Page 91 of How (Not) To Raise The Dead

She nods, a small, watery release of breath escaping her.

“I’m scared,” she whimpers.

I pull back just enough to cup her face in my hands and force her to look at me—to look into the eyes of the man who dragged her here, and see the absolute, unwavering devotion burning there.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” I soothe. “But you are not walking into that room alone. Do you hear me? I will be there every second, holding your hand.”

She sniffles, her hands coming up to clutch the front of my tunic, gripping the fabric like it’s the only solid thing left in the universe.

I need to get her out of here. I can’t move us physically, but I can take her mind somewhere else. Somewhere where there’s no extraction, no memory wipe, no looming separation.

My hands slide down her face to her shoulders, and then lower. “Let me take it away,” I whisper, my lips grazing the corner of her mouth as my thumb digs into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Focus on me. Fuck tomorrow.”

There’s no rushing. The world outside can burn; right now, I have an immortal lifetime of worship to pour into her mortal body.

The fabric of the tunic bunches in my fists, and she raises her arms, allowing me to strip the garment over her head, discarding it onto the tiles without a second glance, before I pull off my own. The cold air of the cell bites at my skin, and she reaches out, her cool fingers trembling as she traces the blackened, branded lines of the sigil.

Her hair tickles my chest as she leans down, pressing her lips directly against a mark.

Electricity shoots through me, a jolt of pure heat that travels straight from my ribs to my cock. She kisses the scar like it’s something precious to her, her palm flattening over my heart.

“Look at you,” I breathe, the words tangled with a dark reverence, my hands sinking deep into her plush hips. “So soft. So fucking alive.”

I lean in, burying my face against the swell of her breast, and inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of her, drowning out the antiseptic stench of the cell.

My lips caress the slope of her ribs, the soft dip of her navel, the lush wideness of her hips. My hands map every inch of her, kneading the softness of her thighs, marveling at the way her body yields under my touch. She is a feast in a land of famine, and I am starving.

Her hands leave my shoulders, drifting up, fingers threading through the hair at my temples before sliding higher. She traces the obsidian horns curling from my skull, her touch one of admiration where it should be fear.

The thin mattress groans beneath us as she moves with a determination that makes my chest ache, pulling her pants off, then climbing over me. She straddles me, her thick thighs parting to encompass me, claiming the space as her own.

The heat from her pussy presses against my straining cock through the fabric of my pants while the soft curve of her stomach brushes the hard wall of my chest.

She frames my face in her hands, looking at me like I’m the one who needs saving right now.

Fuck. Maybe I am.

The realization hits me harder than a blade between the ribs. This is it. The clock’s ticking down, seconds bleeding away into the dark, and I’m wasting them breathing when I should be devouring her.

Her gaze holds me captive, vast and devastating, as one of her hands trails down from my face. It glides over the erratic thumping of my heart, seeking the space between our bodies. I grit my teeth, my head falling back, the tips of my horns piercing into the padded wall.

“Do it,” I rasp, my hands gripping the mattress to keep from ruining her momentum. “Don't make me wait.”

Her fingers fumble with the fastening of my pants, impatient and clumsy with need. When she finally frees me, the cool air barely registers before her palm wraps around my cock. A breath hisses through my teeth. I’m already ready for her, hard as stone and leaking enough pre-come to slick her palm instantly.

She lifts her hips, lining us up perfectly, dragging the head of my cock over her soaked entrance.

Then, in one slow, devastating slide, she sinks, inch by agonizing inch, her pussy stretching to accommodate the thick length of me. I watch her face, watching the way her eyes roll back, her lips parting in a silent gasp as the metal piercing drags against her tight, wet walls.

My hands clamp onto her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh until I find bone and begin to guide her rhythm, snapping my hips up to meet her drop, grinding her against me with a force that threatens to splinter the cot beneath us.

“Use me,” I growl, the command rough with desperation. “Do it.”

My teeth graze the sensitive skin of her throat before I drop lower and capture a hardened nipple in my mouth, lashing it with my tongue, sucking greedily.

At the same time, my hand slides between our sweating bodies. My fingers find her swollen clit, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger in a merciless rhythm.

“Fuck, Eden,” I pant, fucking into her with punishing, upward strokes. “Fuck.”