,” I bite out impatiently.

  “I need you to help me cross over to the demonic realm and break into the second peace treaty signed between the divine and the underworld,” he states in an even voice.

  Tilting my head, I glare at him.

  He has to be fucking joking.

  I stare at him, waiting for him to laugh.

  He doesn’t.

  “What?” I whisper-shout.

  Hardening his stance, he nods. “There are things that I am trying to protect. Things that I can’t . . . divulge at the moment. But I need to know what the treaty says.”

  My lips part in surprise at his words. “Things you’re trying to protect?”

  Gage mumbles something under his breath and shifts, uncomfortable. “Yes,” he says, looking almost ashamed.

  Taken aback that he said he wanted to protect something, I look him over. Protection is the kind of reasoning that turned me into a Gage addict in the first place. The small pieces of who he was before, that shine through who he is now. Wanting to protect is the kind of thing that brings him back to life. Even if it’s breaking his own rules. And because I am an idiot, I’m not going to turn him down. The consequences of my actions be damned.

  “Is that why you and I—” I point over my shoulder.

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t to get me to submit, and say yes?”

  “I like being inside you, Nassa. The two are separate from each other.”

  I lift my middle finger in the air, giving him a friendly gesture in response to his crassness.

  It’s better than slapping the shit out of him, which I’m tempted to do. He isn’t lying about the two being separate; I’d know if he was. Still, there is nothing I love more than to aggravate the crap out of Gage and stir up trouble with him when he’s like this.

  At my response, his brow arches. “Is that a no?”

  “Given my parental bloodlines, and what happened the last time I saw my uncle Asmodeus, you do realize asking me to help you cross into Hell is a bad idea, right?”

  Gage falls silent, running his thumb across his lower lip. It’s something he does when he needs to smoke or is unsure of what to do or say next. It’s a telltale sign of his.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” I warn him.

  “And you can’t wear uniform skirts around me and expect me not to take you, hard,” he says in a low voice that slithers over me, causing goosebumps to form on my skin.

  Touché.

  I offer him a weak smile. “I hate that you make me so damn weak.”

  Gage’s expression turns hard. “You are not weak. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. Someone weak would never be able to handle me. You’re a fucking warrior.”

  “Your flattering needs work.”

  His brows raise. “Excuse me?”

  “Compliments won’t get me to look at you with starry eyes.”

  “I don’t want you to,” he growls.

  “No?”

  “No. I want you to look at me the way you do.”

  “And how is it exactly that I look at you?”

  He steps closer, bending so we’re at eye level.

  I inhale through my nose.

  “Like you see me . . . as I was, before—” he trails off, leaving off Camilla.

  At his words, my world turns upside down and I fall into a euphoric Gage-daze. Life before him was simpler
, when I lived in a comfy bubble of naïveté.

  He stares at me with his dark, brooding eyes as if he’s daring me to argue. “Come on, buttercup. Help me,” he implores. “When was the last time you and I did something dangerous and fun? Something like entering the underworld and breaking into a divinely sealed peace treaty while dodging demons and running from Hell?”

  “Going into the depths of Hell is not my idea of fun.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one, Mammon and Asmodeus are assholes.”

  “Luckily for you then, I’m a bigger asshole.”

  True. His cockiness and sensuality is contagious. With him, I always feel sexy, smart, and capable of anything. I let him push me because he believes I can do anything. He doesn’t make me feel out of place or disconnected. He makes me feel beautiful and wanted. Like I belong by his side, as an equal and strong partner. With him, I fall, letting him drag me into the depths of hell.

  Apparently, literally letting him drag me into Hell.

  “If . . . if I help you, this is it.” I try to sound tough.

  Eyes still on mine, he smirks.

  “A little protector fun won’t hurt you.”

  No, but it might hurt him.

  Suddenly, the thought terrifies me.

  7

  Protection From Darkness

  GAGE

  Adrenaline pulses through me as I take a seat on the leather recliner. Placing my hands on the armrests, I try to push away the edginess causing my nervous energy. I need a goddamn cigarette.

  Unfortunately, it’s going to be hours before I can have one. While I can teleport, and Nassa has mastered candle magic transportation, Asher insisted we take his private jet to the States to see Asmodeus. He thought it was less . . . conspicuous. In all honesty, I think he gets a kick out of putting me in these situations with her.

  He considers it payback for all the times I tortured him with Eve. Asher is royalty. The London clan are gods among supernaturals. And they love to exercise their iron fists. Case in point, my ass on a private jet, trapped across from Nassa’s lavender scent.

  I lean back in the chair and chance a quick peek at her. She’s relaxed, reading a magazine with a chunky, fuzzy blanket over her legs and a mug of something warm in her hands.