Sworn to the Shadow God (Aspect and Anchor #2)

by Ruby Dixon

What would it be like to have a companion that one actually wanted to spend time with? That one valued the words coming from his or her mouth?

What would it be like to have a companion? A real companion? Someone that would have actual conversations with him instead of simply telling him what he wished to hear? Someone that would look at him with welcome in their eyes? Someone that would smile when he walked into the room? Someone that was a friend and lover both. Someone to ease the lonely ache in his soul.

Rhagos hungered for that. Fucking envied that. He wanted that joy. He wanted to care about something so very much that it drove him mad.

He wanted someone that would look at him as if he was more than just death. Someone who saw him.

Shit. I am really, really not doing good at this whole Chosen One thing. Is there an opposite of Chosen One? Am I the last resort? It’s starting to feel like it.

I suck in a deep breath and slowly, slowly turn around. I'm not prepared for the god of Death to be young. Or gorgeous.

I've never seen a god before. He really is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Even though he's pale, he looks…perfect.

His gaze immediately swings to me. Those green eyes look so vivid that I feel seared as he stares at me. He makes no move to greet me, or say anything at all, but he doesn't look away. In fact, he just keeps staring at me, and the look in his eyes is so hungry and full of yearning that it makes me ache.

He leans over my shoulder. "So you think I am a 'fine piece of ass'?"

“I’m not used to this. I'm sorry." I whisper the words out as he gazes on me, and again, that hot thrill of attraction shoots through my body at his presence. He's overwhelming, this guy. I've heard the phrase of someone “taking all the air out of the room” and never thought it was a thing until now. Around Rhagos, I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but…tingle. And man, am I tingling right now.

"But you like my touch?” he asks softly, and leans in so close his breath feels hot on my face. When I’m silent, he continues. “Tell me you hate it, then. Tell me you hate my touch even though I can see your nipples clearly through your dress.“

His voice is like seductive chocolate, and when his thumb moves over my lower lip again, I have to fight the urge to bite down on the tip of it. This isn’t like me. I’ve never been so viscerally attracted to someone in my life, but I can’t stop the constant mental images of me flinging myself at Rhagos. God, I want to so badly.

Instead of watching me undress, he takes my hand in his and puts it low on his stomach, just above the dark curls that frame his enormous cock. “Will you serve me now, Maxine?” Oh…god. I practically come just from hearing those words.

His lips seem to conquer mine before his tongue glides against my own, and then I’m utterly lost, my hands curling on his chest as we kiss. And kiss. And kiss. I lose all track of time. The world ceases to exist outside of his mouth, or of the feel of his body under my palms. With every slant of his mouth over mine, I’m a little more aroused, and a little bolder. I slide one hand to his cock and curl my fingers around it.

This is every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had. He’s gorgeous, his body perfect, and he loves my boldness. It’s unlike me, but I’m loving it. I’m loving touching him, tasting him, and maybe it’s time for Maxine Chavez to stop being a frightened mouse and start being a kick-ass woman who takes what she wants. And right now? I totally want this man.

Rhagos grabs my hand as I pull back, holding my wrist gently in his grip. “Will it bother you to be mine?” My breath catches in my throat.

Oh god, if I have to stay in that closet with Rhagos for months…I don’t know what I’m going to do. I picture his enormous body, the way he leaned against the bed and somehow took up the entire room, and the way he watches me. Always, always watching me. I shiver, and it’s not from fear.

Rhagos looks over at me again and for a moment, there's a flash of such loneliness and longing that it makes the breath escape my throat.

“That is my wife.”

Rhagos touches my cheek, his fingers wet and cold. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Max.”

I’m weeping as he pulls me against him in a sodden hug. “I want to live, Rhagos,” I tell him between hiccuping sobs. “I want to live. I don’t want to die here in the water. Please don’t let me die here.” He holds me close, his arm wrapped around my waist as he half-nuzzles my wet face. “I will always keep you safe, Max.” The words sound like a vow.

“She belongs to me,” Rhagos snarls. His gaze searches my face and then he returns to his seat, his body brimming with tension. “Do not look at her unless I allow it and I do not allow it.”

It takes a moment, and then I realize Rhagos isn’t just looking down at me, he’s gazing down at my mouth, his expression thoughtful. “Fuck it,” he says after a moment, and then leans down and captures my mouth in a hard, quick kiss.

