Pressing his thumb down on her jaw to part her lips, he kissed her again, angel dust glittering in the air. "Mmm." She rubbed against him. "Did you make a change to your special blend?" Angel dust, he'd told her, was normally rich and exquisite, but not sexual. Elena had only ever tasted Raphael's blend, and it was always oh-so-sexual-today, it also held a dangerous bite. Kisses down her throat. "I wouldn't wish my consort to suffer ennui.

Venom’s pupils contracted the instant before he slid his sunglasses back on. She couldn’t help it. “Why isn’t your tongue forked?” “Why can’t you fly?” A smirk. “Those things on your back aren’t accessories you know.

He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against hers. “You’ll be the death of me, Elena.” She smiled. “You need a little excitement in that boring old life of yours.

You should sit,” Lucas said, and he wasn't talking to Mercy. Sascha stared at him. “I didn't realize pregnancy of four weeks' duration made me incapable of standing upright.” “It makes me incapable of reason.

Do you think you have the right to give me orders now?" The Archangel of New York, a creature so lethal that part of her feared him even now, lifted the hair off her nape, brushed his lips across her skin. "Of course. You are mine." No hint of humor, nothing but stark possession. "I don't think you've quite got the hang of this true love thing.

He understands evil better than any other person I’ve ever known. We disagree in how to eliminate it, but we do not disagree that it exists.

Why is it”—she shivered as he kissed the top of her spine, went lower—“that I always end up naked while you remain dressed?” A husky masculine chuckle, his lips moving over her shoulder, his hands on her hips. “Because I'm a smart man.