Making Love To Death (One Night With Death)

by Kristen, Natalie

  “You look so beautiful, baby,” Brett murmured, as he drove his cock into her.

  Death flicked his eyes to Emma's face. She was beautiful, lying there with her wavy, brown hair fanned out around her face. She was so fucking beautiful. Death closed his eyes, feeling his world constrict painfully as he heard her sigh, “And you feel so good, Brett. So damn good.”

  It hurt him, almost killed him to hear her say that. He had made her come so good that night. It had been her first time—and it sure hadn't been her last. She'd had many men since, and it had driven him almost out of his mind. To see other men take her luscious body, and claim her and make her come. The sight of other men's hands, lips and tongues on her quivering body gutted him, inflamed him so much he wanted to rip their eyes, tongues and hearts right out of their lascivious, devious bodies. How dare they touch and taste her that way, and make her want them so. How dare they take what was his!

  But he had reigned in his insane jealousy and maddening rage. He could tolerate them, as long as they didn't stay. And they never did. Emma went through men like clothes. What was in fashion this season would be out by the next. More funky, edgy, daring styles were always making their debut, and Emma's taste and style never stayed stagnant.

  But this time, Emma seemed to be lagging behind and falling out of fashion—and into love. Brett had stayed past two seasons, and it didn't look like he was on his way out. She should have dumped him by now, but he was still in. And he was still in her.

  Sickening bastard.

  What did she see in him?

  There was everything to hate about him. He was rich, handsome, successful, divorced, and he worked in the same firm as Emma. They saw each other every freaking day! And too many nights.

  This guy had got to go.

  And Death would take care of that.

  Brett was now cradling Emma's face in his hands as he continued fucking her, but he was taking her gently and slowly now. Death almost couldn't bear to watch them. Their love-making looked almost sweet and tender, completely different from those past wild, lust-filled exploits that he had witnessed in her bedroom. Emma had her arms wrapped around his neck, and she raked her fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair as she pushed her hips up to meet his thrusts.

  “Oh, Brett,” she panted, grinding more urgently against him.

  “Emma,” he whispered. “Emma, I love you.”

  She gasped and stared up into his eyes. But her reply was wrenched away by her climax and she only threw back her head to scream his name as she came.

  Brett doubled his efforts, driving himself deep and hard into her. But he wasn't giving up. As she quivered in his arms, he persisted, “Move in with me, Emma.”

  His words smashed into Death like a sledgehammer. This guy was even more cunning and manipulative than he had given him credit for. He was making his moves on Emma, while his cock was still twitching and moving inside her. Emma was spread wide open beneath him, pinned down, exposed and completely bared to him. And—for the first time, Death noticed that the bastard wasn't wearing a condom.

  He was planning to shoot his cum straight into Emma's womb.

  Just like Death had done. Death had been the first and only man to spill his seed into Emma. All her subsequent lovers had worn protection.

  Jealousy, wrath, crushing agony—every tormented, excruciating, ripping emotion speared through Death and detonated in his mind like a million bombs. In that explosive instant, he simply lost it. He lost everything, his mind, his senses, his heart.

  He had been perched at the edge of the penthouse window as a sleek, black raven but now he reverted to his full, human form. The black feathers swirled into a hooded cloak, and his muscular form took shape under the flowing cloak as he smashed through the glass windows and into the bedroom.

  Emma screamed.

  Brett jerked up, the bliss on his face congealing into horror. He had been on the brink of releasing his sperm into Emma when his window had shattered with a blood-curdling roar and a shadow had swooped into his bedroom. The shadow reared up into a tall, cloaked figure, and under the hood, blue eyes burnt like intense flames.