It’s that hypnotic, intense stare he gives me that has to be making me respond. He looks at me…like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

“I don’t like you.” He lifts his fingers and crosses them. “I’m not haunted by you every moment that I’m here.”

He looks down at me with that intense gaze that makes me feel…all kinds of things. He’s so, so confusing to my heart.

A wave of longing sweeps through me. I want to be able to trust him more than anything. When he gives me those caressing, intense looks…I want to believe.

“What will you give me?” “Um…gratitude?” I try not to frown too hard at him. “What do you want?” “Not a kiss,” he says quietly. “Not freely given.”

Of all the things I expected Rhagos to ask for, something as simple as a kiss wasn’t on my radar. But…of course he wants a kiss. It’s in every smoldering look he casts in my direction. It’s in the hot, intense yearning I feel building between us. It’s every stroke of his fingers on my face, every touch to my waist that lingers a bit too long.

Maybe I’m saving him as much as he’s saving me.

He shrugs, and then holds his hand out. “Can I comb your hair?”

“So you’re a patient type, then?” I ask him. I’m pretty sure I know the answer. “I can be, if it is not worth waiting for.” He picks up a section of my hair, his fingers brushing against my neck. “If it is something I want, I will not wait forever. I will not bide my time.”

“What is there to understand?” His hand skims lower, clenching tight around my butt as he drags me into his lap. A moment later, I’m straddling him on the bed, the gown rucked up around my thighs, and he’s so close that our noses brush. I’m panting with excitement, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against the apex of my thighs. “Does this tell you everything you need to know?”

“Remember when you touched me before, Max? I don’t.” His lips dip over mine again in a tease. “I don’t think about it all the time. It doesn’t haunt me every night.” Another quick, teasing brush of lips between words. “I didn’t like it at all.”

I’m sprawled in the lap of the god of death, and I’m not even mad about it. I want to keep going. I want him to lay me back in this bed and kiss me all over. I want him to make me squirm with so much need that I’m coming off the blankets.

“What do you want?” He steps closer to me. Rhagos leans in, and touches my back even as he whispers in my ear. “Not more than a kiss.” I tremble, my imagination on fire. “How much more?” I whisper. “I don’t want to make you come.”

I like that when he touches me, I lose my damn mind.

“Do you want to keep going? I will not carry you.”

He grins, and some of my tiredness eases away at his smile. Gosh, but he’s handsome when he smiles. He doesn’t look like a dark, forbidding god of death when he does. When that too-large mouth curves up, he looks young and boyish.

“Shall I keep touching you?” His tongue flicks against my collarbone. “Shall I make you come?”

I gasp an answer. It might be a yes. It might be a ‘ohgodyes.” There’s no terror in me, though. No fear of this man. I only want what pleasure he can provide. He’s not the god of death, or an Aspect of the gods—he’s Rhagos, and he’s my lover.

Rhagos groans, and then his arms tighten around me and he pulls me down against him once more, our mouths slamming together. This kiss is a frantic one, full of hunger and need and so much longing that I’m panting even as I try to devour him. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want him right now.

“Tell me that you’re mine,” he growls at me even as he grabs my thigh and drags my leg around his hip. “Tell me.” “Yours,” I pant, aching. “I’m yours, Rhagos.”

Then, when he’s close to the juncture of my thighs, he palms my opposite leg with a big hand, framing my pussy—his face on one leg and his hand on the other. “Max,” he murmurs, and then moves his hand, brushing his thumb up the seam of my heat.

“Tell me to taste you again,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my skin. “Tell me to take another long lick of this sweet-tasting pussy. Tell me you want me to keep licking you because it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Hold onto me,” he growls.

“Look at me when I make you come, Max.”

I…wonder if anyone’s ever told him that before. My heart squeezes, and I feel bad for my lonely death god. Maybe he wasn’t sent down here because he was doing a shitty job. Maybe he was sent down here so he could have a friend. That makes my heart hurt.

Has no one ever touched this man just because he deserves to be caressed, too? He’s breaking my damn heart.

He’s huge and hot, scorching my hand through the fabric of his clothing. I want to peel them off of him and get a good look at him like this. Just drink him in. Get dizzy with how hard and aching he is for me.