Chapter 14 #2
She moves across the room cautiously, as if I were a snake that might strike at any moment. Even in her misery, she is more beautiful than any goddess I’ve ever known; even Aphrodite couldn’t hold a candle to her.
So she’s right. I would eat her alive until I’ve had my fill—my eyes fall upon her bare legs as she tosses clothes from her gamer chair onto her bed, and I bite back a growl that forces its way up my throat.
“Sit.” She gestures to the red-and-black seat.
At her whim, I cross the room, remove my jacket, and stuff myself into the tiny thing while she sits across from me on her bed.
“So, where should I begin?” I ask.
She inhales a deep breath before releasing it. “Well, I want to know everything, but I think we should start with what you are, and more importantly, why you can hear my thoughts?”
“Mackenzie, I’ve never lied to you,” I say, leaning forward to take her delicate chin between my fingers, before tipping her face so her eyes meet my gaze. “From the start, I told you who…or rather what I am.”
“So, you meant it when you said you’re Death?”
I nod. “Yes, I am the God of Death—souls pass through me to enter the Underworld. Even as I sit here now.”
“Somehow, I knew you were telling the truth. I think I just didn’t want to believe it.” She sighs, tugging her face away.
“When did you make up your mind?” I ask.
In the next moment, she’s straddling my lap, her skin damp against mine, her breath catching in little gasps as if she’s drowning in me. I should be in control, I’m ALWAYS in control, but with her, my body forgets how to be.
She is in control; she has the power.
The second her fingers tangle in my hair, and her lips fall on mine, I feel it—I wasn’t sure before, but now I know.
The torrent that’s always there. The press of every soul clawing at me. The endless, deafening chorus of the dying—somehow, they’re almost silent.
Her body tenses, her nails bite into me, and I know she’s the one who’s doing it.
I see it in her eyes—they’re too wide, too all-knowing. She’s inside the storm I’ve lived with since the beginning of time—the weight that has hollowed me out, the noise that has never once gone quiet.
“No…” My voice is rough, breaking. I try to pull back, to push her away, but she clings tighter. “You shouldn’t—this isn’t—”
“It’s okay,” she whispers, and there’s nothing fragile in it. Her words are steady, with an iron-clad grace that’s more than stubbornness—it’s resolve. “I don’t mind sharing your pain.”
Those simple words crack me wide open, and my chest burns. I have taken kings, queens, armies, civilizations, but this—this woman—brings me to my knees with a single sentence.
“You don’t understand,” I rasp. “It never ends. It never stops.”
She presses a kiss to my forehead. “No tengas miedo, aqui estas salvo.” Her palm cups my cheek as she pulls back, her gaze locking on mine. “Let me in. Let me feel it with you. You’ve carried it alone for far too long. I can see that.”
“What…are you, ma belle ame?”
She kisses me again, and it sets my hollowed heart aflame—her soul presses against me, a shield and a sanctuary—and I realize in this moment she’s the only one that can conquer me.
The silence wraps around me like something sacred. And for a moment, I forget I’m the God of Death. For a moment, I am just a man who has found the only person who can bear his burden without breaking.
And it terrifies me. And it saves me. And it pulls me under. There has never been another in all of my existence who has been able to quiet the agony, not even Monroe.
She pulls out of our kiss, slipping between my thighs and falling onto her knees in front of me.
“Belle ame, what are you do—”
“Shhh.” She quiets me as her delicate fingers work my belt buckle open before she frees my cock. “I just want to see if you can feel it too.”
“Feel wh—” My words get caught in my throat, and my head pounds as if it might explode. Her warm tongue circles my tip, gathering the glistening precum that blossoms on it.
“Shit.” I manage to grit out the word just before she takes me into the warmth of her mouth, her fist wrapping around my shaft, twisting with slow, deliberate strokes. Her head begins to bob, gradually building a rhythm—up and down, until I feel the soft flesh of her throat around me.
She hums, a sound that reverberates through me, sending jolts of electricity spiraling down to the base of my spine—her lips, slick and glistening, feel like heaven around me.
“Fuck, you’re a vision like this,” I growl, my hand finding her ponytail, gripping it tight as I tilt my head to admire her work from a different angle. “Look at me, goddess,” I groan, my voice barely recognizable.
Her eyes flutter upward, meeting mine just as she takes me fully, deeply, and I’m swallowed whole. I feel her throat constrict so hard I almost see every star of the Underworld.
