Page 189 of Famine
“You being inside me is sort of contingent upon that.” Probably should’ve discussed this the first time we were intimate. “Understood?”
His hand comes between us and squeezes a tit. “Understood.”
He grinds into me, and that answer is going to have to do because holy shit, this man knows what he’s doing.
He should not be good at this too; this ismyprofession, not his. Which I know is completely ridiculous because Famine is making me feel fucking amazing and I should not be complaining, but the man with the perfect body and the perfect penis is really good at using both.
He must read my thoughts from my face because he says, “You’ve had all this practice pleasing people and no practice being pleased.”
I give him a look. “There’s no way you’veeverpleased anyone besides yourself before now.”
He gives me a revealing smile. “Alright, you caught me. But—” He begins to piston in and out, in and out, drinking in my expression with heavily lidded eyes, “am I not a quick study, little flower?”
I don’t bother answering him. Those wicked lips of his have taunted me for weeks and weeks. I wrap an arm around his neck and pull him in close, kissing him as our hips meet again and again.
He pulls us away from the wall and, never fully withdrawing from me, moves us down to the ground.
Famine stares down at me as his thrusts begin to speed up, his hips slamming against mine as his cock drives deeper and deeper. He flashes me a wolfish grin, his caramel-colored hair dangling down.
“What?” I ask.
The horseman shakes his head. “You are so fucking gorgeous, and I like this look on you.”
As he speaks, sensation is building in me, rising and rising.
“What look?” My voice has gone annoyingly low and breathy.
“Tousled hair, swollen lips, and bright eyes,” he says, devouring my expression as his cock continues to stroke me, faster and faster.
“You like the way I look all sexed up,” I say, a smile spreading across my face.
He stares at my lips, transfixed, and almost as though he can’t help it, he begins to smile back.
I reach up and cup his face in my hands, staring at him as he works me. His hair is caught in my fingers and his sweat is already beginning to mingle with mine, and amidst it all, I feel a deep connection with Famine.
“I love you,” I say. I can’t help myself. And I need him to hear it over and over again until he fully stops hating himself. And even then I’ll say it because those words feel like basking in sunlight.
The Reaper pauses, and I make a sad, disappointed little sound.
He grins back at me. “So impatient.”
Around us, I hear tile crack. The floor shifts, and I feel the brush of a plant. It brushes against my hair even as I hear more tiles around us crack, lifting up and sliding aside as more shoots push through.
And this is the part of Famine that I might just love most. He will always be inhuman, and do weird, inhuman shit—like growplantswhile he’s inside me.
Leaning in, the horseman kisses me, while around us the foliage continues to grow. His kiss deepens, and I am consumed by the sensation of Famine in me and above me and around me and—
All at once, my climax crashes through me. I cry out into the Reaper’s mouth, pulling him in close as I ride out my orgasm.
He strokes me deeper and deeper, faster and faster, his balls slapping against me until I feel him thicken.
Famine groans against my lips as he comes inside me.
Eventually, his thrusts slow, turning gentle. The horseman rests his head against mine for a moment, his breathing ragged. I can tell he wants to say something about how amazing sex with me is (because let’s face it, my pussy is a man-slayer), but I’m not sure he trusts himself enough yet to do so.
Instead, he says, “I love you.”
And that is far, far better.
