Page 8 of Riding the Reaper

He’s beautiful. Stubbornly, defiantly alive. And in a few minutes, all of this will be gone. Reduced to a flicker of light I’ll carry back through the Veil.

“Fuck, Gray,” he breathes, working his fingers deeper. “I wish this was you. I wish this was your cock opening me up. I bet it’s huge. Like the rest of you. I bet you’d finally give me what I need.” He’s moaning now, desperate, shameless. “Don’t you want to? Just once?”

What’s the harm, really? One small detour. A brief indulgence. Why give me this human form if not for moments like this? I know how it ends for him. I’ve known since I took the assignment. I just didn’t know I had a part to play in his last minutes beyond collecting. The dying isn’t my decision. But this. This can be my gift to him. A final mercy.

I realize I’ve been stepping forward without thinking. Drawn by a gravitational pull I’ve never experienced before.

Sam must sense it. He pulls his fingers free with a gasp and straightens up. Chest heaving, skin flushed. He turns to face me, his cock jutting out at a proud angle.

“Can I see it?” he whispers, pupils blown wide in the moonlight. “Please?”

That “please” is the final straw.

The scythe clatters to the ground as I let it fall.

My hands find the clasp at my throat. I’ve never opened this for anyone. My uniform. My shield. There will be consequences. There’s no version of this where I don’t get punished.

But for Sam, I decide, it’s worth it.

6

SAM

I’ve never been this hard in my life.

But this guy. This absolute maniac in a reaper costume standing in the woods with me at God knows what hour. The voice. The height. The dedication to the bit. He’s playing this role like his life depends on it, and it’s the hottest thing ever. He’s every late-night search I’ve cleared from my browser history, standing right in front of me, and only the chill on my skin tells me I’m actually awake.

Gray pulls at the collar of his robe. I hold my breath. He’s really doing it. He’s really undressing for me. The heavy fabric falls open, and I get my first look at what’s underneath.

Holy fuck.

He’s got nothing on under it. Just miles of pale, sculpted muscle, illuminated by the moonlight. Did he use body paint? It’s flawless. And the muscle definition… I was right. Built like a brick shithouse. How many hours a week does a guy have to live in the gym to look like this? Or is this a steroid situation? Either way, I’m staring. Broad shoulders, a chest that could stop a truck, tight nipples, carved abs, a sharp V-line that cuts down toward⁠—

The robe falls open further. And I stop breathing entirely.

My imagination didn’t do it justice. Gray is hung like a fucking bull. And even his cock is the same startling white as the rest of him. The guy went all-in on the death-pale aesthetic, I’ll give him that. But contrary to what he tried to make me believe, this perfect piece of meat is nowhere near dead. It’s stirring. Thickening. Rising.

He’s getting hard.

“Seems like I was right,” I say, closing the distance between us. “You’re more alive than you let on.”

Gray looks down at his massive cock like he’s surprised by his own response. “I’ve never... I didn’t think this could still happen.”

I love how committed he is to the role. A masterclass.

But when I reach out and touch his abs, his skin is colder than I expected. “The hell?” I say, as much to him as to myself. “How are you this cold?”

“I’m dead, Sam. This is warm for me.”

This is next-level. He even got the skin temperature right.

My hand trails lower. Knuckles brush the base of his cock, and the shock of it races up my arm. I’ve never touched another guy’s dick before. My fingers wrap around him, velvet-smooth skin over a core of steel, so thick I can barely close my hand around him. But yeah, colder than you’d expect for a cock that’s getting harder by the second.

He lets out a shuddering breath, a sound that goes straight to my own dick, which is still pointing at the moon.

When I look up, the hood has fallen back a little, revealing more of that face. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, dark, deep-set eyes that seem to look right through me. “You’re so hot,” I breathe. “I mean, not temperature-wise, obviously. But like… damn.”

“Sam, I don’t want to ruin this moment,” he says, and his voice is rougher than before. “But you only have seven minutes left.”