or something. You’ll need a shower before you go downstairs,” Bren ordered. Madigan’s temper spiked. He really hated being told what to do. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he asked defiantly. The dark-haired angel raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and grinned. It wasn’t a nice grin. It was a grin that said he knew all of Madigan’s dirty secrets and was not above using them as blackmail. “Because if you go downstairs smelling like sex and sporting a hard-on you’re going to cause a fight. There is no way four warriors wouldn’t tear each other apart to get to an aroused nephilim ready to fuck. Trust me. Our civilized instincts only go so far.” Madigan blushed to the roots of his red hair. “Y–You seem to be doing just fine,” he stammered. Two long strides brought Bren to the edge of his bed, and he leaned down over Madigan, crowding him, his mouth inches from Madigan’s lips. “Don’t push me, nephilim. I’m holding on by a thread as is.” Bren crossed the last few centimeters between them and claimed Madigan’s mouth in a surprisingly gentle kiss. Madigan couldn’t help the little mewling noise that escaped him as he got a taste of the angel. He tasted clean and sweet. Madigan’s hands crept up his shoulders, threading through the dark locks of hair that was cut just long enough for him to get a handhold. They stayed that way for endless moments, their lips pressing and sliding against one another. His tongue darted out along Bren’s lips, trying to coax the angel into a deeper kiss. Bren jerked back, panting. “Damn, bright eyes. You test an angel’s patience.” He adjusted himself. That erection looked painful. It probably didn’t feel good pressed up against the hard metal teeth of the zipper. Madigan licked his lips. Bren cursed. “You’re going to be trouble. You know that? Big trouble.” He turned, presenting his back to the human. “For the sake of your virtue and my blue balls, please get dressed.”
50 Jana Downs
Madigan threw his legs over the side of the bed and looked at Bren’s back. It took him a minute to figure out what was wrong. “Holy crap. Where are your wings?” He crossed the room and put his hands on the black tattoo that covered his back instead. It looked like it was written in some sort of Arabic script or something, but he couldn’t be sure. Bren hissed at the contact and jerked his shoulder out of Madigan’s hands. “That is equivalent to you letting me fuck that tight mouth of yours. Stop it,” Bren snapped. He was shaking. Was he really that close to losing control? Madigan swayed closer. It would be a gorgeous sight to watch Bren out of control. He was so strong. So virile. Madigan bet he’d be sore for days after a pounding from him. Bren let out a strangled noise. “I can smell you getting more aroused. Madigan, think about it. You don’t even like me. You sure as hell don’t know me. You sure you want me balls-deep inside of you? Think with something other than your dick, bright eyes.” Madigan blinked, blushing. Embarrassment overwhelmed lust, and he scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the clothes he’d thrown off the night before. He pulled on his jeans without bothering with underwear and pulled on a shirt that had been sitting beside his the lamp on his nightstand. It was obviously three sizes too big but whatever. He frowned and sniffed the shirt. It smelled like detergent and angel. His eyes shot to Bren’s still-turned back. It smelled like him. “The wings go away when we don’t need them. The glyphs on our backs were put there by our archangels so that we can hide them from humans when we’re corporeal.” The explanation seemed to be a way for Bren to fill the silence. He was still tense and trembling. Madigan ached to go to him and take away that tension. He