Page 9 of Riding the Reaper

“Then we better make them count.”

I drop to my knees. The damp earth seeps through the costume still pooled around my legs. From down here, he looks even bigger. A pale tower of muscle against the dark of the woods. I lean forward, just to breathe him in. Musky, earthy, clean like winter air.

I’ve dreamed about this. So many times. Woken up sticky and ashamed, my heart hammering in my throat. All those hours of porn, how my eyes always zeroed in on the cock first. Not the girl’s face, not her tits, but the thick, hard dick pistoning in and out of her. I imagined what it would feel like. To touch one. To taste one. To have one inside me. But I never thought I’d actually have the chance. Not as long as I was stuck in this shitty town.

And now there’s one right here, right in front of my face. The most perfect dick I’ve ever seen.

I flatten my tongue against the underside, right below the head. Fuck. That’s a rush.

Gray groans. A deep, resonant sound I feel in my bones. I drag my tongue up and down the full length of him, tracing the pulsing vein that runs from root to tip. His skin is still cool, but he’s warming up where my tongue touches him. When I wrap my lips around the head, he swells even more in my mouth. I circle the tip with my tongue, teasing the slit, catching the first bead of precum that gathers there. He’s hard as stone now, and so thick I’m not sure I can take all of him.

But I’m damn sure going to try.

“Sam,” he says, long fingers sliding into my hair. “This isn’t about me⁠—”

I shut him up by taking him into my mouth. As deep as I can go. Which, if I’m being real, isn’t all that deep. The head of his cock hits the back of my throat, and I gag. Tears spring to my eyes. But I don’t pull back. I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and I want to impress him. He’s doing so much to impress me, after all. I breathe through my nose and push for more. Relax my throat. I’ve watched enough porn to know the tricks. I’ve just never had to put them into practice.

Brianna tried her best with my dick, but she never went deep. Maybe she didn’t want to.

I want to. More than I’ve wanted anything. I want to swallow him whole, feel him fill my throat, choke on him until all I can taste and breathe is cock. I’m shaking with the need for it.

His fingers tighten in my hair. “Easy,” he breathes. “Don’t hurt yourself. This wasn’t built for human throats.”

That line is so perfectly delivered, I almost laugh around his cock. I’ve got to hand it to him. The guy’s a genius. I don’t know what I did to deserve this performance, but I’m sure as hell not going to waste it.

I pull back, gasping, a string of spit connecting my lips to the head of his cock. I look up at him. His face is mostly shadow, but his chest is heaving, breath coming fast and ragged. He’s losing it. The whole composed reaper act is falling apart.

“Don’t worry about me,” I say, voice hoarse. “Worry about not coming before you’ve fucked me.”

I go back in harder this time, head bobbing, one hand working the base where my mouth can’t reach, the other cupping his balls. They’re huge, heavy in my palm. I roll them gently as I suck him, letting my bitten-down nails drag across the skin behind them. That makes him buck, a sudden, involuntary thrust that drives him deeper into my throat. Fuck, yes. More of that. The loss of control. The desperate need. I want him to ride my face like the last bus out of town.

For a while, there’s nothing but the wet sounds of my mouth on him, the wind moaning through the trees, our ragged breathing. I’m taking him to the root now, nose pressed against the cool skin of his pelvis, throat stretched wide around his girth. Tears and spit drip down my chin, and there are moments where I’m sure I’m going to throw up, the gag reflex kicking in hard, but I fight through it.

This is what I’ve been craving, the secret I’ve kept buried for years. And it’s better than I ever imagined. The size of him, the taste, the sheer masculinity, his hips rocking into my mouth now, desperate thrusts he can’t seem to control.

He’s muttering above me, words I can’t make out. Some old language, maybe. Part of the act. Either way, it’s hot as hell.

But then he pulls me off him. I let out a sound of protest, my lips swollen and slick, saliva and precum covering my chin. I grab at his thighs, trying to get him back in my mouth. I’m not done. I’m far from done.

“One minute,” he says, his grip on my shoulders like iron. “We’re almost out of time.”

“Oh, come on. Not yet.” I’m panting, jaw aching, whole body screaming for more. “Can’t you stretch that a little? A reaper’s gotta have some wiggle room, right? You still need to fuck me. You can’t leave me hanging like this.”

“Sam.” There’s a new urgency in his voice. “There is no wiggle room. I promise you.”

7

GRAVENTHOR

He still has no clue. Not the slightest idea of what’s coming.

In a few moments, the oak behind him is going to lose a branch. A massive limb, half-rotted from the inside, weakened by last week’s storm. It will crack, fall, and strike him exactly where he’s kneeling. Quick, at least. He won’t feel much.

The reaper in me knows this is how it’s supposed to go. This is the script. My job is to be here when the soul leaves the body, to make sure it doesn’t get tangled in the earthly realm. To guide it through the Veil. This chaotic, glorious detour was never part of the plan. Or maybe it was. Maybe I was always meant to give him this one last experience before the end. It’s not always clear to us how the threads are woven.

But the other part of me, the part that just woke up, the part that spent the last several minutes with Sam’s warm, desperate mouth on my cock, can’t bear it. The thought of him dying like this, right when he finally got a taste of what he’s been wanting, feels fundamentally wrong.

He’s still begging. “Please, Gray. Please. I need more time with you.”