Chapter 5: First Touch of Temptation

The night after the party, Freya couldn’t sleep.

She lay curled under her blankets, staring at the ceiling. The memory of Caleb’s kiss lingered on her lips, but it wasn’t desire she remembered—it was disappointment. She had waited so long for that moment, but it had felt hollow, like a chapter in a book that promised magic but delivered ink.

Worse still, Azrael’s voice haunted her thoughts.

"Desire isn’t always what you think it is..."

She rolled over. “Get out of my head,” she whispered to the silence.

“You summoned me,” came his voice, suddenly right there—real, warm, and impossibly close. “I never left.”

Freya sat up with a gasp. Azrael stood at the foot of her bed, dressed in shadow and smoke. He was barefoot, shirtless this time, his lean, powerful frame illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight sneaking through her window.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“You don’t want me to leave.”

He was right. She didn’t. And that terrified her.

Azrael stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “You’ve been twisting under these sheets all night. I felt your restlessness like a spark in my chest.”

“You felt me?” she whispered.

“I always do.” He sat on the edge of her bed, facing her. “Every time you ache. Every time you doubt. Every time you imagine what my hands might feel like...”

Her breath caught.

Azrael leaned in, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll vanish.”

But she didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

His fingers trailed down the side of her neck, a whisper of touch that left goosebumps in its wake. “You want to know what it’s like, don’t you? To be wanted… fully. Completely. Not just kissed. Claimed.”

She nodded slowly, heart thundering.

Azrael’s eyes darkened. “Then let me show you what desire really is.”

He started with a kiss—not rushed or hungry, but agonizingly slow. His lips brushed hers like a question, letting her answer in the way she tilted her head, the way her fingers curled in the sheets. The moment she responded, his hand slid to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss with a promise of sin.

Heat bloomed in her stomach, spreading through her limbs like fire and honey.

Azrael’s touch was both reverent and sinful. His hands moved with restraint, tracing her shoulders, her waist, lingering at the curve of her hip. Every graze was permission, every pause a tease. He never took more than she gave—but he made her want to give everything.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath shallow.

“I could ruin you,” he whispered, eyes locked with hers.

Freya swallowed. “Then why haven’t you?”

He gave a slow, almost pained smile. “Because I want you to choose it. I want you to crave it—not just my body, but me. Not as a tool, not as a trick, but as someone you want, even if it damns you.”

Freya stared at him, trembling. “I think I already do.”

Azrael’s expression shifted—like her words struck something deep in his immortal chest. His thumb brushed her lip again, softer this time.

“You’re dangerous too, Freya,” he said. “You just don’t see it yet.”

The next morning, the world felt different.

Freya moved like a girl who had touched the edge of something forbidden and liked it. Her lips still tingled from Azrael’s kiss. Her skin held the ghost of his fingers. Every thought spiraled back to him. Not Caleb. Not the fantasy she had clung to for years. But Azrael.

At school, Caleb barely registered. He waved at her, smiled—but it felt wrong now, shallow. Like paper pretending to be gold.

She smiled politely, but didn’t go to him.

Instead, she found herself doodling Azrael’s name in her notebook. Not in hearts, but in flames.

That night, he returned—appearing with a sigh and a flicker of shadows, like he belonged there. Freya was already waiting, curled in her bed with her knees drawn up, wearing one of her oversized t-shirts and nothing else.

He leaned against the wall, eyes glinting. “You’re tempting me, little witch.”

She smiled shyly. “Maybe I want to tempt you.”

Azrael crossed the room in two strides and lifted her chin. “Say that again.”

“Maybe I want you to want me,” she whispered.

He groaned softly and kissed her again—this time deeper, more urgent. He pushed her back gently onto the bed, their bodies molding together as his weight settled over her. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her body burning with need.

But before it could go further, he stopped.

Azrael’s forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged. “Not tonight.”

Freya blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because I want it to mean something.” His voice was tight with restraint. “And right now, you’re still choosing between dreams and demons.”

She touched his cheek. “I’m starting to think the demon is the dream.”

Azrael smiled—a real one this time, soft and aching.

“Then when you’re sure,” he whispered, brushing his lips to her temple, “I’ll give you everything.”

And with that, he vanished again.

Leaving Freya aching.

Wanting.

But no longer uncertain.

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