32 Second Breakfast

Bel

Bel wondered if Lily had felt as nervous when she’d shown him her home. Just because a woman read about palaces and mansions didn’t mean she’d actually like a palace.

Would she?

It had never mattered if previous partners had cared for it or not, because he’d liked them, but it just hadn’t been the same.

Lily saw things.

His home stood in stark contrast to hers. They stood on the short walkway, staring up at the home he’d spent his entire life in. He looked at it and saw tall black walls, sweeping lines of architecture, and myriad tall windows lit up from within, offering peeks of the interior. Windows he’d snuck out of. Walls he’d bounced a ball off of in play. Twists and spires on the roof he’d used as a challenge course for flying.

What did she think of the carefully tended gardens? The flowers and vines shining with their own bioluminescence in an array of colors? The trickling creek of lava bubbling out of the ground and cutting a swath through the lawn, a shimmer of heat rippling in the air above it?

Would she think it ostentatious? Empty? Silly? Beautiful?

He braced for a less than positive expression—he’d seen them before—and turned to her.

She had a hand pressed to her chest, pretty nail polish reflecting the light, staring at the house in wonder .

He loved looking at her. Sure, she was stunning with the dress and makeup and whatever else, but more than that, she was radiant.

“Your house is amazing ,” she breathed. “Bel, you live in a beautiful fucking palace ! Does it have a library?”

“Two, actually. A boring one in my office and another one on the main floor. The books aren’t as interesting as yours though.”

She glanced at him, a flicker of vulnerability, uncertainty in those eyes.

“I love your library,” Bel told her. “And I am genuinely enjoying those books. I’d like to borrow more. After I’ve read the tail one, that is.”

“If you need tail inspiration, big guy, I’ve got some books that would blow your mind. Stop trying to distract me.” She tugged him forward, her smile bright in the dimness. “Show me everything.”

So he did.

The foyer, with its pair of sweeping stairs and the beautiful, carved banisters. The library that she cooed over, running her fingers over the spines of the books, starting a small stack of ones that had more worn covers than the rest, clever girl. The small ballroom that he admittedly used for training purposes, the racks of weapons and weights and mats and other training paraphernalia a harsh contrast to the elaborately carved and painted walls and ceiling. The living room with its comfortable couches and chairs and a sweeping view of their level of Hell, the homes sparser in their area, the gardens more expansive. His father had liked the little bit of privacy, the separation, when he’d had the place built long before Bel had been born.

Bel guided her down the upper corridor to his wing of the house, explaining the entire time that he’d always thought it was ridiculous that he had an entire wing of the house to himself, but that he’d found it hilariously ironic when he was younger, given the wings on his back.

He opened one of the double doors and followed her inside his bedroom. He’d only gotten a glimpse of hers through the open door as he’d followed Sharkie to Lily’s library, and he knew that while hers was a study of dusky purples and grays and blacks, elegant and cozy and feminine, his was much less…colorful.

Black walls rose twice the height of normal rooms, swirling subtle murals in glimmering gunmetal gray painted on certain sections. The shining mural of stars painted on the ceiling was a glimpse of the mortal night sky, thousands of years ago. Bel had never seen it, but the artist that his father had commissioned had painted it with such skill that, half the time, Bel was convinced that he lay under the open sky. The dark hardwood floor was broken up by a large gray rug that sat under his admittedly oversized bed. He’d spent years, decades, of his life sleeping in whatever tent or shack or shelter he could, wings clamped tight to his back in an exercise of basic, necessary rest. He liked the room to stretch out his wings and limbs, to luxuriate in sleep and rest his soul, as well as his body.

Lily grabbed his arm for balance, lifting one foot to work off her shoe. It clattered to the floor, and she sighed in relief before going for the second one.

“In the mortal world, those would have killed my feet before I’d even made it to the pub. I’d call this a success.” Barefoot, she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his collarbone. “Your home is beautiful, Bel. I love it.”

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of holding her, of feeling her body pressed against his or smelling her sweet scent. Being around Lily eased something in him. Holding her was like settling his feet on the ground after a long flight.

Relief.

Peace.

He tipped her face up, kissing her long and slow. She arched into him, lips soft and glorious.

He rested his forehead against hers, savoring the quiet moment every bit as much as he’d savored the events of the bathroom, a memory that had lust burning through his veins and tingling over his fingers.

