Page 85 of Secondhand Soul

I toss the phone away, but out of the corner of my eye, I see the notification pop up.

Manny: You called her mom. She’s sobbing now. Happy sobbing. Best present ever.

Manny: Where’s mine?

“Gimme one minute. I’m gonna go do a little Hanukkah-mas miracle.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Victoria blows me a kiss and sends me a wink that travels straight to my cock.

I pick up my phone and grin.

Lazarus: See you in the morning, Dad. Love you guys. Now go and sob together.

Manny: Yep. Oh, yeah. Waterworks central. Good thing this hunk of junk is waterproof.

LAZARUS IS A GENIUS. I know this because I know how he was made, know what he’s made of, and yet he’s proof that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. He knows things on an instinctual level—when it comes to dealing with me.

As he strides into the bathroom and into the shower, his arms locking around me like we’ve been apart for centuries instead of seconds, he says the perfect things. Touches me in the perfect way.

“This is my apartment now. Which means it’s yours, too. Our home.”

“Laz, no, that’s too mu—”

His kiss shuts my mouth and steals my breath. His kiss is so thorough that I’m gasping when he releases my mouth, glaring at me.

“It’s not too much, it’s just right. Just enough. You don’t fuck around with this monster, Victoria. Whatever little bit of secondhand soul I’ve got is welded to yours. You claimed it, and now we’re stuck together. Tell me.” His voice is severe, and his sharp teeth snap shut over the words. “Where’s home?”

He wants me to say that it’s this apartment, but it isn’t. “With my monster,” I pant, hands threading through his hair and tugging his mouth back to mine. “Where you are, Lazarus. Wherever you are, baby. My soul is stuck to yours. And this secondhand soul stuff? It’s got to stop.” I run my hand over his chest, tracing stitches and puckers in the thickened skin, marveling at how something that some people might find ugly is so captivating once you’re in love. Parts of him are smooth, parts are uneven. His skin has spots like river rock and granite—a map for me to memorize. “Your soul is whole, and deep, and dark. A whole well, bigger and deeper than Pazcuso or Lazenby could have dug or dreamt of. You are alive. A divine spark entered you somehow when a dead heart began to beat again. You’re a new person, one they tried to make, but they couldn’t. Lazarus.” I love this man so much, in ways I couldn’t fathom loving anyone but Emily. I crave him, and I want to do everything sensual and sexual with him, but right now, he needs to know the truth. The truth that I can see, and somehow he can’t.

I poke him in the chest with one hand while the other grips the hair on the nape of his neck with a savage little shake that makes his eyes widen in surprise. “You are a self-made man. You took all the shit they did to you, and every ounce of training they told you was your purpose, and you shook it off. You shredded it, baby.” My voice is loud and exuberant with pride, my smile stretching as I feel tears falling. “Somehow, in that den of darkness, death, and violence, you said, ‘No. I don’t want to be what you made me to be.’ That’s not something a soulless monster can do, Lazarus. That’s proof that your soul was strong, is strong. You broke free, tore a path out of hell, and crossed the threshold of actual Hell, the CrossRealms, and came to another place with all this mystical power, and what did you do? You sank right into the light side of it, made yourself a family, and started helping people and rescuing damsels in distress. My God, Lazarus, no wonder Manny and Rhea want you as their son! You’re a man to be proud of. I don’t know why you love me or want me after how terrible I was to you, after what I came here to do—but I’m proud of you, too, and I want you as a husband, a lover, and a soulmate! Who wouldn’t?” I demand, stomping on the slippery floor and immediately wishing I hadn’t.

“That was your bad ankle, wasn’t it, babe?” Lazarus whispers, holding me up as I wince and start to slip.

“Way to ruin my big speech, huh?” I laugh, feeling strangely exhausted and vulnerable after pouring all of that out.

“I loved it. I don’t know if I believe every little bit of it, but I loved it.” Lazarus looks at me with bright, overjoyed eyes, and I guess maybe my torrent of emotional word vomit didn’t suck.

“Good.”

Lazarus’ hands slowly slide down from where they’re supporting me and grip my rear, kneading it. The prickle of desire that was overwhelmed with a tide of much bigger, deeper feelings starts to swirl, heating my belly, making liquid rush between my hips.

You can have both, Victoria. This is it, finally. Love and lust, sex and desire, and safety. It’s all with him in one gorgeous, glistening package with teeth that pinch and eyes that glow.

You are a lucky, lucky girl.

“Love you,” he murmurs, letting out a sigh. His hands grope, and his mouth wanders. My eyes roll back as he explores one breast, finding a nipple and pulling it taut in firm, massaging strokes.

“Love you. Love that. Oooh. Yes. Much more of that,” I sigh.

“That’s one order I can obey,” Lazarus chuckles.

“Not an order a—ooh!” I gasp in delight when his hand travels to my pussy, massaging between my legs, thumb twirling over my clit. “Not an order, a request,” I say through spirals of pleasure.

“A request then.” Lazarus’ hand parts my folds, and his finger splits me, sinking in deep with a satisfied chuckle. “I can feel how hot and juicy you are. Full of my cum. Not as full as you should be, though.”

I swivel away, wiggling my ass at him as the warm water flows over my back and shoulders. “I think you can fix that.”

“Oh, I can... If the woman who wants to be my wife wants me to pound her little pussy again.”