“Please,” I beg.
He tenses but doesn’t let go. The silence makes me wild with need. I need his hard length to sit heavy in my hands or hit the back of my throat until I see stars. I need to be filled by him so thoroughly that there will be no room in my mind for anything other than him. I need to feel alive. He doesn’t even need to let go of me. There doesn’t need to be a breath of space between us for him to bury himself in me.
What would Dahlia say if she knew that I’m begging Death himself to fuck me hours after he took Evan’s soul? Regardless of what she might think, I can’t bring myself to care. Nothing else matters but Letum and I.
“Please,” I whimper.
A warning growl thunders low in his throat. “Fuck, Lilith. You don’t understand, do you?”
Liquid fire douses my skin and I writhe beneath him, my arousal hot in the air and the space between us is heavy with our aching needs. “What?” I gasp.
If he knew the state of what is happening between my legs, I’m sure there would be no more talking going on between us. This is one of the few chances I have to get to know him, and all I want is to feel him inside of me. What does that say of me?
He slams his lips to mine and devours me in an earth shattering kiss. Still, his hands stay wrapped around my waist. “You command me. Not just my heart—all of me.”
I drag my teeth down his lip before he gets the chance to break the kiss. “Please, Letum. I just want to feel.”
Before I can blink, his weight is on top of me and his fingers disappear down to my aching core. “Fuck,” he snarls, pushing his fingers through my heat. “You’re so wet for me, my love.”
I watch with bated breath as he pulls away from my center and brings his hand into the space between us. Light glistens off his wet fingers and he grumbles in approval as he tastes me once again. “Yes,” he says, low and heated. “You are my favorite thing to eat.”
Oh god.
“Don’t stop,” I beg.
He devours me in another kiss, the taste of me still sweet on his tongue. Strong fingers delicately strum my clit like he already knows how to make me sing. He swallows my cry and balances himself on an elbow before gripping my throat possessively.
“My love,” he says breathlessly. “You’re fucking magnificent when you use your words. Do you know what happens when you’re good?”
I try to stop myself from closing my eyes and lose myself in the feeling as he circles my clit with expert precision and I almost forget how empty I feel without him inside me. “What—”
I gasp when his fingers curl inside of me, hitting the right spot instantly. “You get rewarded.”
Thick fingers pump in and out of me, not stretching me as much as he did last week, but no less euphoric. I arch my back to his touch as his hand squeezes around my throat, slowly stealing even more of my breath and quieting my moans. Would it be wrong to ask if his shadow can join?
Little by little, oxygen becomes a commodity rather than a necessity, burning my lungs with pleasurable heat.
“Do you want to come?”
I nod my head as much as his grip allows it, pushing my thighs further apart to take even more of him. My eyelids drift shut of their own accord as my body becomes as light as air.
“You know what you need to use.”
My words.
“I want to come.” The words are barely a whisper, but the gasp of a woman about to die in bliss.
His pumps become more brutal, hitting the spot that makes stars explode. “Then come alive for me.”
His thumb swirls the spot that is dying for friction. Every morsel of my being fractures and collapses as my orgasm tears through me. Air rushes into me like wildfire as I gasp hungrily for breath, attempting to ride out the climax when he doesn’t relent with his assault.
I scream and curse, begging him to stop as electricity sparks through my system like a livewire. Just when I think I can breathe again, he drops to his stomach between my thighs and laps up the mess that I made.
He pulls my clit between his teeth and plunges his fingers back inside of me.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I chant as my body and mind fails to comprehend a single thing.
Oh god, he’s going to kill me if he doesn’t stop.
I buckle and try to reach beneath Letum’s hood to grab onto his hair, but he stops me in a death grip, holding me down as he licks me clean. The sounds of his approval and lust vibrate through my sensitive core, forcing another sky splitting scream.
He removes his fingers and settles his weight on top of me, rubbing the remnants of my desire along my lips.
“Taste what I taste,” he orders.
I’m too delirious to do anything but comply, flicking my tongue out and licking myself clean off his fingers. Then I notice a gold band around his finger, the same thickness and inscription as the one he’s given me, even wearing it on the same finger.
“You are mine, Lilith. You belong to me.”
Chapter nine
Lilith
It has been three days since Letum took Evan. During that time, his parents managed to throw together a funeral, and I have barely left my bed. Until now. Where death hangs in the air of the church, but not my Death.
Guilt strapped me to the sheets. Not for what I’m meant to be guilty about. Evan’s blood is on my hands. I live, and he doesn’t.
What would have happened if I didn’t sit in the middle seat of the car that night? What if I had sat behind the driver’s seat like I usually do? It was out of character for me to sit in the middle seat because I hated how hard the cushioning always was. I always thought I saw too much when I sat in the middle. For some reason, that night, out of all the nights, I had the urge to sit in the middle.
The voice in the back of my head says that it was fate. So that I could meet Letum. But I’m not sure if that voice is only saying it because I haven’t had a single pill since Evan died.
My mom used to say that it was fate that I got a job before I even graduated. She said that it was fate when she was diagnosed with stage four bowel cancer a month after my father died from it. She’d say that fate was good to her and gave her twins so that Dahlia and I would never be alone.
Fuck fate. I want to spit and rage at how unfair it all is.
I wonder if the obsidian-haired girl thinks that it's fate that she found a man only to lose him. I overheard her tell Carol, Evan’s mom, that she was close with her son. Olivia, she called herself. They sobbed into each other’s arms like old friends. The obsidian-haired woman—Olivia—isn’t wearing a blue cardigan this time, but a tight fitted black dress. Evan would have loved that dress.
I watch her from my spot next to the bathroom door. People file in and offer their condolences, all while she stands next to the family like she’s the one who held the title of ‘the girlfriend’. As far as I know, maybe she did to everyone else but me and Evan’s parents.
Does standing where I should be standing help her grieve? She hasn’t had the months that I’ve had to mourn him, so I’m sure the only thing to call myself is lucky. And cursed.
Some people nod at me, some give me the same pitiful look that I haven’t stopped seeing since the accident. When Nate looks at me, guilt isn’t hidden underneath the pity; it’s only pity this time. He knew what Evan was doing and didn’t tell me. He heard Evan call me crazy. Look at where we are now.
The rest of Evan’s flatmates file in behind Nate. They all knew, and they said nothing. Each one of their backs straightens or tenses when they see Olivia with the family, and me alone in the corner. They smile meekly at me before rushing to take their place inside the church Evan had no faith in.
No one has mentioned the elephant in the room: that he died of an overdose. Every third person would say something along the lines of how he was so filled with life and that he was such an exemplary young man.