Page 28 of Death's Obsession

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.

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