Storm. 8

Part 8

Richard’s knife buried deeply the second time and amid the pain, fear and blood, a strange peace fell over Cordelia. She’d always imagined what her death would be like. She knew that she probably wouldn’t live a long full life with head-splitting visions and demons around every corner. But she had always imagined that she would fight until her last breath. That she was the type of person that would at least do a little damage before she surrendered to eternal sleep.

But she had forgotten, in that self induced vision of herself, that she was also a practical person. A person that faced the inevitable, knew what reality was, and accepted what life had to offer. And part of that offer was death. Dying. That’s what she was doing, she thought to herself, as she watched with almost spiritual detachment as the knife rose again. This was her death. No demons, no battle for the mission, no family by her side as they joined to defeat evil. Just a man. A man with mommy issues.

The knife found her a third time and this wound she didn’t feel at all. She thought of Angel as her eyes struggled to stay open and her hands fell limply to her side. She wondered if he had found the answers, if he knew his past now. She wondered if she had really been something to him, if everything they had thought and felt over the past two days had been real. What if it hadn’t? What if they had been nothing together in their true past? What if he had never held her the way he had tonight? Worse yet, what if he had held someone else like that? Whispered to them the things he had to her. Loved someone else the way she wanted him to love her. She had to know. She felt a small flicker of fight deep inside of her but before she could raise her hands or even move herself at all, it faded away. She’d waited too long to really fight. And now it was too late. She’d never know if it was real. Never feel Angel’s touch again or hear his voice. And she’d never be able to help Dennis, to even let the others know what had happened to him.

A tear rolled down from the corner of her eye and splashed to the floor, swirling into the sea of red that now spread beneath her body. She felt herself drifting, slipping away, and she closed her eyes for the last time, mumbling an apology to both Angel and Dennis in her heart and mind before falling into the void.

Richard didn’t notice all of the blood or the fact that she was half gone already. He was as absent as his victim, lost in the fanatical rush of the kill, flashes of his mother’s face and that of the beautiful woman beneath him blurring into one another.

“You stupid bitch!” he spat out as tears streamed down his reddened face, the knife rising a fourth time. But before the blade found its mark, splinters from the wood of the apartment door flew at him as the door burst from its lock and hinges.

An unseen hand caught his wrist and twisted him around, breaking the bone in the process. He yelped and tried desperately to regain control of the blood soaked knife, but his opponent was too strong. Richard watched in horror as the blade sliced once across his throat and then buried itself to the hilt, straight through his still beating heart. He slumped, dead before his body dropped to the floor.

“Cordy,” Angel choked out as he fell to his knees and gathered her to him, immediately clasping his large hands over the gaping, pumping holes.

Wesley and Gunn raced into the room.

“Dear Lord.” “Cordy.” Both men exclaimed in unison.

Gunn grabbed the cell phone from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1 as Wesley rushed to Angel’s side.

“Angel,” he breathed in disbelief, his mind unable to accept what was happening even as he took off his shirt and added his own pressure to the stab wounds.

Angel could already hear the wails of a siren miles away and prayed that it was for her. Hoping that someone from the growing crowd outside of her door had called before Gunn. He cradled her with one arm as he continued to help his friend with the other to stop the bleeding as much as they could. Brushing a bloody hand through her hair, he looked up desperately as Gunn added his body to the tight, protective circle the three men made around her, as if the shelter of their bodies was just as important as the hands and cloth clasped tightly to her life draining injuries.

Each one looked guiltily at one another, the feeling of failing her almost too much to bear. They had all used the amulet on the way to her apartment and now, their emotions, the knowledge of just who and what they had been and were to each other, compounded the agonizing situation even more.

Angel could hear her heart, the way it labored and skipped. “Don’t you leave me,” he ordered. “Damn it, Cordelia,” his voice wavered and shook, “please,” he whispered.

He looked back at his friends, saw the sorrow, the resignation in their eyes. “She’s not dead,” he growled. “Don’t even think that she’s going to die. She can’t. I won’t let her.”

“WE won’t let her,” Gunn announced and caught Angel’s frantic eyes, willing him waves of strength, unity, and reassurance.