“Pajamas, then canoodling?” he asked. She wasn’t the only one with alternative terminology.

She laughed. “Canoodling confirmed. Can I borrow a T-shirt?”

Lily

Lily woke up warm, verging on too warm, and other than a faint headache, completely fine. She’d never get tired of the no-hangover development.

Paradise, baby. It has its perks.

She nuzzled closer to Bel, more than willing to deal with a little extra heat. He slept on his back, holding her close with one arm, her head resting on his shoulder. Her leg was thrown over both of his, his tail curled possessively around her calf.

She sensed a pattern there.

The night before, when a pair of her underwear had appeared on Bel’s bed, he’d looked around the room as if it had a viper in it.

“Tell me this is a Paradise thing,” he’d said, side-eyeing the door to his closet. “Because Carl is fine—great even—but I don’t think I can deal with this house getting a personality too. It’s seen too much.”

“Please don’t call my house Carl. I don’t want to live in a Carl . I’ll have to ask around, but maybe this is one of those ‘soul who went to Paradise’ perks?”

“Let’s go with that.”

She’d changed into her magic new underwear and one of his old band shirts, so oversized on her that it fell to mid-thigh, and laughed at the slits in the back that they’d both forgotten about. Then she’d used the second sink in his bathroom to wash off her makeup while he’d stood in his boxers and brushed his teeth, taking special care to check his fangs. It had been so casually domestic that she felt like they done it before, had been doing it for years. He’d made a face at her in the mirror while he’d brushed his hair. She’d crossed her eyes at him over a mouthful of toothpaste.

They’d crawled into bed and snuggled together under the glowing mural of stars, whispering like little kids about their days, asking random questions and giving random answers, reveling in the simple and powerful intimacy of just being together. A Paradise of its own.

To her delight, a swirling, vaguely geometric tattoo peeked out of the top of his boxers and crept down his right thigh. She’d discovered a primal fascination with his bare torso, the solid slabs of muscle with enough padding to fuel his body for hours of combat. She hadn’t let herself explore it beyond gentle, sweeping caresses.

She opened her eyes and squinted at the red-gold light spilling into the room as Hell’s day dawned.

Odd that the sheets were cooler and smoother by her legs, whereas from roughly her waist up, they were velvety and almost scorchingly warm, like suede left out in the sun.

Bel was laying on his back…

Fuck!

She eased upwards, trying not to put too much pressure on Bel’s chest with her hand, and looked down. Sure enough, his wings were splayed half open, draping over the extra-wide bed. And she’d been laying on one of them. She supposed that, if he’d been in pain, he would have woken up, but still. Careful not to crush his tail, she slid her leg fully over him, sitting up and adjusting herself to straddle his hips, taking pressure off his wing.

Gods, he looked like a painting.

Against silky black sheets, his form was perfectly delineated. The power evident in his heavy pectorals and faintly ridged abdomen marked him unmistakably as a warrior. A line of crisp black hair trailed down from his navel to disappear into his boxers, the waistband of which rode dangerously low on his hips. She licked her lips, itching to trace it. His nipples were tight and flat, a much deeper shade of purple-gray than the rest of his body, the thin line of a scar arcing dangerously near one.

If mortal artists had ever painted him, it would have caused a riot. Churches would have protested the image of a hot-as-fuck demon prince, though the internet would have gone buck wild for it.

Beyond his obvious beauty, it was his scars that caught her eye. They were scattered over his body—little ones, bigger ones, a couple of round ones that looked like puncture wounds from a gun or an arrow, though for some reason she suspected the latter. Each mark a reminder of how hard he had fought to protect what he cared for. His ashy black wings, paler near the thin edges, also bore faint evidence of old injuries. A fresher-looking patch of raised membrane made something in her chest twist.

Oh, Bel.

He looked so different from when he’d stayed at her house. The bone-deep exhaustion of that night was gone, allowing her to see the fine details of his face more clearly. His mouth had a slight natural downturn to it when he was completely relaxed, making him look rather stern. It was so at odds with his usual cheerful expression that she reached out and brushed her thumb over the corner of his mouth, wanting to see it twitch up in one of his smiles.

Bel’s smile could power entire cities if someone ever figured out how to hook it up to a wattage thing.

Had she ever told him that?

Lily’s smile faded. She hadn’t, had she?

