Making Love To Death (One Night With Death)

by Kristen, Natalie

  Even as she was panting hard trying to catch her breath and clear her mind, she felt Death planting kisses along the insides of her calves and thighs, and slowly up her belly and chest. Nestling down beside her, he rolled her on top of him and gripped the pert round globes of her buttocks. She let out a shriek when his hands suddenly gripped her waist to drag her up the length of his hard body. She could feel her nipples rubbing against his toned belly, across his erect nipples and chest as he pulled her up to him. With a sudden jerk, she landed on top of him, her lips landing on his with a smack. He kissed her hungrily, his nails raking down her back and into the crack of her butt. He pushed her legs apart so that she was straddling him. Without warning, he pushed her up by the shoulders and lifted her slightly. He lowered her slowly, and Emma gasped as she felt his cock entering her from below.

  He raised his hips and pushed into her, filling her pussy with his large cock. Emma gasped, feeling her virgin walls stretch to accommodate his whole length and girth. The pain quickly became pleasure as he began to slide smoothly in and out of her. His strong arms were still holding her above him, and when he finally set her down, she placed the flat of her palms against his chest to brace herself. She stared into his devilishly handsome face and bit her lip. This was Death. She should be fighting him, not fucking him. With a wordless cry, she tried to claw at his bare chest, but he gripped her waist and began to buck with increasing pressure and intensity. Against her will, Emma found her body responding, and she began to grind against him, following his rhythm. The pleasure was beginning to build, and she had to close her eyes to try to reign in her rampaging desire.

  Death watched her with a gleam in his eye. As she was about to orgasm, he reared up and flipped her onto her back. Pinning her beneath his hot body, he drove his cock hard into her. His rock hard body rubbed against her pulsating, highly sensitized clit as his cock thrust deep into her. He grabbed her breasts in his hands and squeezed them together, leaning in to suck and lick both her nipples at once. Emma's head turned and thrashed in helpless ecstasy and protest, her long brown hair fanned out around her. “No, please,” Emma gasped, cresting closer and closer to the point of no return. “Please...” She no longer knew what she was pleading for. Was she begging him to let her go or to never ever stop touching her?

  But he seemed to know exactly what she wanted. She wanted him. Her body latched on to him and pulled him to her in a consuming embrace. They were joined, inextricably entwined. As her tight, wet walls clenched around him, he let out a strangled sound and drove faster and deeper into her, his grip tightening on her nipples. The pain and the pleasure combined to drive her over the edge and with a final thrust, she exploded, her walls rippling and squeezing in climax. She screamed at the mind-blowing orgasm and felt his hot seed spurt deep into her body. His cock was still buried in her, as he kept moving, and kept shooting into her. His jaw was tightly clenched as a tortured sound escaped. His blue eyes were wide and she saw them darken from blue to pitch black above her.

  When he finally withdrew from her, he tried to gather her into his arms and hold her, but she pushed him away. She was trembling violently but she refused to let him touch her. What had she done? She had just given herself over without a fight. Why? Why had she surrendered to Death so immediately, so thoughtlessly, so...passionately?

  Wiping away her tears roughly with the back of her hand, Emma scrambled up and clutched the blanket to her naked body. “You're a jerk,” she spat hoarsely, hating the tremor in her voice. “Do you do that to all the dying girls? As a favor? Let them die with a smile on their face and your name on their lips?”

  Death was standing at her window, his back to her. She could see the silver moonlight ripple on the toned muscles of his shoulders and back. He was indeed impressive and impossibly handsome, but Emma forced her eyes up from his body to the back of his head. Who knew that Death was a blond, blue-eyed walking wet dream? Emma hurled the thought out of her mind and concentrated on hating him.

