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By Alana Church
Artwork by Moira Nelligar
Copyright 2018 Alana Church
~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~
Damn him. And damn her. And damn me for being such an idiot.
Meredith Adams swore to herself as she stalked up the stairs to the fourth-floor garret where she and Consuela and Abigail had stashed the angel they had summoned the previous night.
I should have known better. Should have known that Consuela would try to keep him for herself. No matter what we had agreed on.
Of course, she reminded herself bitterly, they had never actually agreed to anything. And Consuela, as she should have known, was not the sort to deny herself any sort of pleasure. Especially when it came wrapped in such an attractive package.
But who could have ever dreamed that their summoning, caused in equal parts by Friday-night boredom, wine, the thrill of Abigail’s completed translation of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, and for her part at least, a complete disbelief that anything would actually happen, would actually succeed? Merry knew that she hadn’t. When the incredibly sexy, blonde-haired angel had appeared before them, she had nearly fainted dead away. He was sex made incarnate, given human form, and her body had been instantly filled with uncontrollable lust. And his voice, when he spoke! It was as if every word struck a corresponding chord within her body, leaving it helpless to do anything else but prepare for lovemaking.
It had taken all of her carefully-constructed calm, honed over years of parental neglect, to keep herself from pulling off her clothes and letting the angel take her in whatever way he pleased. Just the memory was enough to turn her knees to water. As it was, trying to hide her desire, she had completely lost her temper, ranting at the angel like her mother when she was in one of her moods, then fuming and muttering to herself in an ill-tempered snit as she and Consuela and Abbie had trooped back down the stairs to their rooms.
But she had not factored in Connie’s infamous libido. Which, when she stopped to think about it, made her twice a fool. Leaving an angel, created by God for the sole purpose of pleasing women who had devoted themselves to religious service, in the same house as Consuela, who seemed determined to live up (or down) to every stereotype about hot-blooded Latina women, was simply asking for trouble.
Or, in this case, asking for Connie to have sex with an angelic being.
It had been obvious at breakfast that morning. The Latina woman, her dark skin almost glowing in the early-morning light, had radiated a sense of drowsy, sensual contentment. Her lips had curved in a soft smile completely unlike her usual, hard-edged expression as Merry sat down beside her.
“Good morning,” she had said, her voice a throaty murmur.
“Is it?” She felt her eyebrows pinch down in a suspicious scowl.
“Yes. A beautiful morning.” A finger stole across the table to stroke the back of her hand.
She pulled her hand back, unwilling to play Consuela’s usual teasing game, which had begun after she had broken off their short-lived affair, and shook her head. “You did it, didn’t you?” she said, somehow keeping her voice low. “You went to him last night. Belial.”
“No.” Her smile widened as Merry looked at her in disbelief. “I didn’t come to him. He came to me.” A throaty giggle. “And then he came in me. Of, course,” she continued, “I will say that his presence was welcome. Very welcome.”
She bit her lip, keeping furious words locked behind her teeth, as a wave of bitter jealousy surged through her body. Silent, she attacked her plate of sliced fruit savagely, stabbing helpless bits of pineapple and cantaloupe as if they had committed unspeakable crimes.
“Merry?” At the hesitant word, she looked up. Consuela was looking…well, not guilty. She didn’t doubt that Suela would have blinked in complete incomprehension at the suggestion that she had anything to feel guilty about. But she did look…concerned. “You’re not angry, are you? If I had thought that you were going to invite Belial to your room, I…”
“I’m not angry,” she said, hating the peevish sound of her own voice. It reminded her of her mother at her passive-aggressive, guilt-tripping worst. “I’m disappointed. I thought you would have been able to keep control of yourself for one damned night,” she hissed, “while we decided what to do about…about…”
“About what?” Abigail said, sailing in and dropping down beside her. Her eyes darted from side to side, taking in the rest of the sisters of the Convent of Saint Genevieve, watching for those who might be eavesdropping. “As if I can’t guess.”
Merry stayed quiet, trying to hold onto her temper. Consuela stayed quiet, oozing warm, sated satisfaction like a cat sleeping in a sunbeam. Abbie glanced back and forth, and came to the correct conclusion. “Oh. I see.” She shook her head. “Was asking for one night of restraint too much, Suela?”
“Now that you mention it? Yes.” The dark-haired woman leaned forward, her eyes intent. “We have been given a miracle, Abigail. Who knows how long it will last?” She lowered her voice, making it all but inaudible, but it lost none of its force. “God could always decide he made a mistake.”
“God is God, and is therefore incapable of making a mistake, Consuela,” the younger girl responded, her heart-shaped face, with its mass of tumbling brown hair, pulled down in a frown. “Why would He change His mind about this? He didn’t for centuries, if Belial is to be believed.”
“You know what I mean.” Consuela shook her head impatiently. “Belial could be called back at any time. I mean to grab hold of the chance with both hands.”
“Did you?” Merry blurted. “Did it really take both hands?”
The other two women looked at her, their mouths gaping open in surprise, and she flushed scarlet, almost matching her hair.
“My.” Consuela’s mouth curled in a disbelieving grin. “Someone isn’t quite as innocent as she would want us to believe.” She slanted a wicked look at Abbie, preparing to tease Merry ruthlessly, but something in her miserable expression must have stopped her, for she paused, her face unusually pensive.
“Both hands?” she mused, leaning back in her chair, toying with the remains of her breakfast. “Maybe. Let’s just say that he’s ruined me for other men. Not my sisters. I love you both,” she said with appalling simplicity. “And I won’t be satisfied until I have you all in my bed at once. Me and my angel and my sisters all together, in a snuggling, loving heap.” She shivered, and Meredith couldn’t help but notice the way her full nipples were distinctly visible under the cloth of her light blouse, lifting the light fabric in twin tents of sexual desire. She swallowed, unwillingly remembering the way they had stiffened under her touch, and the way Consuela had moaned as she suckled them…
“But yes.” The dark-haired girl’s voice interrupted her reverie, and she jumped in her chair. “Our angel is…more than satisfactory, when it comes to the size of his manhood. I would never be so crass as to actually take out a ruler to see how long he was. Or how thick…”
“Really?” Meredith muttered sourly.
“But he measures up. In every possible way. Especially when he starts to touch you. When you come to him, and you will,” she said, cutting off their protests, “he will make you feel like the most important woman in the world.” She closed her eyes and shivered. “He concentrates. On you. Only on you. And it is wonderful. It’s like being in the hands of God. So much love your heart hurts.”
Just for a moment, Merry thought of what that must be like, and her mind shied away. She stood up, trying to hide the trembling in her hands.
“Someone has to be the logical one around here,” she said. Beside her, Abbie looked hurt at the unintended slur. “If we’re not careful, we’re going to have a horny angel wandering the convent. And while one or two of the other sisters might welcome his attentions, most will not. Do you want the cops coming around, investigating a rape charge?”
“He would never do that!” Consuela protested, her eyes flashing angrily. “He told me last night. It’s forbidden! In fact, he says that he is incapable of taking someone who is unwilling.”
“He says,” she sneered, though she felt like breaking down and crying. “How do you know he can be trusted?”
With that, she took up her tray and left the room.
Which was why, a few hours later, she was climbing the stairs to the tiny room where they had hidden Belial.
She knocked on the door perfunctorily, then pushed it open, half-hoping, half-fearing what she might see within.