"Oh, gods, yes," Mitchell murmurs, and his lips find Samandriel's finally, hungry and eager. He needs this, this reclamation, repossession, as desperately as the angel seems to, although perhaps not for the same reasons.
His hands kneaded Samandriel's cheeks as he nipped and licked at his mouth, pulling back to study his face, needing visual confirmation of his slave's consent, his need. "Where do you want...? Upstairs?"