  “So now that you've taken my virginity, you can smugly take my soul too,” she snapped. “What a harvest for the grim reaper, eh?” Emma bit her lip, wondering where those catty, spiteful words were coming from. She had never felt such intense desire and pleasure, and she was both confused and frightened at her own wild, uninhibited response to his touch. Her body had been set alight by Death, and now she was burning up inside, wanting and craving more, more of his touch, more of him. Her anger was a mask, an armor and shield for her vulnerable, tender feelings which he had just exposed. He had opened her up, opened her wide and felt her and touched her deep inside.

  Now I am being not just stupid, but crazy! Fancy that, Emma Davis deflowered by Death and dying as a horny, raving, hallucinating lunatic!

  Emma glared down her warm, breathing body, still throbbing and thrumming from his touch. “Am I dead...or am I dead?” Her question came out in a whisper. Could the dead feel such passion and desire, such shattering pleasure and ecstasy? Why hadn't she allowed herself to feel such intense emotions and experience such beautiful, heartbreaking intimacy when she was alive? Why hadn't she wanted to share herself with anybody, to make love to anyone, to love someone? Why did it have to be Death to give her her first, and probably her last, orgasm? With an indescribable sadness, she stood up, letting the blanket fall from her hands.

  “Take me then,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Do your job, and let's get this over with.” She tried to keep her voice strong and steady, but still she couldn't mask the small quaver in her voice. She was too young to die, but...no one could escape Death, right? Be brave, Emma.

  “It is over,” he replied in a strained voice.

  When she didn't respond, he turned round to face her. Behind the tormented expression on his face, she saw a myriad of conflicting emotions churning in his dark, downcast eyes. Remorse, anguish, relief, sorrow, joy and an excruciatingly tender emotion she couldn't quite read.

  “I told you that death can be pleasurable, like an orgasm, and an orgasm can be like death, intoxicating and inescapable. I have seduced and taken many humans, and made their journey beautiful and pleasurable. But life and death cannot meet in the same body. It is either one or the other. If there is life, death cannot claim the body. And no, I have not done this to all the girls. You...” His lips tightened to quash the quiver in his voice. There was anger and hurt seething in his last sentence.

  Emma's frown deepened. She stared into his eyes, and saw a spark of clear blue in the center of his pupils. The blue rapidly spread, chasing away all the black from his eyes, like the dawn melting away the darkness of the night. With a gasp, she staggered back.

  “Yes, Emma. I shouldn't have. I have never done so. It was...a lapse,” he swallowed and said thickly. “You have my seed in you.”

  With a gasp, Emma's hand landed on her flat belly. What did that mean? What had she done? What in the world had they done?

  But through her fears and tears, the survival instinct remained intact. Although her thoughts were going off on various strange tangents, one immediate concern pushed through the fog in her mind and articulated itself.

  “D-does that mean that...that I...I can...live?” she stammered.

  “Yes, Emma. It means that you can live. You must live.” Death took a step towards her and enfolded her in his embrace. She leaned against his shoulder and breathed in his scent, and her scent on him, for the last time. She was relieved, worried, scared, ecstatic, sad...all of the above and none of the above. Death was leaving her. That was a good thing, right?

  “Goodbye, Emma,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead and released her.

  His gaze was soft and sad as he backed towards the window. As he wrapped his cloak around him and his shape started to shimmer and blur around the edges, Emma called out before she could stop herself, “Wait! Will I...will I see you again?”

  Death looked over his shoulder and held her gaze for a fleeting eternity. “My dearest Emma, you have branded yourself into my skin, m
y lips, my fingertips, seared your image and your memory into my eyes and my mind forever. Is that bliss, or is it torture? It is torture,” he whispered. “...the most excruciating, exquisite torture.” He turned away and said softly, “I will definitely see you again. But why would you want to see me again?”

  “Oh, I...well, I'm not immortal. So.” Emma tilted her chin up and managed a smile. “I'll be glad to see you when I'm old and gray and tired. I will gladly step into your arms then, and embrace you like a dear, old friend.”

  Death quirked a lopsided smile. “I don't know if I can wait that long.”