“Angel,” came the soft, gurgling whisper.

All three men’s attention shot to the woman on the floor. “I’m right here, Cordy,” he looked down into her unfocused eyes, knowing that she was unable to see him. “I’m right here,” he said again.

When she didn’t respond, he tried again, “I remember, Cordy. Wes, Gunn and I found what we were looking for. We found that and more, Cordy. You can’t leave me. Not now that I know. Not now, not ever.”

“Angel?” she said again, never hearing his words. “I’m sorry. I‘m sorry. I’m… cold. So…..” her voice failed as she slipped away again.


Three Weeks Later

Brown eyes stared at her, embedding themselves into her heart and soul. A face came into focus around those dark, mysterious eyes and she knew him then. Her Angel. That’s what she had named him anyway. Her dark, brooding, mysterious Angel whose chocolate eyes melted her insides to a quivering puddle of nerves and glowed an ominous amber as he delivered justice to the evil of the world.

He stepped from the shadows of her room, his muscles rippling beneath his silk shirt as he closed the distance between them with slow, masculine grace. Lifting his hand to her face, he brushed back a fallen strand of hair from her forehead and whispered her name, “Cordelia.” She looked into his eyes, at his handsome face. His voice was so soft, his touch so tender. He seemed the epitome of all that was gentle and kind, but Cordelia knew better. She knew that below his beautiful, powerful exterior a war was raging. A battle that if lost, could cost him his very soul.

Sadness filled her at her inability to help him in that battle, to fight at his side. Cordelia‘s face turned away from his, reluctant for him to see the fear and worry in her eyes. He reached up again, this time touching her chin, urging her gaze back to his. “Cordelia, save me,” he breathed, his eyes full of desperation and longing.

“What? Save you from what, Angel?“ tears began to burn her eyes.

“From what I’ll become without you,” his words were raspy and almost inaudible, as if they had been ripped from his very soul. His angelic face changed then. His eyes became orbs of amber fire, his face contorted, teeth elongated into jagged fangs. She should have been terrified but she only felt sorrow. A sob escaped her and she embraced him then, offering him a safe haven, solace from the terrible conflict between what he wanted to be and what he was. A warrior that struggled to stay atop the wall separating his duty to protect the world with lethal justice, and his brutal, killer instinct.

She rested her head against his broad chest, willing to stay there forever if it would save him.

“Beep….Beep….Beep.” an annoying sound echoed in her ears, breaking into her dream.

“What is that?” she asked almost absently as she snuggled closer to him, willing the noise away.

Gently he placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back, just far enough that he could look into her eyes. “A heartbeat,” he answered, his face back to that of a ruggedly handsome man.

Joy filled her and she beamed a huge smile at him, remembering something lost and old. “It’s yours?” she breathed with excitement.

“In a way,” he smiled back at her confusion to his puzzling answer. “I know that I won’t be able to live without it.”

“Beep….Beep….Beep,” the sound was growing now and when he opened his mouth she could hardly hear the words he spoke over the monotonous beep.

“Save me, Cordy,” the smile was gone again, the anguish and torment back on his face.

“How!” she yelled over the deafening ‘beep’.

“Wake up,” he answered as he faded.

Cordelia’s eyes opened lazily, straining themselves as they tried to focus on the darkened room. Slowly, the room began to take form in front of her and she pushed herself up against the headboard, wincing at the soreness in her abdomen.

Gunn sat slumped in a corner of the hospital room, a Gameboy clasped in his hands as he snored.

Wesley slept in a wooden chair that was propped on hind legs against the wall, his glasses dangling from one ear and his face in need of a shave.

But soon all of her attention, all of her thoughts focused on the hand covering hers. Angel sat in a chair beside her bed, his head resting against the side of her leg. She stared at him and with her free hand she fingered the amulet hanging from around her neck. She remembered everything. The real past, the fake past, and….. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. She remembered everything.

Suddenly a shrill sound startled her, causing the irritating ‘beep’ of the heart monitor to double. Fred stood in the now opened hospital room doorway, a drink holder with four coffees in her hand.

