“Lazarus, something is—” He swears. “Lazarus!” he bellows.
Hot jets of cum coat my mouth as he finds his release. I swallow it down, even as Thanatos keeps coming and coming, his body jerking with every thrust.
I can hear his harsh breaths as his thrusts slow. The man sounds like he met his maker. Almost reluctantly his hands slip from my hair.
My mouth slides down the length of his shaft once more, and then I release him, sitting back on my haunches, my breasts still exposed.
Death, normally so rigid and poised, is sprawled out in his seat, his chest rising and falling. He looks completely undone. He stares at me like I’m a specter.
I discreetly wipe the corner of my mouth, licking off a final bead of cum, and I push myself to my feet.
I hope I still look confident because on the inside, I am quaking.
I just went down on Death himself. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the crazy laugh that wants to bubble out of me.
I pull my dress back up, slipping my arms through the straps. Turning from the horseman, I grab a loaf of bread and the open bottle of wine. Then, casting him one last, heavy-lidded look, I retreat.
For once, I’m not fleeing the horseman. A conqueror doesn’t flee from their conquests, they do as they please. And right now, I please wine and bread and a bed where I can deal with this sharp throb between my legs.
“Lazarus!” Thanatos calls out to me, a hint of some new emotion in his voice.
“Goodnight,” I say over my shoulder.
Tonight was only the first real taste of what I have to offer. I plan to make this slow and excruciating. By the end of it, I intend to have the horseman wrapped around my finger—body, mind, and spirit.
For humanity, nothing else will do.
Chapter 43
Sugar Land, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I’m not surprised to find the horseman pacing the next morning in the house’s living room. Death strides up and down a line of windows that overlook the backyard. Right now his back is to me, his wings opening and closing with agitation.
Around us, skeletal servants move through the rooms, carrying crates and other odds and ends.
“Good morning,” I say.
As soon as he hears me, Death goes preternaturally still—even his wings pause.
At last, he turns. His eyes first meet mine, then they slide down to my mouth—the same mouth that was wrapped around him last night. One of Death’s hands fist and I see his throat bob.
I know he’s remembering what I did to him. I bet even now he’s trying to figure out just how to slide that cock of his back between my lips and pick up where we left off. That’s the trouble with seduction; one person holds far more power than the other. And for all Death’s omnipotence, I’m the one in control.
“You left,” he accuses. It’s an echo of an earlier accusation—that right when he thinks he has me, I run. I can see his loneliness in his eyes, along with his frustration—he has built walls and makeshift prisons to hold me, yet still I slip through his fingers.
“I was tired,” I say.
A muscle in his jaw jumps, and his eyes keep returning to my mouth.
“I have been here for hours, replaying what we did—what you did,” he admits. “The sight of you in the candlelight, the feel of your mouth around me—” Death’s wings hitch a little, like he’s recalling it even now. “I didn’t know the human body could feel things like that.” He releases a ragged breath. “Why did you do that?”
I lift a shoulder. “I wanted to taste you.”
That muscle in Death’s cheek flutters again. “But then you ran.” His wings open and resettle.
I decide to go for a little truth. “I’m still not completely comfortable … with you.”
For an instant his features flicker, and I swear the horseman looks crushed. Then it’s gone again, his features wiped clean. “How do I make you comfortable?”
“That’s for you to figure out.” I’m not going to do the work for both of us. Seduction is hard enough as it is.
He takes a step forward. “Do all humans … do what you did?” he asks, his gaze back on my mouth.
I can feel a flush creeping up my cheeks.
“I mean, not all of them.” I mean, there must be some pious motherfuckers out there who wouldn’t dare. The rest of us, however, …
Death gives a slow nod, processing that.
“And does it go both ways?” he asks.
My brows come together. I don’t understand.