  With that, a raven took off from her window sill into what remained of the night. The first fingers of dawn were stretching out from the horizon and hints of orange and indigo were pulsing under the wispy darkness.

  Emma looked at the rumpled sheets on her bed and the indentation on her mattress where she had lain with Death. She patted her matted hair and felt the dried blood. The gash on her head had been deep, but miraculously the bleeding had stopped and the wound had knitted shut. Precious, living blood was no longer flowing out of her. Her life would no longer be seeping away from her. Striding over to the bed, she stripped the sheets off the bed and tossed the stained pillow onto the pile of soiled linen. Time to wash everything and start on a fresh sheet.

  Stepping into the shower, she showered and scrubbed with vigor and dressed quickly. She ran a comb through her glossy brown hair and let it hang in loose waves down her shoulders. Slicking on some lip gloss and eye shadow, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Gone was the pale, quiet girl who never wore any make-up and always pulled her hair back into a severe ponytail. In her place was a pretty, confident, determined, vibrant and vital young woman with her whole life ahead of her. After wolfing down a hearty breakfast, she made her way briskly to work with a spring in her step and new life in her body. A new day, a new girl, a new life.

  She had not just flirted with Death. She had fucked Death, and if she could do that, she could do anything.

  Chapter Three

  Nine years later...

  Emma picked up the phone and dialed home. Her babysitter picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello Tammy, how is everything going? Has Luc been a good boy today?” She cradled the phone against her shoulder as she signed the stack of documents that her secretary had just brought in.

  “Hi Miss Davis,” Tammy replied cheerfully. “Oh yes, Luc has been an absolute angel today.”

  Emma grinned. “You've managed to make him eat his vegetables without unleashing World War Three? You are a godsend, Tammy my love.”

  “It's my pleasure, Miss Davis. You know I adore Luc,” Tammy gushed. Emma shook her head and smiled at Tammy's youthful enthusiasm. Tammy was her neighbor's teenage daughter, and she would pick Luc up from the childcare center on her way home after school and babysit him until Emma got off work. She was a good kid, bubbly, sweet and very patient. And most importantly, Luc seemed to like her. He had terrorized the last few sitters and drove them out the door in tears. He was a little devil through and through, just like his father.

  “Look, Tammy, I have to rush out an affidavit for court tomorrow, so I might be a little late, Can you stay for another hour?”

  “Sure, Miss Davis. I'll just let my mum know I'll be here for another hour or so.”

  Emma thanked Tammy and put down the phone. She knew that Luc was in good hands. Tammy's mum, Isabella, was a single mum too, and she was often mistaken as Tammy's elder sister. It was a compliment that Isabella readily accepted with a laugh and a wink. They were lucky to have each other. Tammy was a wonderful girl. She did well in school, had lots of friends and was great with kids. And she was only sixteen.

  Emma leaned back in her leather swivel chair and sighed. What was it like to be so young? She could hardly remember. That had been such a long time ago. She shook her head wearily and turned her attention back to the documents on her desk. There was a lot of work to do. And she had been working very hard indeed. In just a couple of years, she had built up a reputation as a very competent lawyer and tough negotiator. She had risen to become one of the most highly recommended and sought after divorce lawyers in her firm. But the first few years had been hard. She'd had to juggle her studies, multiple jobs and the responsibility of raising a hyperactive, precocious tot at the same time. It was challenging to say the least, but it had been worth it. It would not have been possible to get to where she was now without all those sleepless nights and stress-filled days. There was always a price for everything.

  But who had paid the higher price?

  Is that bliss, or is it torture? It is torture...the most excruciating, exquisite torture.

