Page 59 of How I Met Your Murderer

“It’s not just ‘my big plan,’” I protested when I realized I hadn’t responded. Really smooth, just staring at his mouth like that. Then I relented: “Okay, it sort of is. DMing is a lot of responsibility.”

“You’re delighted with yourself,” Raff said, his eyes dancing like he was thrilled with me, too. He traced the side of my face with a few fingers while his other hand snuck under my shirt, settling against my back like the cold no longer stung him. “You’ve already got the whole world written in your head, don’t you?”

“Worlds,” I corrected, turning my head slightly to kiss his fingertips. I couldn’t help it. I loved the way he looked at me, the way he touched me like it was something sacred. “Plural.”

He chuckled, low and knowing, the sound rubbing along my spine. Traveling to other places, too, a little jolt waking my cock when he started tracing my lips with one finger. “Right. Sorry, several worlds. So, we’ve your character—”

“My tragic ghost bard NPC,” I said with a grin, catching Raff’s finger between my teeth for just a second and feeling him shift a little beneath me in response. “Who does his best writing in dungeons and is absolutely not just me with better hair.”

“And my lad,” Raff said with a touch of pride and a bit of breathiness. “Half-elf ranger, bit of a mess, from ‘a suspiciously familiar coastal village.’”

“You named it ‘South Kerry But Fantasy,’” I reminded him, leaning in to kiss his neck. What can I say? Dungeons and Dragons kind of did it for me, and so did Raff. “Subtle.”

Raff was definitely picking up on a few things, because he kept rambling about the game while I made out with his neck like he knew this was going places. “And then we’ve got Jordy’s dwarf paladin and Basil’s tiefling sorcerer with the wild magic . . . what’re their names again?”

His breathing hitched, and he shifted beneath me again as I gently rolled my hips against his. I almost felt like I was actually getting hard for once, and if the cosmos had decided that was possible as we were edging toward Halloween, I wanted to see how far I could take it. If I could be the partner I wanted to be for him.

“We’ll have to check their character sheets,” I said as I sank my fingers into his hair and pulled just enough to expose more of his throat for kissing. “And then of course there’s Síofra’s wood elf druid, assuming she doesn’t drip melting skin all over the dice or something. I think the party should be pretty balanced . . .”

Even I was losing track of what was being said by now, and I was doing the talking.

Especially when Raff gave me a crooked smile as his fingers trailed up my side. “You’re in charge of D&D, so I trust you, boss.”

The word did something embarrassing to me. Something that made me think—as I often did lately—about number ten on my list. The one I’d written vaguely, the one that meant more than I could ever say.

Raff hadn’t mentioned it since we started working on the others. Hadn’t given me any curious looks, hadn’t asked me any vaguely prying questions. He just respected the boundary without a second thought, confirming exactly what I wanted and who with.

Number 10: I’d always wanted to bottom for someone. Not just anyone, though. Someone I trusted completely. Someone who saw me, and made me feel safe enough to let go. Someone I was sure I could invite in without regret.

And right now, that someone was calling me “a stór” under his breath and running his fingertips through my hair, over my face. I don’t think he realized that I’d picked up a little Irish here and there, given where I’d died. He was calling me his treasure.

As our eyes locked, it hit me like gravity. Like something I’d been orbiting for weeks: desire. And finally, for the second time in mere days after years of stagnant death where I couldn’t get my body to answer me that way anymore—I was fully aroused, my jeans too tight and my mouth too dry.

He was just as hard beneath me, legs splayed open, wanting. And I wanted to give him everything. Not all at once, not right away, but I was ready to work up to it. Having a body that would enjoy every moment of his pleasure just made it even sweeter.

I leaned in close enough that Raff’s breath brushed my cheek, close enough that his fingers tightened a little where he had caught my hips and held them. I lowered my voice, quiet and deliberate, wanting Raff to feel my meaning as much as hear it. “You remember . . . how you used to watch me?”

Raff went still beneath me. Not pulling away, just arrested by my words. Breath held and heart hammering.

He knew exactly what I meant, then: my old gaming videos. I’d thought about it, too. Raff with the cutest wavy bedhead, sweatpants pooled around his ankles, working himself over in a tight fist while his eyes were locked on a screen filled with my face. I’d imagined the moment his breath caught, the way his orgasm tore through all that muscle, beauty in motion. Imagined the drips of sweat and cum beading down his stomach, sweet curves and soft hair a glorious mess. All because of me.

I let the silence stretch, the tension thrumming between us like a plucked string before I continued: “How much you liked it.” Softer still, trailing my fingers down his stomach until they rested lightly over his erection, I added, “What it did to you.”

His answering swallow was audible, his hands flexing on my hips as he nodded.

I brushed my nose against his cheek, my voice a whisper meant for no one else, living or dead, in any world. “Tell me, a stór—do you want the real thing?”

Raff’s wide, stunned eyes swiftly darkened with hunger, like he was looking at something he’d wanted for so long that he had stopped believing it could be real.

He trembled beneath me, trying so hard to be good, to take this at my pace. And for once, I wasn’t overwhelmed by the thought of what I wanted to happen here tonight. I was steady, grounded in my body—or the memory of it—in a way I hadn’t been since I died.

I cupped Raff’s jaw, thumb brushing the heat blooming in his cheek. “Hey,” I murmured, “look at me. I want you to keep looking at me. I love it. And you love it, you know you do. Tell me, do you want to watch me while I watch you?”

As Raff’s breath caught, a tiny sound he couldn’t swallow, my mouth curved. Not cocky, just knowing. Because I was feeling it, too.

Raff’s hands slid up my back beneath my shirt, his fingers trembling, his body straining toward mine like gravity being rewritten. Then he nodded once, sharp and desperate, because words had clearly abandoned him.

I came in for a kiss, sucking his bottom lip until he was squirming, then leaned back to tug my shirt up over my head. I let it drop to the parlor floor and twisted slightly to put my tattoo on full display for him: a bright purple D20, a dice with a halo over it. Not exactly a pun about death, because beneath it were the words, “Chaotic Good Boy.”