And yet how many times had Bel pulled her out of some emotional death spiral? How many times had he said the right thing to make her feel not so alone? To make her feel beautiful and precious?

She didn’t know if she’d ever made him feel the same.

She wanted to. Someone should. Bel deserved to feel as wonderful as he made everyone else feel. He deserved the kind of peace and support that his mere presence gave her. She was determined to give it to him.

He just needed to wake up first.

She smoothed her hands over his chest and up his neck, cradling his angular jaw and leaning forward to kiss him with as much tenderness as she could manage. He inhaled slowly, his hands coming to rest on her thighs where they hugged his waist. She sat back as his eyes opened, the haze of sleep clearing away like mist in the sun.

“Good morning,” he rasped, his already deep voice somehow impossibly deeper.

“Good morning.” She smiled, catching one of his hands with her own and tangling their fingers together. “I realized something.”

Bel blinked at her, seeming to still be in the process of orienting himself. “Oh?”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ I’ve known that you are wonderful for a while now, and—”

“Lily,” Bel said, a dark blush staining the tips of his pointed ears.

“Bel. Affectionately, shut up. I experienced a whole coherent thought before I had coffee, and you’re going to let me say this. Please.”

The last vestiges of sleep evaporated in an instant. A little smile played on his mouth, and his other hand left her thigh to press palm to palm with hers, fingers lacing together.

“Sorry. Keep going, princess.”

“Thank you,” she said primly, adjusting herself slightly. “I have known you are wonderful for a while now. From the beginning, frankly. But I realized that, for all the kindness and wisdom and support you have given me, I don’t think I have ever once returned that favor. And if I have, it wasn’t adequate.”

Bel opened his mouth.

Lily squeezed his hands.

Bel shut his mouth.

“You,” she said softly, “are many things. Patient. Kind. Steady. Strong, and not just because of your sexy muscles.”

He brightened a little.

“I don’t think I’m quite as gifted with words of wisdom and encouragement as you are, but I’m going to give it my best shot. I know, at some point, for some reason, in some way, you were left behind.” He went utterly still beneath her, but she continued. “It’s not your fault. Whoever and whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. Proud of you as a general. Proud of you as a prince. Proud of you . That’s not empty bullshit praise. I see you. I don’t know all of you yet, but I know you, and I see you.”

He didn’t seem to be breathing. She untangled their hands, reaching up to cup his face. He stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes in wonder or horror or maybe both. The scattered strands of his hair were delicate against her fingertips, his cheeks nearly scorchingly hot.

“Bel, you are enough. You make existence better, just by being you.” She swallowed. “And nothing about you feels temporary.”

If she’d had a heartbeat, it would have been racing a mile a minute. She’d never been so vulnerable in her existence, never taken a chance on sharing how she really felt with anyone.

So, she did the only thing left to do.

She kissed him. Hard.

His hands landed on her hips and gripped firmly, but not enough to hurt.

She broke away from his eager mouth, trailing kisses along his jaw, down his neck, over his thundering pulse. She lifted her head, emotions and lust swirling into heady mix as she ghosted her lips over his, gripping his jaw with one hand. His glittering gray eyes were fever bright, the striations of silver gleaming as if they’d been polished.

“I want—” She teased his lips again. “To do something for you.”

She leaned back, and he surged up to chase her lips. She put a hand on his chest, pressing him back down to the mattress.

“And I want you to lay back and enjoy it. Let someone be generous to you for once.” She kissed him again. “Please.”

He peered at her, as if determining how much she meant it, and then gave a single short nod. But it was the intensity in his eyes that surprised her. Gone was the lighthearted goof. Here, he was pure focus, pure heat, pure passion.

But behind the intensity she could see…something. A glimmer of insecurity.

That was unacceptable.

“You.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “Are.” She kissed his clavicle. “More.” A kiss to the center of his chest as she moved back, scraping her fingernail lightly over one nipple for good measure. “Than.” She nipped at his lower abdomen, then soothed it with her lips. She tugged at the waistband of his boxers, and he lifted his hips just enough for her to work them down, revealing his heavy, solid length and upper thighs. “Enough.” She breathed, pressing a final kiss to the rigid muscle of his upper thigh, over a tattooed line at the junction of his hip.

“Understand?” she asked, looking up the length of his body.

