Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 Read Online Free Page B

Orleans Marriott roof, the damp breeze in his face, knees to his chest, emotions running wild. Below, the French Quarter sprawled, alive with good food, boisterous times, depraved thoughts, endless sex. Most of those carnal vibes oozed from the makeover service. Specifically, Wynona’s office.
    He glanced away and forced himself to focus on lights sparkling across the mighty Mississippi. The undulating water should have soothed. Its rolling mass entranced, reminding him of a provocative walk, long legs, tight leather pants, and spiked-heel boots tapping seductively.
    He lifted his face to the cloud-smudged sky. The gentle plumes were white as snow, like her hair. Stars winked from the clear areas, their silvery sparkle matching her eyes.
    Sweating badly, he looked down. More laughter pealed from the highest floor in the hotel, the sound clear and tinkling. Not throaty or sassy like hers.
    He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.
    Air rushed over him, warm as life, scented with purity. His supervisor, Frank. About time. Rafael had called for him what seemed eons ago. Although the guy was ancient, even by angel standards, he shouldn’t have taken this long to arrive.
    Frank plopped down, wispy hair wiggling in the breeze. Dressed in a steel-gray jogging suit, the old guy tucked in his wings and held tightly to a muffuletta. The huge Cajun sandwich had olive salad, soppressata, mortadella, capicola, and provolone stuffed within the roll.
    “Sorry I’m late.” He took a huge bite. “Balestrieu’s was running a special on these. The line was pure awful. What’s up?”
    Rafael folded his hands over his throbbing cock. Maybe he shouldn’t have called for help. Admitting weakness might get him thrown off this case. He’d never see Wynona again unless Satan decided to allow her visits in solitary. “Uh…”
    Frank ran his tongue over his teeth and dove in for another humongous bite before coming up for air. “I need more than that.”
    The exact words Rafael had said to Wynona. She’d answered by swinging her foot toward his leg. He’d resisted and edged back. She’d followed. Persistent as hell. Sexy as sin. He groaned.
    “You don’t like these?” Frank held up his remaining sandwich. “The smell’s grossing you out?”
    “No. I mean, yes. No, I mean, no.”
    Frank eyeballed him. “You working too hard?”
    He wasn’t doing anything except thinking about Wynona. At the moment, those images were nearly chaste, meaning she still had clothes on in his mind. Give him a few more minutes and he’d have her in nothing except her underwear, surely a lacy black bra and an indecent thong, the material so thin perfume would cover her better. “I need advice.”
    “About what?”
    Rafael lifted his shoulders. “Women?”
    “You don’t seem so sure. You like guys? Perfectly okay. No matter what the folks down here think, paradise is an equal-opportunity lovefest.” Frank bumped Rafael’s arm. “You should know that by now.”
    He stared at the Mississippi again. “I don’t like guys. Not like that.”
    “Women either? What do you like?”
    A reaper. “Ah, she’s a woman. That is, she’s female.”
    “Someone I know? Ursula’s had her eye on you since the Dark Ages. She’s a looker.”
    Yeah, if a man wanted someone sweet and wholesome. She’d never made Rafael’s skin tingle or his head swim during the times they’d hooked up at his place. “Not Ursula or anyone in our circle.”
    Frank burped explosively. “’Scuse me.”
    “No prob.”
    “About your woman problem…we are talking another angel here, right?”
    Technically, yeah. Reapers were angels that served Death. Heaven might have equal opportunities for lovers, but there were still class distinctions in everything else. Good angels were at the top, reapers at the bottom. The riffraff, if you will. A rebel reaper, as Wynona was, represented the absolute worse. Rafael might as well have courted Satan’s many daughters, all fallen.