By ali cross
Sixteen-year previous Desolation Black wishes not anything greater than to stick in Hell the place it’s chilly and lonely and completely predictable. as a substitute, she’s despatched again to Earth the place she needs to face the evil she despises and the nice she consistently feared. whilst Desi is compelled to include her internal demon, she assumes her selection has been made—that she has no desire of being whatever except what her father, Lucifer, has created her to be. What she doesn’t anticipate, is discovering a cause to change—something she’s by no means had before—a good friend.
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Extra resources for Become: a novel of Desolation (Volume 1)
Enrique held the front door open. “Welcome home, Desi,” he said in his heavy Cuban accent. He held the door only wide enough for me to squeeze through, so some part of my body had to brush against him. I opted for my backside. Enrique brushed his fingertips over my butt as I passed. Without a second thought, I shoved my elbow into his face. He fell to the ground behind me with a strangled cry, but I didn’t look back. Whatever, man. chapter three The front door closed behind me with a snick—like a jail cell.
The First Order, those who had been cast out of Asgard along with Loki, my father, rarely chose anything less than the most appealing of physical forms—usually one similar to my father, as he was Hell’s dictator of fashion. Of late, he’d adopted a look eerily similar to Hugh Jackman, a careless sensuality that belied the demon within. “Knowles,” Father said, and then it made sense. Reginald Knowles, the Betrayer. When Odin banished them, Knowles begged to remain. He claimed to have made a mistake by siding with Loki.
His lips landed on mine, lightly at first. A touch. A pause. His breath caressed my lips and then he bit my lower lip oh so gently, until I pressed into him, begging to feel him against every inch of me. He groaned, a soft rumble of desire that left me quaking and reaching for him. He crushed his lips against mine and my world exploded with sensation. The salty sweet taste of his mouth. The musky bite of cologne, clean laundry, and guy. The feel of his lips, yielding, soft. The way they demanded more and more from mine.