Something in his eyes shifted. The glimmer she’d seen had disappeared, and in its place was exactly what should be there: trust.

With a grin, Lily turned her attention to her prize.

He was large enough that, when they finally did cross that line, taking him would be a delicious stretch. Thick and uncut, the shaft was the same deep, dusky purple as his nipples, the fat head even darker and already beaded with pre-cum. She danced her fingers over his heavy balls, and he groaned what might have been her name or a prayer. Maybe both.

She licked her palm and finally, finally touched him. Under the hot, satiny skin, faint ridges rippled along his length. Delightedly resolving to give him a little shit about being a walking sex toy later, she worked him, learning what he liked for a few moments before giving in to temptation. She licked up him in a long stroke, his hands flying to the sheets as he moaned, every muscle in his torso standing out in sharp relief.

Lily grinned and did it again.

“Tell me what you like, big guy. This is for you,” she murmured, kissing just above his neatly trimmed patch of hair before returning to her treat.

Hoping to make him feel even fractionally as good as he’d made her feel, she took his tip into her mouth with a groan of her own. He was thick, silky skin blazing hot against her tongue, the salty taste strong but not unpleasant. She listened to his groaned instructions, paid attention to his growls and gasps, discovering that when she flicked her tongue just so, he let out moans that she’d be hearing in her fantasies for the rest of eternity.

She needed more. She needed to give him more.

She worked him with her mouth and one hand, cupping his balls with the other, rolling them gently in her palm. She took him as deeply as she could, until her gag reflex threatened to make an appearance. The fact that her lips had nearly touched the hand she used to work him mollified her slightly. When she ran a finger down the center seam of his sac as she sucked him long and hard, he swore so colorfully she was surprised the paint didn’t peel off the walls. He seemed to be fighting the urge to grip her hair, continually returning his fisted hands to the sheets.

A naughty idea drifted through her mind. Bel was panting, apparently on the razor’s edge of ecstasy, and as tempting an idea as it was to hold him on that edge for a little longer, it wasn’t the time. She slipped a finger behind his balls and stroked—

Bel came apart with her name on his lips. Lily swallowed him down greedily, swirling her tongue to make sure she hadn’t missed a drop. She eased off him, licked her lips, and pressed a tender kiss to his thigh. Bel sat up and pulled her roughly up his body, taking her mouth in a searing kiss before she even knew what was happening.

No one had ever kissed her after she’d gone down on them. She’d had no compunctions about it, but most people apparently found it gross. Bel, bless him, did not. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, tongue tangling with his, the faint scrape of his fangs against her lip sending a lick of heat straight to her aching clit.

When they finally broke apart, Bel rested his temple against hers, hands under her borrowed shirt, making sweeping strokes up her bare back. Lily panted, her own sex humming with a need that she ignored, understanding Bel’s words from the bathroom perfectly.

For him. For him and about him.

But beyond that, she could sense that something had fundamentally changed between them. They could be vulnerable with each other. She trusted him, and he trusted her, but more than that, she trusted them together. She ran her fingers through his hair, along the back of his neck, over his shoulders. She loved touching him; it was self-soothing as much as it was to show care.

“I don’t think we need to wait anymore,” she murmured.

Bel shifted back enough to meet her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, offering a gentle grin.

“Okay,” he breathed, a soft, precious smile gracing his lips.

She remained straddled over his lap as they simply held and watched each other, tracing little patterns over each other’s skin as the room brightened with the dawn.

Until his phone buzzed.

And buzzed.

He slumped, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Lily pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ve got to pick up Sharkie anyway. She’s probably adopted Cerberus by now.”

Bel chuckled and lifted his head, seeming brighter, surer of himself. He traced his thumb over her lower lip. “At least he’s house trained.”

Lily rolled her eyes and made to scoot off of him, but his grip tightened.

“My family is having a picnic party next week. My mom, my siblings, their families, and probably a few cousins will show up. Would you and Sharkie like to come?”

“Of course.” Lily settled back onto his lap. “We’d love to. Should we bring anything?”

“Cinnamon rolls.” His eyes gleamed, that impish grin reappearing.

Lily laughed and finally climbed off his lap.

Bel kissed her cheek as she went, then slapped her ass. “Perfect. Now that’s settled, want a quick breakfast?”

Lily shot him a sly look over her shoulder and slid off the bed. “I could go for second breakfast.”