“Oh, my gosh,” she squealed again as the rest of the exhausted room roused.

The three men jumped when they saw a conscious Cordelia staring back at them, Wesley’s chair tipping and Gunn’s game cracking on the floor.

“Cordy?” Angel’s voice asked in disbelief, his eyes searching her wearily.

She gave him a weak smile.

He straightened himself and sat on the side of the bed, pulling her gently to him in a tight embrace. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered a chant against the soft skin of her neck.

Pulling away from her slightly, he began to touch her face, her hair, “ How do feel? Are you in pain?”

“No. Just a little sore,” she raised her eyebrows as if unable to believe it herself.

The other members gathered at the foot of her bed, just as eager to touch her as Angel, but giving him the space and moments he needed first.

“Do you…? I mean, you remember what happened to you?” he almost wished the answer was no. He would do anything to spare her the horror of that memory.

“You mean Richard?” she answered with disgust. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever forget him. I remember.” She touched the amulet again, knowing without question that Richard must be dead. Angel would never have let him live, that she knew.

“I remember everything.” She thought of their night together. Guilt consuming her for risking his soul and for the fact that part of her felt heartbroken that he hadn’t lost it. Oh well, what did she expect. “I’m sorry, Angel.”


“The spell that Wolfram and Hart cast. I’m assuming it was Wolfram and Hart. It must have made us….we were……we almost lost your soul, Angel. I’m so sorry.”

He smiled, “No, I was with you. I was never in danger of losing my soul, Cordy. I never could be with you.”

“Well, ya don’t have to rub it in ya big fat jerk!” she was furious and punched him in the arm, causing another wince at the strain.

Angel’s protective alarm went off at the sound she made and he automatically reached for the hospital gown, intent on checking her stitches. He was met with a sharp slap on the hand.

“Don’t you dare. Besides, I’d hate for you to be in danger of NOT losing your soul again.”

He smiled again and her blood began to heat. He didn’t care. She was alive and she was mad at him. He was in heaven. “Can you guys give us a minute?” he addressed a silent and stunned Fred, Gunn, and Wesley who all relaxed and looked knowingly at each other, ready for their two friends to finally get this moment out of the way.

When the hospital door clicked shut, Cordelia very carefully and very slowly crossed her arms defensively across her chest. “Alright, spill. What’s with the knowing glances and the little smirky grins. Ya know it’s bad enough that they know about our little escapade but you don’t have to rub it in that you would NEVER, EVER be able to lose your soul with me. We all know tha….mmmph….mmmm,” Angel’s mouth found hers, robbing her of any train of thought she was on.

When he finally broke the kiss, he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. “If you’re finished, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Cordelia‘s mouth opened as if she were going to speak, but for once in her life she was speechless, rendered so by the earth-quaking kiss and the voice in her heart that whispered to her, telling her that what Angel was about to say would change her life forever.

Angel took advantage of the moment, knowing that she couldn’t be silent for long. “When we were in Wolfram and Hart, we found files. One in particular explained my curse, in detail, both the first and the second one.”

“The second?” she thought for a moment and thought about Sunnydale. “But the curse Willow used was the same.”

“Same curse, with a twist at the end.”

“What kind of twist?”

“Everything stayed the same. I was cursed with a soul, doomed to lose it if I ever satisfied my lust for what I couldn’t have.”

“So where’s the twist? You have sex, you lose your soul. Well,” she began contemptuously, “except with me.”

“Exactly,” he smiled as if she had solved world hunger and she slapped him on the arm this time and winced again.

“Cordy,” he said as he tried to nonchalantly rub his arm. “The twist is you. I lose my soul with sex. I gain it, hold on to it forever, with love.”

Cordelia stared at him, trying to give herself time to absorb just what that meant.

“Cordelia, I love you. I lived a short and sad human life, walked the earth as a feared and evil monster for another lifetime, gained a soul only to waste it away Sunnydale and in hell and through all of that, I never knew love until I knew you. Angelus is gone, Cordy. You saved me.”

