Page 16 of Riding the Reaper

“Sam,” he pants. “Sam. Sam. Sam.”

I wrap my arms around him and hold on. My face goes to his neck, breathing him in. Sweat and cum and that musky, earthy undertone that’s only his. I clench around him, greedy, milking him for every last drop.

Finally, the shudders subside. His muscles go slack. He sags back against the hay, completely spent, and I collapse on top of him. I don’t have the strength to hold myself up anymore. We’re a sticky, sweaty mess, glued together with both of our cum, panting in the aftermath. His cock is still inside me, twitching with little aftershocks.

“Holy shit,” I breathe against his skin. “You filled me up like a fucking cream puff.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds accurate.”

“A pastry. Cream-filled. That’s me right now.” I press my forehead against his shoulder, grinning. “Damn, that was…”

“Worth every consequence,” he finishes for me.

“Yeah. That.”

I want to stay like this forever. Curled up on top of my reaper, his cum leaking out of my ass, my heart hammering against his chest. I feel weightless. Free. Every insecurity I’ve ever carried about who I am and what I want, just… gone. Fucked right out of me.

For the first time in my life, I’m not pretending. This is me. The real Sam Calloway.

But I don’t get to savor it for long.

The temperature in the barn drops. Not a gradual chill. A sudden, teeth-chattering plunge. My breath plumes in the air.

Gray goes rigid underneath me.

“What’s wrong?” I lift my head.

“We have company.”

11

GRAVENTHOR

Sam is in my lap. His head rests against my chest, his breathing finally slowing. His body is warm, loose, completely relaxed. I’m still inside him, softening now, but I’m in no hurry to change that. My hand drifts over his back, feeling the texture of his skin, the life humming beneath it. A sensation I’d forgotten. How good it feels to hold another body and feel it breathe.

I press my lips to the top of his head, breathing him in. Shampoo, musk, sweat. The smell of a living man.

Then the air changes. The temperature plummets. The Veil thins, not by my will, but by another’s.

Sam stirs against me. “What’s wrong?”

“We have company.”

He looks around the empty barn. “Where? I don’t see anyone.” But he shivers, rubbing his arms.

I lift him gently off my lap, my release following in a warm rush. A sight that sends a possessive thrill through me. Mine. For this one stolen moment, he was mine. “Get dressed. Quickly.”

The urgency in my voice spurs him into motion. He grabs the skeleton costume, tugging it on over his spent body. I pick my robe up off the floor and shake it out, pulling it over skin still tacky with cum. The chill is deepening. A familiar presence. Not a welcome one.

The moonlight on the barn floor begins to ripple and warp, like heat shimmer on a summer road. A seam opens in the air, a dark tear that widens, and a figure steps through.

Of course. Of all the reapers they could have sent, it had to be her.

Morrigan.

Her form is immaculate. Tall, spare, wrapped in a robe of pure white silk that absorbs the moonlight. Her scythe is silver, the handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Her face is all sharp angles, cheekbones like blades, eyes the color of a winter sea.

“Graventhor.” Her voice is flat. Dead. Her gaze slides past me and lands on Sam, who’s just pulled his hood up and is staring, wide-eyed.