Touched By Sin: A Dark Paranormal Romance (Sins of The Fallen Book 1)

The clouds part, and the silvery moonlight casts the boys’ faces in an ethereal glow as they stand with their legs planted and arms crossed. I scan my eyes around the open field, lined by trees, at the back of the academy. My breath is visible as I ask, “What are we doing here?”

“Headmistress wants us to teach you to fly. It’s the first skill to master before we do anything else,” Daemon responds.

I drag my gaze away from the blanket of stars overhead and frown. “You brought me here to teach me to fly?”

They don’t respond, and the longer they stare at me, the more nervous I become. I clear my throat. “Now what?”

“Spread your wings,” Daemon orders, and my ears heat.

It feels intimate to unfold my wings in front of these three boys, who watch me expectantly. I’m acutely aware of how I differ from them with my white feathers and pale skin. The air shifts behind me, and I chance a look at the guys as my wings stretch out fully. Neither of them says a word. They just stare.

“Move them.” Daemon’s deep voice licks at my skin, causing heat to sink to my clit. I love how the breeze shifts his hair and how his dark eyes drink me up. I experimentally flex my wings, moving them in upward and downward movements. Nothing happens.

“You weren’t lying when you said you’ve never flown,” he says, circling me while I continue moving my wings.

“No.” The admission is embarrassing, especially when everyone here is such a skilled flyer. Why didn’t they teach it to us back home? Did they worry we would fly over the wall and discover this place of darkness for ourselves?

Daemon rounds on me again, towering over me while his fingers trail over my jaw in a surprisingly gentle touch. “Flying is in your head. It’s a mental state. You were born with the ability to fly, but you need to believe it. If you doubt, your wings won’t carry you.”

I gaze up at him, mesmerized by the shadows on his face. “What if I can’t believe it? What if the doubt is always there?”

“Then you won’t fly.”

He makes it sound so simple: believe, and you will.

“Look at me,” he says, cupping my chin. “I believe in you.”

My heart jolts. I can’t let myself feel these emotions inside me. Not for him, Ronan, or Alaric. If I fall for them, I’ll never see Freya again.

“Now fly,” he whispers, his thumb brushing over my lips. “Give a sharp flap and shoot up.”

I try, but nothing happens when I move my wings. My bare feet stay planted on the ground, and disappointment weighs heavily on me.

“It will come,” he says. “When you’re ready, it will.”

“Show me how you do it.”

Stepping back, his wings erupt behind him in a display of power and magnificence. It happens so fast, so suddenly that I gasp. My reaction makes him smirk. “More impressive than the boys’ wings back home, huh?”

I hate to admit it, but yes. I never reacted like that when the boys back home flexed their white wings. This is different. Daemon oozes danger, bad intentions, and trouble. How can I not feel drawn to him when his muscles move beneath his T-shirt and his dark hair falls into his eyes? How can I not want to burn myself in his flames despite being warned about the dangers of playing with fire? It doesn’t matter that I hate him at the best of times. I want to prick myself on his thorns, and I want to slice him open on mine.

I let my eyes fall closed while my wings move behind me. The breeze rustles my feathers, and my shoulders ache from the weight of using them like this. They’re heavy but powerful. Warm hands brush my hair off my shoulders and slide down my arms. It’s not just Daemon anymore but Ronan and Alaric, too.

“Bigger sweeps of your wings, Angel.”

Fingers dig into my jaw and soft lips brush up against mine. It’s not Daemon. This boy’s scent is different—more earthy and spicy. “That’s it, beautiful. Just like that.”

It’s Ronan.

His tongue dives into my mouth to taste, ravage, and feast on me until he’s satiated. I’m drunk on them and their roaming hands on my body. The feeling of the air shifting behind me. Then it happens—my feet slowly leave the ground and my heart speeds up with excitement. It’s so overwhelming that I lose concentration and drop back down.

“Dammit!” I hiss, breathing hard, angry with my inability to use my wings how they were designed to be used.

“How’s it going?” Dariana asks as she joins us. She’s breathtaking as always in her short, black silk dress that leaves very little to the imagination.

“It’s going shit!” I growl at the same time the boys say, “She left the ground.”

Dariana blinks, looking between us. “She left the ground? Really?”

Alaric slings his arm around my shoulder. “You should have seen it. It was amazing.”

I wish I could share his excitement. I have seen them fly multiple times, and what I achieved today is nothing close to what they can do. I’m a newborn lamb who can barely stand, never mind balance.

Dariana rolls her eyes. “Stop swooning over her wings.”

“Have you seen them?” Alaric questions. “There’s not a single angel here who won’t sprout a hard-on.”

“Come on,” Daemon says, nudging his head toward the academy. “Let’s get to class.”

As they walk away, I stretch my wings out and try to peer at them over my shoulder but fail. Why is it so hard to fly? It’s what wings were made for. What did Ronan say? They weren’t created for aesthetic reasons. Sure, he meant his fangs, but it’s the same for my wings. It makes my stomach churn with bitterness to think that my elders didn’t teach us to fly or allow the thought to blossom in our minds.

“You’ll get the hang of it soon.”

I jump, spinning around.

Dariana is still here, her brown eyes scanning over my wings with a guarded expression. “I can see why Daemon is so taken with you.”

“Yet he fucked you last night,” I snap, immediately regretting my words. It’s not fair to take my anger out on her because she took what she wanted last night. Daemon doesn’t belong to me. Hell, I don’t even want him to. I prove as much every time I push him away. Still, Dariana has felt the power of him inside her, filling her up.