  “What the—” Brett shouted, pushing himself up to confront the intruder. Death saw that Brett's penis was shrinking as rapidly as his panic was rising. “Who are you? How did you...” Brett glanced at the skyline as seen from his twenty-seventh floor apartment that was now framed by his shattered window. “I...I'm calling security and you'll be in so much trouble, young man. Pulling a stunt like that.” Brett grabbed his trousers from a chair and fumbled around the pockets for his phone while trying to step into those trousers at the same time. He failed at both tasks. “You'll be charged with trespass, assault, outrage of modesty...”

  Death cut his ice-blue eyes to Emma. She had scrambled out of bed and had managed to grab Brett's crumpled white shirt off the floor and thrown it on. She looked incredibly sexy in that long shirt with her hair tumbling over her shoulders. Death felt desire flare in him, but seeing her in Brett's shirt and smelling his scent all over her was like a knife twisting in his gut. Her face was still flushed from her recent orgasm, the orgasm that this cowering bastard had given her.

  Death took a step towards Brett and wrenched the phone from his trembling hands. Brett stared up into his hood, and met his cold, furious eyes. Brett's eyes widened as he backed away. “Wh-what are you?”

  Death smirked and lowered his hood. His blond hair was tousled and shone unnaturally bright in the dim bedroom. He knew he looked younger than Brett, even though he was older, eons older. He was ageless, timeless and merciless. And to those who had the fortune, or misfortune, of staring him in the face, he looked indescribably beautiful.

  “I am Death.”

  Brett seemed to have been struck speechless by his reply. He simply opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, gulping and making small, incoherent noises at the back of his throat.

  Brett shook his head wordlessly as Death advanced towards him. His gaze was becoming unfocused and teary. Silently, Death raised his hand high above him, throwing a long, dark shadow across the room.

  “No!” Emma screamed at him, and Death looked up to meet her eyes at the very instant that he struck the fatal blow.

  Brett crumpled to the floor, like a puppet with his strings cut. Death still had his arm raised, like the puppeteer holding the severed strings and waving them inanely above the fallen subject.

  “No!”

  Emma came flying at him, shoving him forcefully away and gathering Brett's lifeless, naked body in her arms. But it was too late. The deed was done.

  She turned her tear-streaked face to him at last, and the raw hate in her eyes made him stagger back. “You!” she said in a fierce, ragged whisper. “Why? Why have you come back? Why? Just who do you think you are? And no.” She held up a hand. “Please don't lie to me. Don't tell me you were just doing your job. I know. It wasn't his time. Brett was fit and healthy. He wasn't on any medication. His heart was fine. He didn't just have a heart-attack while having sex with me. You...you killed him. You killed him!” she spat.

  “Emma, it's not...that wasn't meant...” He couldn't face her. “I—I...”

  “Get out! Get the fuck out of here! Leave me alone, and don't come back! Ever!”

  “Emma...”

  “I said get out! You've been gone for so long, so why come back now? Just go! And stay away...far, far away from me.” She collapsed into sobs.

  Death stared at the back of her head. It would have been better if she had slapped him, hit him, clawed his eyeballs out. Instead she had simply turned away. She had turned away completely, and perhaps forever, from him, and buried her face in Brett's chest, pressing her wet cheek against a still warm but unbeating heart. He wanted so much to stroke her long hair, brush the tears from her face and hold her tight in his arms. He hated to see her like this, on her knees, crying. But he knew that this time, he was the one who had caused her pain. She was right. It wasn't his job. He had taken Brett's l
ife because...because he loved her.

  Silently, he backed towards the broken window.

  What had he done? What had he become?

  He used to be Death.

  But now he was worse than death. He had become a monster, a demon. Someone dangerous to Emma.

  With one last look at Emma and the tears that she had shed glistening on the dead man's chest, he turned and dived out the window into the night.

  Chapter Five

  Emma read and re-read some of the old emails that Brett had sent her. He used to send her emails on matters ostensibly related to work, but he was good with words and beneath the official tone of his emails, there was always a subtle sexual innuendo. It had been their little secret. No one in the office knew that they were sleeping together.