“Oh, God,” she lifted her hand and this time placed it over his still heart, joy spreading through her at the thought of Angel with a permanent soul, knowing that it must be his first step toward truly living. “Angel,” she looked him over as if he had physically changed in some way, and then lifted her roving gaze to his. “Your soul’s permanent?” tears glistened in her eyes as a slow smile began to spread across her lips.

He smiled again in return and lifted a hand to her cheek, caressing the side of her face as he slowly leaned toward her. “I love you, Cordy,” he whispered as his mouth grew closer to hers.

She closed her eyes, “I love you,” she murmured as her lips began to graze his. “Dennis!”

“Dennis?” he practically whined when she pulled away.

“Yes, Dennis. Richard he…oh god…Dennis is in hell,” her heart rate sped up again at the thought of her friend banished forever.

“That annoying pest?” She looked at him, shock and hurt in her eyes. “Don’t worry about Dennis,” he tried a calming tone. “He’s not in hell. Well, unless you consider the largest suite at the hotel hell.”

“He’s not….how?”

“Well, we knew by the looks of your apartment,” he paused and pushed away the horrible picture when it tried to linger, “that Dennis hadn’t been there to help you. So, Wesley did a summoning spell to find out just where he’d gone. It worked. Except he did it at the hotel and now I’ve been stuck with him, for the little time I’ve spent there over the last three weeks. He’s really sensitive for a ghost,” he furrowed his brow with the last statement.

Cordelia smiled at the thought of the two most important men in her life sharing space.

“Can we move him, get him back to the apartment without hurting him?”

“I let your apartment go, Cordy. We….I told your landlady you wouldn’t be back.”

“So, your saying when I get out of this place I’ll be homeless?”

“No,” he smiled again and leaned in to steal the kiss he‘d been waiting for, “I didn’t say that,” he whispered against her lips.


One month later

Cordelia grasped the tube of scar cream in her hand as she padded out of the bathroom into the quiet room. If this didn’t work, she was going to scream in frustration. Recovery had been a long road. She had spent two more weeks in the hospital before she was released and came home with Angel. She’d been so excited and anxious about their first night home, together. She even banned Dennis from the suite. But when Angel gave her a chaste kiss on the head and left her alone, she’d almost burst into tears. It took several lonely nights before she finally exploded and asked him what the hell was going on.

His explanation made sense – for a brooding, overprotective idiot. He’d gotten into his head that sex was going to hurt her. So he’d vowed that until her wounds were completely healed he wouldn’t touch her. Of course, he had told her, that had proved to be too difficult if they were going to share the same bed, hence the lonely nights for her. So for the past few weeks, the only ‘alone’ time they had experienced, had been the first hour of sunset each night. He would wake, unless he was already up for a job, and they would sit together and talk. Occasionally they would kiss and twice, in the beginning, they had had a very heated make-out session that had sent Angel practically running from the room and into a cold shower.

But not tonight buster. Tonight there would be no timid touching, no unfulfilled desires, and certainly no showers. Well, no cold ones anyway.

She smiled as she bounced down the stairs, hearing male voices drifting from the kitchen just off the lobby. Okay, which should it be? Wes or Gunn? She kind of felt sorry for which ever one she chose. Neither would fare too well in this little game she’d summoned up from her past as Queen C of Sunnydale. But she was desperate. Desperate enough to result to desperate measures.

Angel knew the moment she had left the suite and started for the kitchen. How could he not know? Her scent invaded every dead cell in his body and her light footsteps were music to his ears. Damn super-senses.

He had spent the last few days avoiding brushing against her soft skin as they sat together or talked with the others. He had even been avoiding looking at her too closely or talking to her for too long after the few times he’s almost lost control since she had been home. He had to give her time, whether she thought she needed it or not. There had been so much blood when he reached her that night. Richard had done so much damage to her beautiful body.

And the hospital….those few weeks were worse than his stint in hell. Waiting for her to wake up. Not knowing for the first week or so if she would live or die. No, her body had been through too much and she was still suffering with the visions, he couldn’t forget that. She needed time to heal properly and he wouldn’t let his overwhelmingly painful need of her convince him otherwise.

Finally getting his thoughts under control, he moved away from the doorway, hiding the part of his body he couldn’t control behind the far side of the table as he sat down and waited for her to enter the kitchen.

