“I doubt it,” he says, his eyes stormy.
My hands move to his pants.
“These need to come down,” I say.
For the first time, Death appears alarmed. It’s that single look that dispels some of my own tension for what I’m about to do.
“Don’t be shy,” I tease.
“I am not shy,” he says, a little affronted. “What I have is yours.”
He’s making a lot of pretty pledges to me. I don’t know if I should be moved or alarmed.
Thanatos stands, his expression both curious and challenging as he lowers his pants and whatever lies beneath them.
His cock springs free, already hard—and large. Very, very concerningly large. It’s also adorned in the same markings as the rest of him. Holy shit. His maker put markings on his penis … and the rest of him, by the looks of it. More glowing glyphs cover his abdomen and run down his thighs.
Before Death can begin to remove his greaves and his boots and take his pants fully off, I place a hand on his shoulder and press him back down into his chair. I kind of like the idea of his pants keeping him pinned in place.
“Kismet, please tell me—”
My hands fall on each of Death’s inner thighs, and his words cut off, like a life drawn short.
My bravery has washed away; my heart is pounding a mile a minute. I am no seductress, and I feel my confident fa?ade crumbling away.
I kneel.
One last breath before I cross that line I drew for myself a year ago.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I take his straining cock into my hand.
The action causes Thanatos to hiss in a breath.
“You can always tell me to stop,” I say, heat burning just beneath my skin.
My core throbs, and my nipples have tightened despite the fact that Death’s the one being touched. I’m turned on and embarrassed of the fact, and somehow that only seems to heighten it all.
I hold Death’s gaze. His cheeks are flushed, he still looks alarmed, but he also looks frenzied for more.
And he doesn’t say stop.
I give his shaft a pump.
He bucks helplessly against me.
“Lazarus,” he pants. “What are you—？”
“Relax,” I say soothingly. “This is the fun part.”
And then I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
Chapter 42
Sugar Land, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
Thanatos nearly comes up off the seat. He looks thunderstruck.
That won’t do.
Gently I put a hand against his chest and push him back down.
“Lazarus,” he breathes, his voice pained. His chest is rising and falling fast. He looks frantic and bewildered, like he had no idea a human body could feel like this.
Has he never gotten himself off?
I pause, my mouth slipping from his cock.
“You can always tell me to stop,” I remind him.
“Never,” he says with all the conviction of a true believer.
The corner of my mouth curves up, then I take him back into my mouth. He groans, one of his hands making a fist on the armrest.
I can’t fit all of him into my mouth, so I fist the base of his shaft, pumping in time to the slide of my lips—up, down, up, down.
I take him as deep as I can. There’s not much finesse to what I do. To be honest, it’s all I can do to ignore my gag reflex and the dull ache in my jaw. Despite the discomfort, my pussy throbs for the horseman.
I glance up at him as his cock glides between my lips. Thanatos’s breathing has grown heavy and ragged. One of his hands is still fisted; the other one moves as though to touch me, but he draws it back, instead gripping the armrest for dear life.
I grab that hand of his and bring it to my hair.
You can still touch me, I want to tell him. My breasts, my face—anywhere. For now, it is yours.
Death’s fingers delve into my locks, his other hand moving to my head as well.
He stares down at me with wonder.
“What is—” He cuts off as another stroke of my mouth leaves him breathless. “What is this?”
I grin around his cock, and the sight causes a shudder to roll through him.
“The sight of you kneeling—between my legs—kismet,” he says roughly. “It is … erotic.” He says that last word as though discovering it for the first time.
I don’t respond, not when I’ve found a rhythm. I pick up my pace, and Thanatos is now matching me stroke for stroke. His fingers have tightened in my hair.
His movements grow frantic, his face pinched in what looks like agony as he stares down at me, his hands fisted in my hair.