I want to tell him that I never showed respect in the first place but I keep my mouth shut.
He lifts the skull off of his head.
I gasp.
“Hideous, aren’t I?” he asks with a smirk.
That smirk is there because he knows what I’m looking at, he knows who he is.
He’s the opposite of hideous.
He’s fucking gorgeous.
And, of course, Death would be. How could anyone think otherwise? How could Death be anything else but utterly seductive?
Death’s skin is tawny and smooth, with full lips that I’ve felt on every inch of my body, a strong jaw with a rugged beard, which I’ve felt too. His cheekbones are high and his eyes are mesmerizing, even more so when I can see them without the darkness of the mask. They’re hypnotic-looking, deep set, with thick dark lashes rimming his eyes so it looks like he’s wearing ebony eyeliner. His brows are arched and black, framing the dark gray of his eyes which seem to go from charcoal to silver to pewter all while I’m staring at him, his pupils contracting and dilating.
Then there is his hair. It’s long, black, tied back in a man bun.
Death has a man bun.
Words I never thought I’d think.
He’s hot as fuck.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You’re very hideous.”
And then suddenly he’s on me, covering my lips with his, and my world is blown apart because he’s kissing me for the first time, a deep, searing kiss that makes my toes curl, his tongue moving into me like second skin.
Holy shit.
This is it.
The kiss of Death.
And, fuck, I want more.
Apparently he does too.
We attack each other. He’s ripping off my clothes and I’m trying to rip off his. It’s an unbalanced battle because I’m just wearing a flimsy nightgown and he has layers upon layers and I can barely get through them before I’m dropping the candle. It falls to the ground, the flames lighting the rug on fire, and then he’s ripping off his shirt and throwing it on the rug to put it out.
Then he’s grabbing me and practically throwing me down so that I’m on the floor too, on my back, and he’s looming over me.
Like a God. Like a fucking God.
He grins at me, a cocky twist of his lips, a quirk of his brow, and I should have known he would have such a beautifully arrogant face under his masks.
He rips off his shirt.
Then his pants.
Until he’s only wearing the gauntlets.
For the first time I see him completely naked and…
And I am speechless.
His body is magnificent, seven feet of pure muscle mass on perfectly smooth skin. I already knew that his shoulders were broad, that his waist tapered, but seeing it in the flesh is something else. His chest is sculpted and wide, his abs a washboard eight-pack, with those perfect V muscles carving a path south over his hips. His arms and forearms are massive, rippling with untold strength. Then there are his muscled thighs, full of definition. Do thick thighs save lives when you’re talking about Death?
And accenting his warrior body, the glowing pewter lines are everywhere, except for his face and his dick.
Speaking of his dick, it’s perfect. I knew it would be considering how he’s been using it on me, but yes, it’s the cock of a God. Thick, long and straight-up, his balls hefty enough to provide some counterbalance.
I can’t stop staring. I might even be drooling.
“I don’t blame you for taking your time,” Death muses with another wry smile, his eyes dancing in both levity and lust. “I often look at myself in the mirror that way.”
“What do the lines mean?” I ask when I find my voice.
He drops to his knees, his dick bobbing. “They represent everyone who has died. They pulse when a new soul leaves. They pulse all the time, and they have for most of my life. Death never, ever stops. These runes remind me of my role in this world and all the others.”
He grabs my thighs with his gloves and spreads my legs wide.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper, letting him handle me anyway he wants.
“It did,” he says, clearing his throat. “But you get used to things.” He grins at me salaciously. “This view, however, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
He positions himself between my thighs, slowly stroking his cock with his gloved fist, holding back. I bite my lip, watching him, wanting him. The sight of him like this, on the precipice of giving in, is something to savor.
His brows furrow, a deep crease between them, his lips curling slightly, jaw tight, and I can tell he wants to push up inside me and go nuts, that it’s taking a lot of restraint for him to control himself. For once. Usually he just lets himself loose but now, with his mask off, both of us facing each other like this, naked, it feels different.