Angel almost groaned when she entered the room. She was so beautiful that it was almost too painful to look at her. Her stretchy little sweats rode low on her hips making her tight little t-shirt just skim the waist band and give off little hints of skin as she moved into the room, a bright smile on her face. Her chestnut hair hung loose to her shoulders in big bouncy waves and he blinked and looked a little closer at her outfit as she walked across the room not even sparing him a glance. She’d damn well better be wearing a bra under that thing.

Cordelia casually walked across the room and felt a twinge of guilt flitter through her body as she chose Wesley as her pawn. She only hoped he would be able to forgive her for what she was about to do.

“Hey girl. How’s the battle wounds feelin?” Gunn asked as she past him and walked to Wesley who stood by the counter.

“Feelin great,” she answered with as much pep as she cold muster.

“No soreness? Burning from the removal of the stitches?” Wesley added as she approached him.

“No,” she sighed. “Just these stupid scars.”

“Well, some of that will go away in time, Cordelia. Of course a small bit of scarring is to be expected,” Wes tried to sound upbeat but they all knew the extent of her injuries and that the evidence of them would never go away.

“Lorne said he might know a spell that could practically make those things disappear,” Gunn added helpfully.

“’Might’ and ‘practically’ being the key words there. No, no more magic unless it is absolutely necessary. Besides, I think I’ll feel a lot better just leaving this little problem to Clinique instead,” she said as she held up the tube of scar cream and hopped up on the counter beside Wesley. “Think you could help me out,” she gave him a little pout, just a small one as to not be too obvious with her flirtation and handed the tube out to him.

Wesley swallowed hard as she rolled her t-shirt up one, two, three times until it rested just below the swell of her breasts. He looked to Gunn for support and found none and then started to look back at Angel before thinking the better of it. He glanced down at the three reddened and raised marks on her torso. Angel wouldn’t be too angry. Actually, he would probably be doing the poor vampire a favor. He had expressed to Gunn and himself that he intended to take things slow with Cordelia and how just being near her had made that an almost impossible feat. No doubt touching her would only compound that impossibility. Cordelia probably understood that too. That’s why she had asked him and not Angel. He just wished she had not asked here, in front of him.

Wesley took the tube from her hand and unscrewed the lid and Angel gritted his teeth together. His jaw tightened to the point of pain and his large hands gripped the side of the table hard as he watched the ex-watcher timidly wedge himself between her legs and bend down closer to examine the scars before applying the cream, his forehead nearly brushing her breasts. The breasts that Angel now could clearly see were bare underneath her tight tee. When Wesley finally lifted his head, he squeezed a small amount of the ointment onto his hand and ever so slowly touched it to Cordelia’s stomach, causing her to giggle at the cold, tickling touch.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Angel burst out as he pushed away from the table and stalked across the small room, jerking the tube of cream from Wesley’s hand. “It doesn’t take that long to put a little medicine on,” he bit out and used every bit of his self control not to push his friend out of the way. “Move,” he growled.

Wesley backed away slowly and looked up at Cordelia, feeling as if he had just been used in some sort of plan he wasn’t quite aware of when she gave him a little shrug and an apologetic smile.

“Come on man,” Gunn gave a little knowing chuckle and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go find Fred and bribe her out of this loony place of denial with some tacos.”

Angel didn’t bother to look up as the two men left the room. He stared at the ugly marks on Cordelia’s stomach as he squeezed a small amount of the tubes contents into his hand. Laying the tube on the counter he finally dared to look up at her. Her legs were still parted and she still held her shirt up with one hand. He slipped into the spot where Wes had been and nudged her thighs further apart as he pushed himself close enough to the feel the intoxicating warmth of her body.

Cordelia had to struggle to keep herself from flinging her head back at the sensation of his hips pressed tightly between her legs and at the heated sparks that shot up and down her thigh at the small movement his body made when he began to delicately spread the lotion. Her body clenched unexpectently when he moved even closer to get a better angle on the last, healing wound, his head brushing up against her sensitive breasts. She bit down on her lip to keep a moan from escaping. He took his time, inspecting and re-inspecting each one, each time his head moving, skimming the material of her shirt and sending tongues of fire lapping out at her breasts. He was so close, just inches away, all he had to do was merely move slightly to pull her hot, aching flesh into his cool mouth.