  One by one she deleted his emails. She had mourned him and missed him, but he was gone and he wasn't coming back. It had been five months since he died and all his files and clients had been taken over by another partner. To her surprise, his ex-wife had been appointed the executor of his estate and she had seen to his funeral arrangements with businesslike efficiency. She had been polite enough to Emma. She knew that Emma was with Brett when he died. Emma had given her statement to the police, and it was all over in a couple of days. No foul play was suspected and the cause of death was determined to be sudden cardiac arrest. There was really nothing left to do or hold on to. They hadn't dated for that long, and he obviously trusted his ex-wife a lot more than he trusted her.

  Emma sighed. Would she have grown to love him, given time? Maybe. Maybe not. Probably not. For nine years, she had dated extensively but she had never fallen in love. She had given her heart and her virginity away a long, long time ago.

  She clicked through the rest of Brett's emails and deleted them all. There was still a ton of work to do and it was best to get out of her head and just get down to it. Moping and wallowing never did anyone any good.

  Emma tried to buzz her secretary again. “Come on, Suzie,” she huffed. “Where is that girl?”

  Emma pushed back from her desk in frustration and strode to the door. Suzie had always been very prompt and efficient, and she was hardly ever away from her desk. Even when Emma sent her on an errand, she would be back in the shortest possible time. Emma yanked open the door and stuck her head out. “Suz—”

  There was no one at the desk.

  Suzie's computer was still on and she hadn't logged out. There was a steaming mug of tea on her desk. Emma frowned. Where did she go? A toilet or pantry break shouldn't take that long.

  She was about to duck back into her office when it hit her. Emma cocked her head and listened hard. There it was. No, not the sound. In fact, there was no sound. No quiet hum of the central air-conditioning, no occasional chatter from the secretaries, no clicking on computer keyboards, no footsteps, no sound at all. Just a frozen, eerie silence.

  The whole floor seemed to have been emptied out.

  Emptied out of life and time. Everything had stopped.

  Chapter Six

  Emma exhaled the shuddering breath that she had been holding. Shakily, she backed into her office and her office door whispered shut right in front of her rounded eyes. She didn't bother trying to open it. She knew it would be locked. She had heard the click and that soft step behind her.

  “I thought I told you to stay away from me,” she hissed, not turning around.

  “And we both know that I can never do that,” came the low, quiet reply.

  “Why? Oh, right, I forgot. You're Death. It's your job to cause pain and misery, so you have to make your unwelcome presence felt and mess up our happy lives.” Emma narrowed her eyes as she pivoted round slowly to face him. But the sneer left her face when she set eyes on him.

  He was still as devilishly handsome and as sexy as before. She glimpsed his toned, tanned physique under his cloak as he moved towards her. But his eyes—they were no longer the clear, shimmering blue of the sky. The light and laughter were gone from his blue eyes. In their place were swirling, tormented pools of black. He was still tall and imposing, but he wore a haunted, hunted look.

  “What...what happened to you?” Her resolve to hate him faltered as she took a step towards him.

  He laughed, and it was a harsh, bitter sound.

  “What happened? Did you forget, Emma? I killed someone,” he growled, the shadows darkening under his eyes.

  She looked down.

  “I killed someone you love.”

  She jerked her head up, and stared into his dark, tortured eyes. “I didn't love him,” she whispered at last.

  For a timeless moment, they just stood in the middle of her office facing each other. Finally, she surfaced to breathe and blink, and immediately he reached out to grab her.

  He crushed her to him, hugging her like he would never let her go. Emma gasped but she didn't fight him. She had been struggling with all these strange, conflicting emotions and dreams for so many months and years. She just didn't want to fight her own heart anymore. She had tried to deny her feelings, but they were growing too powerful and too painful.

  She had always had the feeling that Death was near her, watching her, waiting for her. But he had never shown himself. Until that night. That night Brett died.