  Those anguished words that she had heard so long ago echoed in her mind as she glanced at the framed photograph of her six-year-old son on her desk. Luc looked so much like his father. Blond hair, blue eyes, heart-melting smile and a natural tan which seemed to glow from within. She had dated and slept with many men, blond, dark-haired, fair, tanned, all manner of men really, but none of the men had eyes which reflected the intensity and depth of their emotions so transparently. She had seen her son's clear blue eyes darken to inky black when he was uncontrollably excited, or ecstatic, or enraged. When he jumped up and down in unadulterated joy, or when he stamped his little foot in a screaming tantrum, his eyes would swirl into pools of the darkest black. The black would fade and the brilliant blue would slowly seep back into his eyes once he had calmed down and gained control of his surging, raging emotions. The first time she saw the unmistakable change in her son's eyes, she knew without a doubt who his father was.

  Her belly had only begun to swell about a year after that fateful night. She had been seeing someone at that time, but he had bolted when he thought the baby was his. She had thought so too, until she looked down at the newborn in her arms and saw his eyes. Those light blue eyes had flashed to black the instant the baby's half-opened eyes locked on her and the infant drank in the first sight of his mother.

  “If only...” Emma sighed and looked out at the darkening sky. In the distance, she could barely make out the shape of flapping wings as a black shadow receded into the encroaching night. Was that a raven? Could it be...?

  His parting words had been both comforting and ominous.

  “No,” she told herself firmly. “No.” She had a job to do, a son to raise, a life to live.

  “But I have never forgotten you. You must know that. How could I?” she whispered. “I can never forget you, for as long as I live. I want you...” She closed her eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath. “But I cannot. I must not.”

  She sometimes thought that she could feel his soft caresses and ardent kisses as she slept, but when she opened her eyes, she only saw her white curtains fluttering in the breeze, like ghosts. Like the ghost of someone she had once seen, and held and made love to.

  She could feel him still, with every breath she took, and with every aching beat of her heart.

  Death was never far away from her.

  Part 2: Death and the Lady

  *****

  Death has been watching Emma.

  He wants her, completely and forever.

  But at what cost?

  As his rage and his passion blaze out of control, will he become the man she desires, or the demon she fears?

  *****

  Chapter Four

  Death watched her, like he always did.

  Her face, her beautiful face, glowing and blushing, her eyes closed and her lips parted as she panted beneath the man. Nine years ago, Death had come to her through her open bedroom window and stood before her, ready to claim her life. But he hadn't been able to resist that sweet, pure, absolutely gorgeous virgin before him. He had gone to take her soul, but what he had taken that night was her virginity. Twenty-one year old Emma Davis had been the last name on his to-do list that night. He should just have extracted her soul, as he had done to all the others, as she lay in her bed, but—he had seen her
face, that unforgettable, beautiful face and looked into her warm, brown eyes, and held her naked, virgin body against his. And it had burned him. It had burned him deep. He had taken her, there and then, in her bed that was soaked with her sweat and blood, and had shot his seed deep into her hot, tight body.

  He never forgot that night.

  He never forgot her.

  Emma was no longer twenty-one. She was now older, and even more beautiful than ever. Death had been forced to let her go that night. And after her encounter with Death, she had turned around and plunged right back into life with a vengeance.

  She had lived, and loved, and worked hard. She was now a successful lawyer in a boutique law firm in the city, and a responsible, loving single mum to a precocious, blue-eyed little boy. She led a full life, and enjoyed a very full sex life. He should know. He had been watching her, and her moans and sighs of pleasure were like shards of glass slicing through every fiber of his being.

  This was a Friday night, and her son was having a sleepover at his best friend's house. Emma was to pick him up in the morning, and she would snap into mummy mode once she downed her morning coffee and got in the car. But for tonight, she was not a mum, but a woman. A very sexy, desirable, thirty-year-old woman.

  Death watched her now through the bedroom window of the penthouse apartment. Emma's long, slender legs were wrapped around the man's back as he pounded into her. He knew who this man was. Brett Larson, one of the senior partners in her law firm. For a man in his forties, he was in good shape, and the toned muscles on his arms and back flexed as he lifted Emma's hips and slung her legs onto his broad shoulders.