His touch was so cool, so soothing and tender, yet it burned her, a hot caress that made her insides jump and stir. And when he finally finished he looked up at her and her breath caught in her throat at the hunger in his eyes. “That should do it,” he whispered and caught her gently by the waist as he helped her to the floor. Reluctant to break the skin to skin contact, he held her there for a moment. “Does it still hurt?” he asked with concern and a little hopefulness in his eyes.

“No,” she answered him a little too breathlessly as he looked down at her. Reaching up on her tiptoes she brushed her lips to his quickly, “Thanks,” she whispered.

He groaned, a deep rumbling sound of surrender and lowered his head to hers, knowing that this time there would be no stopping, no self imposed restraint, and no lonely, cold shower. Well, no lonely cold one anyway. He drew her into his arms, his tongue skimming the seam of her lips, begging for entrance. She opened to him and at once he took possession, claiming her, devouring her. The sweet taste of her, the one he had missed, had dreamed about, filled him and where he had once tried to be reserved, gentle, and cautious, he was now all passion and insistent hunger.

His body grew heavier, tighter, harder than even it had before and he fed voraciously at her mouth before sweeping her up into his arms. Breaking the kiss, he looked down into her glazed and sexy eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He gave her just enough time to nod her answer before he raced up the stairs and kicked open the door to his suite. “Dennis! Out!” he yelled into the room before entering and kicking the door closed again. Gently, he let her legs drop to the floor and slowly reached out to the material of her t-shirt. His hands stopped just short of touching her and he stared at her stomach.

“Do they bother you?” she asked self-consciously.

“What?” he looked up at her shocked. “No,” he emphasized. “I’m just….God, Cordy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiled at him and reached out, taking his hands in hers and placing them at the hem of her shirt. “You won’t, Angel.”

His fingers tenderly twisted in the stretchy material and she lifted her arms as he raised the shirt over her head. “I knew it,” he murmured, a little irritated, when he saw the proof that she had definitely bounced around in front of the other men without a bra.

“What?” she feigned innocence.

“Nothing,” he breathed as he reached out to the offering that jutted out in front of him.

Cordelia’s breath hitched in her throat and her body began to tremble as he cupped her breasts in his hands. His thumbs found her tight buds and stroked with expert skill as his lips descended and settled over hers. His mouth was hard and dominant and moved over and into hers with masculine expertise, sending almost unbearable sensations through her body.

Outside the wind began to moan and rattle the glass doors to the balcony, a flash of lightening raced across the sky and a hard rain began to pelt the street below.

Angel’s mouth finally left hers to follow the line of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, and down further still, to close greedily around her breast. Cordelia’s body jerked and her arms rose to encircle and cradle his head to her. His mouth pulled strong and hard, a starving man let loose on a generous feast. His hands skimmed down the curve of her small waist and pulled impatiently at the drawstring of her sweats.

The sweats dropped quickly to the floor and she kicked them to the side, gasping when his fingers traced the curve of her bottom.

“I love you,” he whispered against her skin as his mouth moved to her other breast.

“I love you,” she whispered in return, throwing her head back to arch more fully into his mouth. She felt him lose it then, his self-control, as he began to skate on the edge of wild passion. Reaching out, she found the waist of his pants and began to unbutton and unzip him. He lifted his head, his dark eyes burning into hers before he lifted the shirt he wore, over his head. When she had finished, he burst free from the confining material, thick and long and ready for her. Cordelia wrapped her fingers around him, brushing her thumb over his velvet tip, eliciting a guttural groan from deep within his throat.

Very gently, he walked her back to the bed, “I don’t think I could have survived without this any longer,” he admitted.

She only answered with a smile as he lowered her down to the bed. Kneeling above her, his hands stroked a caress down her body, over her breasts, lingering there until she shivered with anticipation. His hands slipped lower still, around her scars and down to the only scrap of material left hiding part of her body from him. Twisting his fingers in her panties, he pulled them down the length of her legs, dropping little kisses on each thigh as he did so.

