A layer of sweat coats our skin, and my lungs give out as I speed up. Harder. Faster. Deeper. She takes every inch like the good little ghost she is. She’s crying out for her god yet pushing her ass back to meet me.
“I fucking hate you,” she seethes, even though her pussy is tightening around my cock with each thrust.
I chuckle deeply against her ear. “You hate me, yet you haven’t told me to stop.”
“That’s because you’ll leave me disappointed either way,” she fires back.
I grit my teeth at her words. My tail has a mind of its own, tightening around her thigh and hiking her leg up, angling her so perfectly for me to fuck her harder.
This is unlike any other time I’ve had sex. My entire body is lighting up, and I don’t want to ever stop. My eyes screw shut as her moans grow louder, and I grip her hip, holding on for dear life as she pushes back against each thrust. Our bodies collide over and over again.
Our skin slaps together; our harsh breaths and groans fill the air.
The moment her inner walls crush around my cock and her body tenses beneath me, her moans cut off and she stops breathing as her orgasm builds. Her palm slams against the window, the fingerprints sliding down as my name pours from her mouth.
She convulses in my hold, pussy soaked and strangling my cock, and a coiling sensation burns in my spine and shoots downward. My vision blurs, muscles bunching all over, and I let out a deep, guttural moan as I fill her with every single drop of my cum.
Air bursts from my lungs as I bring my mouth to her ear. “Ask me again how you look.”
“Fuck you.” She gasps.
I ignore her and let the words fall from my mouth.
“You look nice and dead and fucked.”
“You’re a piece of shit,” she fires back.
The grin pulling my lips has the words coming out as demonic as they feel. “A piece of shit who just made you come.”
My hands leave her hips. Her body is exhausted from her orgasm, and to my fucking dismay, her ghostly form vanishes from me as she falls through the window with a scream.
I wince when I hear her body hit the ground outside.
Then I remember she’s already dead and walk away.
19
Sable
There are a lot of things worse than dying. Only two come to mind as I search the corridors of the east wing: sleeping with a demon and having sex with the man who murdered me.
I should get an award for crossing both off in one go.
I’m not sure which I hate more: myself, the fact that I liked it far too much, or that I want a repeat of what we did—less the part where I fell to my re-death.
But I know which part pisses me the fuck off the most: Lynx going missing right after he came in me.
This is like a horrific one-night stand—they’d make movies about this shit. I’m killing that rat bastard the moment I find him because blaming it all on him is a far easier pill to swallow than admitting I’m embarrassed about how it ended.
I don’t know what I expected after we had sex, but I damn well knew we weren’t about to cuddle. Iknewthat, and still, like an idiot, I was disappointed when it didn’t happen.
What was I seriously thinking? That we’d sit outside and stargaze or some shit?
Dying has made me stupider.
I just—I’m not sure. I wanted it to be special. For the first guy to notice only me to show some inkling of intimacy beyond bending me over.
My boot catches on an empty beer bottle, and I kick it across the hall, glaring at the guest bedroom I pass. Where the fuck is that prick?