“But he thought of you the entire time,” she replies, closing the distance between us. She smells of midnight and shadows that lure you closer to certain death. “Daemon and the others are not used to girls who turn them down. You’re uncharted territory to them. This isn’t Heaven,” she whispers, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Morals and compassion don’t have a home here in our world. Daemon will hurt you to get a piece of you, and if you don’t offer it up freely, he’ll carve it out of you.”

My breath stutters when she slides her fingers down the side of my neck. Her movements are slow, a ghost of a touch.

“Why are you fighting him?” she whispers, her breath fanning over my lips. “Let him in, and he’ll make you feel things you never knew possible.”

“Shouldn’t you want to get rid of me? Am I not a threat to the empty seat by his side on the throne?”

She hums, trailing her touch lower over my dress until her fingers brush against my bare thighs. Snaking her hand beneath my skirt, she smiles when my lips part. “I should, but I’m strangely curious.” She drags her fingers over my damp panties and hooks the fabric. Moving them aside, she slides her hand inside.

“Dariana…” I whimper, but she silences my soft sound of pleasure with her lips on mine. Sucking on my bottom lip, she bites down and dips a finger inside me. I cry out as a spark of pleasure trickles down my stomach to my aching pussy, and she moves in again, kissing me deeper.

When we come up for air, she whispers, “Ever heard of the saying curiosity killed the cat?”

I quickly shake my head, seeking her touch with rolls of my hips while gripping her shoulders. I’m about to combust. Her hungry mouth sucks, nips, and nibbles a path down my jaw and neck. “Nothing good will come from me touching you like this, but I can’t stop.” Then she snarls, and I cry out when a sharp pain sears the skin on my neck.

She’s drinking from me.

Deep pulls that draw the blood from my trembling body. She’s taking without permission, subduing me with her skilled fingers that rub and tease and slide.

“Sshh!” she soothes, licking the wound and flicking my clit with her thumb. “Don’t tell the boys.”

Seeing her sharp teeth coated in my blood and the drops of deep red on her chin sends me over the edge. I come hard, spasming on her fingers while she whispers in my ear, “That’s it, little angel whore, come on your queen’s fingers.”

The wave soon recedes, and she slides her fingers out from beneath my skirt and sucks my desire off them. Her eyes hold mine, a hint of something dangerous glinting in their pits, reminding me I’m out of my depth.

She cups my chin and cradles it softly. “Drop to your knees.”

My throat jumps when I slowly lower myself onto the damp, cold grass beneath my knees. I stare up at her face, framed by the moonlight.

“Lift my skirt.”

I place my hands on her smooth legs and slide them up her thighs and around her ass, palming her soft skin. Her wet pussy is in my face. I can smell her.

Her nails scrape my scalp before she applies pressure to the back of my head and guides me to her. “Look at me. I want to see those big eyes gaze up at me while you worship my cunt.”

She’s so close to my hungry mouth, her thighs glistening with arousal.

“Do you know how pretty you are on your knees, awaiting instructions with your lips parted and your big, innocent eyes staring up at me? Look down, little angel. Look at my pussy.”

I do. My hungry eyes take in her wet cunt and the soft landing strip of curls above her slit. I want to breathe her in, taste the drop of arousal trailing a path down her thigh.

“You’re dripping,” I whisper, when she gives my hair a sharp yank.

“You do that to me, little angel. You make me want to defile you and watch you sin.”

I gulp.

“Now, stick your tongue out and taste me.”

“What if they come looking for me?”

“Shut up and do as you’re told,” she replies, pulling on my hair. The fresh smell of the grass beneath my knees mixes with the heady scent of her desire as I lean in to bury my tongue in her soaking folds. Her sweet flavor fills my mouth and coats my chin. Moaning out loud, I lap at her, my nails digging into her ass.

“Fuck,” she moans, staring down at me while I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue before sucking it into my mouth. She tastes so fucking good, and I can’t get enough of her scent and soft, feminine sounds of pleasure. The sharp scrape of her nails.

“Hell, just like that, little angel.”

I hold her gaze while lapping at her entrance and tasting her sweetness on my tongue, feeling it coat my lips. My knees ache and my wings unfold behind me to shield us from prying eyes. Ronan mentioned lions tearing into a kill. This is like that—I’m protective of Dariana and her throbbing cunt. If anyone tried to take my feast away from me now, I would snarl and bare my teeth. I won’t let anyone have her until I’m satisfied. Her body and addictive moans are mine.

“Such a good girl,” she praises, riding my mouth with expert rolls of her hips. “Lick me just like that.”

Her soft breasts sway inside her dress, and she bites down on her plump bottom lip when I fill her up with my tongue.

She’s so warm, wet, and tight. My shoulders ache from the weight of my wings. I’m not used to keeping them extended this long, but the instinct to keep prying eyes away from my catch is too strong. If they see her, they might try to take her from me, and I would sooner kill than let that happen. Not now when she’s so close to falling apart in my arms.

“Oh, Devil,” she moans, her head thrown back as I gaze up at her, framed by my white wings. Her raven hair falls down her back in a thick waterfall. I would pull on it if I didn’t have my hands full of her perfect ass. Two more licks and she lets out a loud moan as she stiffens in my hands. I hold her through her orgasm, eagerly licking up her cum. She tastes so fucking good.

When her breathing returns to normal, she lowers her leg and steps back. Her dress slides back down to cover her swollen pussy from my hungry eyes, and I mourn the loss of her sweet moans in the air. At least I can still taste her on my tongue. She’s on my chin, my cheeks, and the damp strands of my hair.

“Remember,” she says as I lower my wings, “not a word to the boys.”