He sat up and allowed his eyes to take in every inch of her. She was so beautiful, so sexy as she moved restlessly on the bed, waiting for him, wanting him.

“Angel,” it was a soft protest of the pause in what they both needed, wanted so much.

His hands parted her thighs a little wider and his fingers delved down, stroking a long caress in the damp folds between her legs. She pushed herself into him, a soft cry of pleasure escaping her lips. Leaning down, he dropped a kiss on each one of the healing marks scattered across her stomach before pushing his finger, slowly, deeply, inside of her. His body swelled and tightened at the feel of her, hot and tight.

Her hips pushed forward unashamedly. She wasn’t shy or embarrassed, she couldn’t be, wouldn’t be with Angel. She wanted to feel every last pleasure, give him the same in return. Her hips rose again to meet the friction of his finger, the friction creating a wave of ecstasy that raced through her, shaking her to her core.

Angel sunk two fingers into her then, teasing and bringing her a little closer to the edge where he already stood. He leaned down and kissed the curve of her hip and ran his tongue in the crease along her thigh. “Angel,” he heard her whisper and he lifted his head to look at her face as he withdrew his fingers from her. She was lost in a consuming hunger, a fire that raced through her body and flamed in her cheeks, her breasts, and her hot, damp core. He pushed her legs and little wider and could see her glistening invitation, slick with passion. Slowly, he lowered his head.

She nearly screamed when his tongue caressed, probed deep, stabbed into her hot folds, until she was writhing helplessly beneath him. He took her as far as he dared, until he felt the trembling, pulsing beginnings of an orgasm threatening to rock her body. Kneeling up between her legs, he watched himself push into her. The feel of her gripping him, closing tightly around him shook him so hard that it was all he could do to hang on to his control. “Cordy,” her name came raggedly from his lips as he grasped onto her hips and surged forward, burying himself deeper and deeper with each controlled thrust. It was difficult to keep himself from plunging into her wildly, madly and he distracted himself by lowering his head, flicking his tongue over one of her nipples. It had the opposite effect. Instead of distracting him it wound her body tighter, gripping him even more, making control even more difficult.

The sensation took him over. He buried himself deep, withdrew, and then thrust again hard. He watched her body, her face, as he buried himself in her over and over. Her eyes were glazed, her face flushed, and her breath came out in little needy pants. He tilted her hips, held her body so that he could thrust even deeper still, wanting to bury all of himself, body and soul inside of her. He buried himself to the hilt, sliding in so deeply that he felt her womb. He felt her first contraction then, a rippling wave that began to grow and swell.

His hips surged faster, harder, beyond any pretense of control and Cordelia cried out softly as her body shattered and broke into a million pieces, the earth moving and shifting beneath her. He fell after her, his body pumping frantically into hers, his orgasm ripping through him savagely.

He hovered above her, still rocking slowly, enjoying the feel of their combined aftershocks before gently laying on top of her, careful to hold back the fullness of his weight. He kissed her gently and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him closer to her. Pulling away slightly, he leaned up on his elbows and framed her face with his hands, “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you?”

“Stop worrying,” she smiled up at him as he leaned down again to kiss her, sending a series of shocks racing through her.

His mouth moved lazily over her, her shoulder, her breasts and back to her mouth before he slid away from her and laid beside her on the bed, his arm pulling her possessively against him.

Outside the wind still whirled and whistled, thunder rolled a vibrating an erratic rhythm as lightening cracked and whipped across the sky.

Cordelia yawned and snuggled her backside more firmly against him, “I didn’t even notice that it was storming outside,” she remarked absently, staring at natures show for a while before eventually closing her eyes.

Angel dropped a kiss on her temple, “I love you,” he whispered and watched her until she drifted off to sleep. As he said what might have passed for a prayer or at least a ’thank you’ to whatever higher power that had seen fit to bring them back together, he laid his head next to hers, inhaling her scent into his lungs as he held her close and watched the storm rage outside and then slowly pass away.



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