Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(54)

I didn't have time to dwell on it. Sawyer's patience was gone. Or perhaps he'd felt something, too, and it scared him as much as it had scared me. At any rate, he tugged at my zipper and I took the hint, losing the jeans, underwear, shoes, and socks.

The water had gone cold at last. I reached in and shut it off. Sawyer watched me, arms braced against the sink, biceps bulging, erection jutting forward. I started for the door; quick as a snake, he reached out and drew me back.

"What—" I began.

"No time for that," he said, swinging me around, lifting me onto the countertop, and stepping between my legs in one smooth movement.

All thoughts left my head as he filled me completely. My legs hung awkwardly, so he put his hands beneath my knees and hitched them up and over his hips. The change in angle made him slide ever deeper.

I opened my eyes, just as he slapped his hand to the switch and the room went dark, the only light a slim band creeping beneath the door.

The steam that had moistened our skin now chilled, but I didn't feel cold. I didn't feel anything but Sawyer inside of me. Harder and faster he pumped. I cradled his head as he took a nipple in his mouth, his hair spilling over my wrists, the ends tickling my belly.

Each press of his lips and tongue brought an answering tug between my legs. He suckled as if he'd draw something from me—my heart, my soul, sustenance. Then he used his teeth, biting down just short of pain, before kissing his way to my face, brushing his lips across my eyelids, my mouth. His palm cupped my cheek; his breath stirred my hair, and I stilled, something flitting through my mind like a prophecy.

But his thumb stroked the seam of my lips, the pressure insistent, as he continued to flex his hips, filling me, emptying me, filling me again. I forgot thoughts and feelings and prophecies of doom or glory as I caught his thumb between my teeth. I suckled him as he'd suckled me, bit him just a little, then let him go. He reached between us with that thumb, using the moisture from my own mouth to rub my throbbing center until I came.

As I did, he grasped my hips, buried his face in my neck, and did the same. Smoothing my palm down his damp back, I pressed my cheek to the top of his head.

We stayed that way, I'm not sure how long, until he kissed me. Just once on the lips, in the dark, and then he turned away. "I'll order food," he said.

Airport hotels, which catered to the business traveler, usually had room service, and this one was no exception. One of the reasons I'd chosen it.

"Great." My voice was too cheerful. I hopped off the counter, restarted the shower, hoping like hell the water heater recycled at the speed of sound, then I cleared my throat and tried again. "Whatever you want is fine with me."

There, that sounded better, as if what had just happened had meant nothing.

Even though we both knew that it had.

The shower was just warm enough to endure, just cold enough to be unpleasant. When I drew back the curtain, my duffel sat on the toilet seat. I glanced at the closed door. Nice of him.

I was running out of clean clothes. Tomorrow we'd have to hit Wal-Mart. Not surprisingly, I'd seen one just across the street. The superstores seemed to be multi-plying like bunnies. I kind of liked it. Wherever you were, there they were. It was comforting.

Sawyer had put the athletic shorts back on. He didn't have much choice. He'd also draped a dry towel around his shoulders.

"Still cold?" I asked as I came into the room.

He shrugged, not looking at me, and one end of the towel slid down his back.

"You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

I shouldn't mention the woman of smoke. I didn't want to upset him again. Except I had to.

"Your mother—" He glanced up sharply. "Sorry. The psycho bitch from hell said they have their own prophecies."

"So I've heard."

"What are they? Where are they?"

"There have always been whispers of a book, com-posed by a Nephilim that wrote down the prophecies it received in visions from Apollyon."

"Revelation in reverse."

"Balance," Sawyer murmured, echoing Carla.

It made sense in a weird sort of way. Christ versus Antichrist. Angel versus Devil. God versus Satan. Bible versus—

"What's their book called?"

"I don't know."

"Who's got it?"

He spread his hands.

I had so many questions. I paused a minute to get my thoughts in order. "Who in hell is Apollyon and where is he now?"

"Confined in Tartarus."

"A Grigori."



"The Grigori," he corrected. "Apollyon means 'Abaddon' in Hebrew."

"I'm a little rusty," I said.

"The Destroyer. The one who will rule when the Grigori are released again on earth."

"The Antichrist." I frowned. "But your mother's jockeying for that job."

For once, he didn't correct my use of the term. "Your point?"

"How can she be trying to become the Antichrist by opening Tartarus when the Antichrist is already locked up there?"

"The prophecy of the Antichrist has always been that he—"

"Or she."

He inclined his head. "—will not just appear on earth, but will have lived here and become a great leader, who is eventually possessed by Satan."