  When she saw him again, her heart almost stopped. For so many nights and months and years, she had longed to see him again. Just for once, just for one night, just for one moment. But he never came back. He had taken her in her blood-soaked bed nine years ago, and she never saw him again. But of course, he was Death so not seeing him was a good thing, right? Just keep telling yourself that, Emma. Her head told her that she should be thankful that Death stayed away from her, but her traitorous heart ached for him. He had made love to her the night he came to take her life, and he had left her—alive. More alive than she had ever felt in a long, long while. He had shown her the sinful, delicious pleasures of the flesh and how intensely one could love and live. She craved his touch, his kiss, his rock hard body. She had been trying to find that same touch, trying to ignite that spark and inferno. She'd had many lovers through the years, but no one had come close.

  As she tilted her face up to him, his mouth was already on hers, hungrily ravishing her lips, kissing her like he would devour her. Her lips parted readily, allowing him to push his tongue deep in and take her. His large, roving hands kneaded her breasts through her blouse and bra, before tearing her blouse right off her shoulders. The ripping sound echoed round her office and she stifled a cry as he lowered his mouth to her breast. He bit the edge of her bra down to expose her nipple and kissed the nipple softly before taking it into his mouth and sucking it hard. Emma's knees weakened and she gripped his strong shoulders for support.

  “Why? Why have you come back? Why...why haven't you come back?” she whispered angrily, digging her nails into his back. “How could you...do you know...”

  “Yes, Emma. I know,” he breathed against her skin. “I know.”

  “So—now, are you going to fuck me senseless, and leave me, again?” Emma fisted his short, blond hair and forced him to look into her eyes.

  The black in his eyes darkened until she felt she was drowning in them. “Yes.”

  Emma closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. She felt as if a knife had stabbed deep into her heart and she hissed through the pain. “Then do it. Fuck me.” She gritted her teeth. “And please, close the door when you leave. The window thing gets old after a while.”

  His lips quirked up, but the pain never left his eyes. He lowered her slowly to the floor, his cloak billowing out to envelope them both. Emma turned her head and blinked, but her office was gone. They seemed to be suspended in the darkness that was created from his cloak, the cloak that had fallen from his shoulders to create a floating void all around them. Emma was on her back, lying on something solid which she couldn't see. All she saw was blackness, and the flash of brilliant blue eyes.

  “Look at me, Emma,” Death said. “Just look at me.”
<
br />   She blinked at the blue eyes above her, and his face came into focus. His chiseled features became clearer, and she reached up to touch his forehead, his sharp, straight nose, his strong jaw, his curved lips. It was the same boyish, handsome face she had seen so long ago. A face she had never forgotten.

  “Your eyes...” she began, gazing into those beautiful blue eyes. They were the exact same shade as her son's eyes.

  “Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “No talk, no tears, no goodbyes. Just...”

  “Just for old times' sake?” she said and kissed him hard, hoping he wouldn't hear the tremor in her voice.

  He wrapped his arms around her, and with a start, she realized that her clothes had been shed, leaving her completely naked. She pressed her body against his, relishing the feel of his hot, bare body against hers. He felt so solid, and powerful, and she could feel his muscles tautening and flexing as he moved against her. Why couldn't she have him every night, every day, for the rest of her life?

  Because he was Death, stupid.

  If they could have each other for just this moment, then she would just have to seize this moment, make it last, make it hurt, make it good, and then let it go.

  “Emma...” He held her chin and turned her face to him. She blinked slowly, feeling her long lashes brush against his cheek. They were surrounded by shifting shadows and darkness, and yet she could see him clearly—his handsome face, his beautiful tanned body, his long, muscular limbs, every inch of him.

  Slowly, he lowered his face to her and kissed her, very gently and tenderly. They took their time, since time was the only thing they had, the only thing that stood still for them. The kiss was deep and lingering as they savored the feel and taste of each other's lips. It was a kiss of forever and a kiss of farewell. A tear trembled at the corner of Emma's eye but he leaned in and kissed it away, swallowing the bitter-sweet taste on his tongue.