the Eternal Emperor's adopted son. She realized she'd forgotten
to salute, as all enlisted military were supposed to do with the Alliance's
highest-ranking civilian authority, and did so belatedly, nearly poking out her
own eye with her thumb. Everything about the young woman broadcast
inexperience.
“Have you ever
attempted a mating before?” Lucifer inhaled the subtle pheromones of an
Angelic coming into heat. His olfactory nerves relished the scent of lutropin,
a heady drug to a species bordering on extinction. He reached out to tuck an
errant strand of golden hair behind her ear, a level of familiarity few
Angelics ever exchanged.
“N-n-no.” Hemaniel
looked out of place in the lushly furnished temporary sleeping quarters, the
rich burgundy and black décor clashing with her sandy blonde wings.
Lucifer cleared his
mind so that he could use his ‘gift’ to receive images of the subconscious
longings all sentient creatures projected beneath their words. Telepathy
gifted not from his adopted father, who had inadvertently bred the ability out
of his armies in an effort to eradicate the pesky bonding gene, but from his
Seraphim mother. He pushed gently into Hemaniel's mind to find out what she
secretly desired. Images of a Mantoid soap opera, a certain actor she had a
crush on, came into his mind. Lucifer adjusted his posture, his voice, his
demeanor to mimic the archetype of her ideal lover.
“It can be quite
pleasurable.” Lucifer drew close, moderating his voice to the husky pitch her
archetype possessed. “If you allow me to make it so.” He didn't touch her,
but formed an image of himself kissing her neck in his mind and projected it
into her mind as he spoke.
“I’ve only been told…”
she stammered. “I don't….” She shuddered as he followed through on the
projection by exhaling upon her neck, just below her ear. He didn't touch her,
but goose bumps of anticipation appeared upon her flesh.
“What have you been
told?” he whispered into her ear, his body inches from hers as he encircled her
in his wings. He projected an image of taking her into his arms without
actually making physical contact. Over the years, he'd discovered that anticipation of being touched was often more erotic to the females he fucked than the
reality of it. “What do you fantasize about when you touch yourself?”
“I have always wanted
…” she said, embarrassed.
“Then do it.” His
voice was a leonine purr as projected an image into her mind of unbuttoning his
shirt and admiring the taut muscles that rippled beneath. “I'm here to make
your wildest fantasies come true.”
Her hand trembled as
she fumbled each button out of its buttonhole, helped along with the images he
imprinted into her subconscious. Two hundred and twenty-five years of non-stop
practice had honed his ability to seduce others down to an art form, the ‘power
of persuasion’ he jokingly called his gift.
"Touch me,"
he whispered. "I like to be touched."
Closing his eyes, he
soaked up the feel of her touch, tentative and filled with awe. Touch … the
gift hybrids were forbidden to give one another for any purpose other than to
create offspring. It was he who trembled now, his need to be touched
far greater than others of his species because he'd been raised in a home, by a
half-Seraphim mother who had cuddled him every chance she got. Asherah had
refused to farm him out to one of the Emperor's youth training academies as was
done to every other hybrid child to condition the instinct to be touched right
out of them.
He reached tentatively
into her mind, hoping that this one would see him. Not that he made it
easy to get to know him! The Emperor's abandonment after his mother had died
had taught him to be wary. If you let people inside, they would thank you by
tearing out your heart. The one time he'd foolishly let down his guard, the
female had spurned him after the test
to salute, as all enlisted military were supposed to do with the Alliance's
highest-ranking civilian authority, and did so belatedly, nearly poking out her
own eye with her thumb. Everything about the young woman broadcast
inexperience.
“Have you ever
attempted a mating before?” Lucifer inhaled the subtle pheromones of an
Angelic coming into heat. His olfactory nerves relished the scent of lutropin,
a heady drug to a species bordering on extinction. He reached out to tuck an
errant strand of golden hair behind her ear, a level of familiarity few
Angelics ever exchanged.
“N-n-no.” Hemaniel
looked out of place in the lushly furnished temporary sleeping quarters, the
rich burgundy and black décor clashing with her sandy blonde wings.
Lucifer cleared his
mind so that he could use his ‘gift’ to receive images of the subconscious
longings all sentient creatures projected beneath their words. Telepathy
gifted not from his adopted father, who had inadvertently bred the ability out
of his armies in an effort to eradicate the pesky bonding gene, but from his
Seraphim mother. He pushed gently into Hemaniel's mind to find out what she
secretly desired. Images of a Mantoid soap opera, a certain actor she had a
crush on, came into his mind. Lucifer adjusted his posture, his voice, his
demeanor to mimic the archetype of her ideal lover.
“It can be quite
pleasurable.” Lucifer drew close, moderating his voice to the husky pitch her
archetype possessed. “If you allow me to make it so.” He didn't touch her,
but formed an image of himself kissing her neck in his mind and projected it
into her mind as he spoke.
“I’ve only been told…”
she stammered. “I don't….” She shuddered as he followed through on the
projection by exhaling upon her neck, just below her ear. He didn't touch her,
but goose bumps of anticipation appeared upon her flesh.
“What have you been
told?” he whispered into her ear, his body inches from hers as he encircled her
in his wings. He projected an image of taking her into his arms without
actually making physical contact. Over the years, he'd discovered that anticipation of being touched was often more erotic to the females he fucked than the
reality of it. “What do you fantasize about when you touch yourself?”
“I have always wanted
…” she said, embarrassed.
“Then do it.” His
voice was a leonine purr as projected an image into her mind of unbuttoning his
shirt and admiring the taut muscles that rippled beneath. “I'm here to make
your wildest fantasies come true.”
Her hand trembled as
she fumbled each button out of its buttonhole, helped along with the images he
imprinted into her subconscious. Two hundred and twenty-five years of non-stop
practice had honed his ability to seduce others down to an art form, the ‘power
of persuasion’ he jokingly called his gift.
"Touch me,"
he whispered. "I like to be touched."
Closing his eyes, he
soaked up the feel of her touch, tentative and filled with awe. Touch … the
gift hybrids were forbidden to give one another for any purpose other than to
create offspring. It was he who trembled now, his need to be touched
far greater than others of his species because he'd been raised in a home, by a
half-Seraphim mother who had cuddled him every chance she got. Asherah had
refused to farm him out to one of the Emperor's youth training academies as was
done to every other hybrid child to condition the instinct to be touched right
out of them.
He reached tentatively
into her mind, hoping that this one would see him. Not that he made it
easy to get to know him! The Emperor's abandonment after his mother had died
had taught him to be wary. If you let people inside, they would thank you by
tearing out your heart. The one time he'd foolishly let down his guard, the
female had spurned him after the test
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