Page 71 of Living with Death

I hear something behind me. A rat runs against the wall, its long, skinny tail trailing behind. I grip the sheet, walking back into the hall.

“Mabel,” I hear a whisper in the darkness back toward the stairway.

“Where are you?”

A low chuckle. I move down the hall, taking the steps to the first floor and pausing when I hear the faint sound of music drifting from somewhere.

Or is it my imagination? I put my wine glass down, holding the silk sheet, moving my hair behind my ear, following the sound. A piano?

I turn the corner.

My eyes dance over the ballroom to the old piano and the candelabras spread throughout the space. Moving across the room, I press the keys on the piano before sitting on the bench, lifting the sheet to keep it off the floor.

But I still hear the faint sound of music.

I turn when a flash of something catches my eye.

“Azrael?”

It does so again but on the opposite side.

I swallow, searching the room. Coldness seeps into my bones. Sunlight begins to filter in from the windows at the top of the walls.

“I know you’re in here. I can feel you.”

Dust particles float in the soft light, and I watch the shadows move as the energy around me changes. It grows thicker, and my heart begins to beat faster.

I startle when a fire ignites in the fireplace, and each candle flickers to life, casing the room a warm glimmer.

I can feel his eyes on me, smell his scent lingering. I close my eyes as a brush of breath sweeps over my skin, causing goosebumps.

My hair is moved to the side, exposing my neck. Lips touch me. I step out of my boots, turning around on the bench, but he isn't there when I open my eyes.

“Azrael,” I breathe as a combination of fear and excitement courses through my veins.

I stand, gasping as the sheet pulls away from my body. Something touches my stomach, sweeping down between my legs. A coolness strokes over me. I shiver. And then I feel the wetness of Azrael’s tongue between my legs. I hold on to the piano, my head falling back as he keeps licking, swirling.

“Oh my God,” I moan.

I look down. The sensation is so erotic, seeing nothing there–– I can only feel. Pushing me back onto the bench, Azrael spreads my legs. I hit the keys, and the sound ricochets throughout the ballroom. I don’t feel any other part of him besides his tongue slipping against me.

I pant and hold on to the bench. My eyes close, and my chest burns as I grip my breast. Azrael keeps dragging his tongue, sucking with his mouth over and over. I picture his body between mine, his hand around my throat as he whispers dirty words into my ear. I think of how he looks at me, and as he swirls his tongue, applying pressure, repeating the motion, I clutch the wooden bench, my orgasm rushing through my body.

On his knees, he appears before me, darkness whirling around him.

I feel the rough floor beneath my feet and the fire's warmth against my skin. The bench is cold, and the ripped fabric is scratchy.

I exhale, and he smiles at me.

Cocky bastard.

He grabs the sheet and hands it to me.

“I didn’t write that on the bucket list, but damn, I should have.”

He laughs. I turn around and put my feet back into my boots. He reaches for my hand, and I stand.

“The car will be waiting on us.”

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