The world fades away, and the sounds of the departing souls are nothing but a distant whisper as if somewhere between life and death our bodies learn to let those barren souls flow somewhere they can’t reach us, only a place where we exist. And all at once I need more.
I need to be closer.
I need to be inside her.
She inhales deeply through her nose, releasing a soft hum as if savoring my taste, her dark, heated gaze burrowing under my skin—I can hear everything she’s thinking, her thoughts so loud I can taste them.
‘I want to be with you,’ her soul whispers, without a single word passing her lips. ‘I want you.’
SHIT.
I’m teetering on the edge, and there’s no coming back—her truth is the spark my cold, dead heart needs to beat again. My release crashes over me like a storm, a torrent of emotions—I almost feel alive, my heart pounding for her. Only her.
“Gods, Mackenzie, fuckkk,” I drag out.
I’m going to put her through the godsdamn mattress.
My hand clamps around her wrist, giving her no time to swallow before I sweep her off the ground, lifting her against me. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I can feel the heat of her, pressing against me—ready, needy.
“Swallow,” I command, my thumb brushing her lips. I watch as her throat works, obeying my order. “That’s a good girl.” A shiver runs through her, eyes locked onto mine.
“You taste…”
“Like ambrosia,” I murmur, my fingers tracing up her spine, finding the nape of her neck, and tugging her into a fierce kiss. I taste myself on her lips, her tongue dancing with mine as I lay her down on the bed. As much as I want to feel her wrapped around me, I need something else more.
She watches me, curiosity burning in her eyes, as I roll the chair to the edge of the bed, positioning it between her spread legs. I take a seat, ready for the show she’s about to give me.
Because godsdammit I want it…I need it.
Pulling my knife from my pocket, I flick it open, the blade gleaming in the dim light as I palm my cock.
I slide the sharp tip between her left hip and her flimsy lace panties, the fabric parting with ease.
I make quick work of the other side before slicing through that damn T-shirt, the cotton falling away to reveal her bare breasts.
She’s wide-eyed and breathless, glistening so pretty, her scent filling the air, intoxicating and sweet.
“Show me, Mackenzie,” I demand. I flick my blade closed and open again as I begin to stroke myself slowly.
“Show me how bad you want this. Play with that sweet little pussy for me.” Her hand drifts down her body, hesitating briefly over her stomach—the skull-shaped piercing in her belly button rising and falling with her nervous breath—but her eyes remain glued to my blade.
With a flick of my wrist, I snap the knife open again, the metal catching the light. “You’re more interested in my knife than me. You like what you see?” I ask, a smirk playing on my lips.
She blinks, her hand pausing. “Daxton, I—”
“Have I ever shown you how I clean my scythe?” I interject, cutting off the lie perched on the tip of her tongue.
She shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the blade. Of course I haven’t, but this is where things get…interesting. “Do you want to see?” I ask, my voice low, dangerous.
She nods, her eyes wide with anticipation.
“Then play, make a filthy mess of yourself while I show you, and then maybe if you’re a good little slut for me, I’ll give you exactly what you want.”
“Daxton…” Her voice trembles on the edge of a lie as I tilt my head, that familiar crooked grin tugging at my lips.
My right hand slides over the slick length of my cock.
And I watch her, waiting for the deception to slip through her lips, but it melts from her mind as she decides to swallow it back.
I’ve already caught the thought that whispered so quietly in the back of her mind she assumed it would slip past me. But how could it?
Her mouth snaps shut. Fingers find her swollen clit, rubbing in small, urgent circles. A soft whimper escapes her parted lips.
“That’s it, goddess. You’re so fucking perfect.” I rumble low in my chest, my eyes tracing each tremor that ripples across her skin. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me.”
Matching her pace, I grip my cock tighter as heat coils in my other palm.
It starts slow, like embers glowing beneath ash, then surges with a hungry pulse.
Flames flicker along the length of the blade, molten veins of light dancing over her flushed collarbones.
Her pupils dilate as she trails her gaze from my hollow eyes to the inferno dancing on steel.
She speeds her fingers, two plunging inside her as the blade hisses and crackles, the room filling with the wet, rhythmic sound of her need.
My dark form—a monstrous appearance that all gods of the Underworld are cursed with, each unique as the god that bears it—is evident, bone showing where flesh once was.