“Tell me a joke,” he says softly.
“A joke?” I say breathlessly. “Right now?”
“I crave your laughter.”
That’s … not how this works.
I give him a crazy look. “People do not tell jokes when they’re”—making love—“having sex.”
“Oh good—I do so like breaking tradition,” Death says, thrusting into me once and wringing a moan out of me.
He continues to gaze down at me, and aw shit, he really is waiting for a joke.
“Um …” Trying to think over the enormous dick inside me.
An old joke my sister Juniper told me as a kid comes to mind.
I cannot believe I’m doing this.
“What should a sick bird do?”
Thanatos’s brows come together. “I don’t underst—”
“Get tweetment.”
He stares down at me, and there’s nothing in his expression. Not even the barest spark of understanding.
And I still have a giant, unmoving dick inside of me.
“You know,” I say, willing to help him understand, “because birds twee—”
“That can’t actually be a joke,” Death says disbelievingly.
“Humor is wasted on you,” I respond, shifting a little because his cock is still just hanging out inside me and we’re supposed to be having sex not debating the quality of a joke that I was asked on the spot to make.
“I don’t need to be worldly to know that was a terrible joke,” he insists.
I mean, if he’d asked me at another time, maybe I would’ve had better material.
I lift my arms up in a what-can-I-say gesture. “I’m not a comedian.”
“Yes, Lazarus, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”
I scoop up a handful of dirt and toss it at him, uncaring that much of it also rains down on me.
Thanatos lets out a booming laugh, and it transforms his normally somber face. I feel like I’m falling as I stare up at it.
He notices the shift in me because the laughter dies from his face. “What is it, kismet?”
I shake my head. “I love the way you laugh,” I say fervently.
Still falling …
All mirth has left the horseman’s features, but in its place is a searing intensity. Rather than responding, Death kisses me hard, his hips beginning to drive into me once more. Again and again he thrusts, his pace both quickening and deepening until I’m panting against him.
Between the two of us, Death may have started out the novice, but he’s definitely become the master.
That’s the last thought I have before an orgasm blindsides me. I dig my fingers into his back, clinging to him as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.
With a groan, Death finds his own release, his hips slamming into me over and over.
Once we’re both spent, he gathers me in his arms.
“This is the most potent magic, kismet,” he says, searching my gaze. “When I am with you—when I am in you—I am alive.”
My nostrils flare, and I have to press my lips together to stop myself from saying something sweet and painfully truthful back to him.
Thanatos notices the action. “What is it, Lazarus?”
I shake my head. Last night I gave myself permission to love the horseman; that doesn’t mean I’m ready to voice those feelings to him, not when I’m only just accepting them.
So instead, I shift my attention to his chest. Reaching out, I trace his glowing markings.
“What does this line say?” I ask, my finger moving over a line of symbols that curves down his chest and abdomen.
Death watches me for a long moment, clearly reluctant to shift topics. The man must sense just how close he is to cracking me.
His attention flicks down to his chest. “Petav paka harav epradiva arawaav uvawa, tutipsiu epraip ratarfaraip uvawa. Uje vip sia revavip yayev uwa petawiev vivafawotu. Annu sia tuvittufawitiva orapov rewuvawa.”
I get chills as the words move through me, and I can feel the power folded in them.
“I am death,” he translates, “an end to all beginnings, a beginning to all ends. I am the one who can take the living and raise the dead. The one who can resurrect souls.”
My eyes drop to his stomach, my finger gliding down the line of text. There’s so much more written across his flesh.
“Are you ever going to tell me the rest of what your tattoos mean?” I ask softly.
There’s a long, weighty pause as Death’s gaze moves over my face.
“One day I will,” he promises.