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Also, it’s been proven that, when drunk, I’m a hugger.
… “Come with me,” Death says softly, as though he, too, is thinking similar thoughts. His voice is gentle, a plea; it’s so unlike him. “Untie these bindings and come to me of your own free will.” “You said you wouldn’t ask me that again,” I remind him. “I was wrong,” he says. “Come with me, Lazarus. Let me know what it is like to hold you instead of fighting you.” To hold me? What exactly does he have in mind once he captures me? Doesn’t matter, Lazarus, that fate is not for you. I lean in close to his ear. “No.” A slow, malevolent smile spreads across Death’s face, and even blindfolded, I
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He squeezes me close, and oh, I’m definitely getting some hate-fuck energy from Death.
Fuck that motherfucker.
Mate? What in the God-fearing fuck?
“Stop pretending we are normal,” he says. “We are not. There is no one like us. I cannot kill you and you cannot kill me. We’ve tried that. It hasn’t worked. So let’s try something else.” With that, he closes the last of the space between us and kisses me savagely.
His hips rock against me, and Jesus, I want to do bad, bad things to this horseman.
Death pauses, “I was wrong earlier when I said there was nothing sweeter than your smiles,” he says. “This is sweeter.”
“You have to move around,” I beg him. “Please—” “I’ll do what I want, kismet,” he murmurs against my flesh. “And you’ll endure it.” And then he’s back to devouring me.
“Must I bring down the rain and lightning or draw the roots and the dead up from the ground? Or make the earth quake and buildings fall to remind you who I am? I set my sights on you a year ago, but I haven’t fully taken you—not yet. So lay back, kismet, and let me show you what it means to be mine.”
The horseman cuts me off with a kiss, and yes, he does in fact use sex to make me feel better. And damn that bastard, but it works, too.
When a soul sees what lies beyond, when they truly remember what they are and have been this entire time—that moment is joy.”
