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For June's Excerpt Monday, I'd like to introduce folks to Alice Dearling: college drop-out, tech geek, lousy housekeeper, and recently hired personal assistant to John Mero, who just might be hunting fallen angels. In this scene, Alice meets one of Mero's targets face-to-face in a mall lingerie-shop dressing room.
He should be scared, thought Alice. He should be horrified by the idea of Mero’s assistant finding his hidey-hole. Instead he’d given her that information on a platter. For all her talk of exchanges, her payment for this information had been way cheap.
What was really going on here?
Asahel leaned forward, and Alice thought for a heartbeat that he was going to touch her. Parts of her really wanted him to, granted, but the main part of her was wondering if Mero was done with his call out in the main part of the mall. Would he come looking for her? What would he do if he found Asahel with her? In a dressing room, no less. Oh, yikes.
But Asahel didn’t touch her again. Instead, he reached out with the business card and set it beside Alice’s heap of clothes on the bench.
Alice let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.
He stood up straight, as if he was about to leave, and Lord help her, Alice was relieved at the thought. She liked orgasms as much as the next girl, but something about Asahel was bothering her. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly, but ...
“May I?” he asked, and Alice wondered if she’d missed something.
“May you what?”
“Have a good-bye kiss.” Again with that close-mouthed smile, the one that seemed calculated to wibble her innards.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him no, but really, what harm could one kiss do? Especially after all the other stuff he’d done to her. She nodded almost imperceptibly and braced herself for one heavy-duty mouth-wallop.
Asahel scarcely moved; he pursed his lips, gazed at her, and blew her a kiss. Didn’t even touch her; just blew it. It hummed on the air between them and smacked her squarely in the forehead. She felt it more than heard it; it rippled on her skull, down her spine, and all along her bones. In places, the skull-hum tangled with the hiss-sparks just below her skin and exploded.
One of those explosive places just happened to be her clitoris.
“Holy fuck,” Alice bit, grasping the edge of the bench with desperate fingers. She sank to it bonelessly, no longer able to stand. Something not unlike orgasm -- could one not-even-touching kiss really result in an orgasm? -- rushed her from all directions, and she just held on for the ride. It ripped, pulsed, flashed, and howled like a grease fire all through her sex, her nipples, her fingernails, the valleys beneath her toes. She closed her eyes tight against the immolation.
When it was done, and Alice determined that, yes, she was still alive, she took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes. Asahel was still leaning indolently against the dressing-room door, his legs crossed at the ankles and his long arms folded against his chest. He hadn't touched her. Hadn't even fucking moved.
“Soon,” Asahel murmured, grinning.
"Not fair," Alice managed.
The angel just smiled beatifically. Then he turned and sauntered off down the dressing-room hallway.
[This is a work in progress, uncontracted and unsubbed. All comments are welcome. Thank you for reading.]
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