Making Love To Death (One Night With Death) Read online

  MAKING LOVE TO DEATH

  (One Night With Death)

  Death and the Virgin

  Death and the Lady

  Death and the Bride

  By

  Natalie Kristen

  Copyright © 2013 Natalie Kristen

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously or are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, establishments or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The material in this book is for mature audiences only.

  It contains graphic sex scenes with the grim reaper, who as it turns out, is not a cold, passionless entity, but a sizzling, hot male, a walking wet dream for those lucky, or unlucky, enough to meet him.

  Part 1: Death and the Virgin

  *****

  Death takes Emma.

  But it is not her life that he takes, it is her virginity.

  And he leaves her with not just her soul, but his seed.

  One passionate night with Death leaves Emma alive – more alive than she has ever felt...

  *****

  Chapter One

  Emma put on her coat and pushed out of the convenience store where she worked the night shift. At this time of night, there were hardly any cars on the road. Her small rented apartment was just across the road, and she couldn't wait to crawl into bed. It had been a long night, with quite a few drunken, rowdy customers at the store. Luckily, no fights had broken out and she was able to end her shift on time.

  As she jogged across the road, she caught a movement at the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see what was coming at her, but not in time to get out of the way. Her scream was cut off as she was flung to the side of the road. Pushing herself up, she caught sight of a black car weaving and hurtling down the road. There was a brief flash of brake lights as the car rounded the corner and disappeared.

  Emma scrambled up and winced at the sharp pain at the side of her head. She had hit her head at the side of the curb when she fell. There was a burning sensation on her left calf where the car had grazed her. “Hey!” she shrieked. “What the hell!” But the car was long gone. Even the sound of its screeching tires and its choking exhaust fumes had faded into the night.

  With no witnesses and no one around to help her, Emma could only curse and swear at her own bad luck and at the irresponsible, drunken hit and run driver who was by now wrecking havoc down another street miles away from her. The street was completely deserted at this unearthly hour. Keeping her eyes and ears peeled for any more crazy drivers coming her way, Emma limped across the road and made it to her building.

  Staggering up the stairs to her second floor apartment, Emma fumbled at the lock for a painfully long time. Her hands were shaking so badly and her vision was blurring. By the time she stumbled into her apartment and slammed the door shut behind her, she felt like she was about to throw up.

  Emma flicked on the bathroom light and stared at her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes rounded in shock and horror. Where did all that blood come from? The right side of her face was smeared with fresh blood. Numbly, Emma pressed her hand to the side of her head and squeezed her eyes shut to stem the rising nausea. Her hand came away sticky with her own blood.

  Turning on the tap at full blast, Emma frantically tried to wash the blood away from her face and hair. After she had cleaned most of the blood away, Emma gingerly untied her ponytail and parted her wavy brown hair to examine her head wound. There was a long cut where her head had hit the curb, but it wasn't bleeding anymore. Deciding that it wasn't serious, Emma began to peel her clothes off, grimacing and grunting at the stab of pain in her leg as she eased out of her panties and stepped into the shower. Slowly she soaped her aching limbs and let the water wash away all traces of her brush with death. That stupid, speeding car could have killed her. She was lucky to have escaped with just a cut on her head, some ugly bruises and frazzled nerves.

  Stepping out of the shower, Emma examined her injuries again. Cleaned up, they didn't look quite as bad as before. She tried to towel her hair dry and immediately hissed in pain. The pounding headache was working up to a full blown migraine. Blowing out a breath, Emma hoped fervently that she would be able to make it to work in the morning. Besides the stint at the convenience store, she had a day job as well. From nine to five, she worked as a clerk in a small logistics company, and after work, she would wiggle out of her office clothes and into the green and red uniform before rushing to the store. She worked the night shift at the convenience store about three or four nights a week. Two jobs meant she could save up enough money to put herself through college faster. Her parents had died suddenly three years ago when she was eighteen. Being an only child of only children, she had no siblings, aunts or uncles to turn to. But she was a survivor. Her parents weren't rich and they hadn't left her with much materially, but they had brought her up well. They had taught her to always be strong and independent, and she had managed just fine. But holding down two jobs left very little time for anything. She didn't sleep much, let alone socialize, date or party. Sometimes as she lay exhausted in bed after her night shift, she wondered if she should be working less and playing more, like a normal twenty-one year old. But the thought never had the chance to linger. She was usually asleep before any disparaging, destructive self-pitying sentiments could creep in and make themselves comfortable in her tough, tired heart.

  With her limbs smarting from the impact of the collision and the fall, Emma found it impossible to wrestle her aching body into her clothes. Surrendering to fatigue, Emma simply crawled naked into bed and slid between the covers. Her hands fell on her flat belly and she ran her fingers across her bare skin absently. Exhaling a long breath, Emma traced her fingers down her body, suddenly acute aware that her body had never been touched. Not in that way. Not by a man. Not by anyone. She was a virgin, a virgin who was too tired to have any fun.

  Her eyelids were growing heavy and Emma turned her head towards her open window. There was something perched on her window sill and Emma blinked the shape into focus.

  It was a raven.

  Emma gasped when the raven cocked it head and stared right back at her with the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen. As she gazed into its swirling blue eyes, she had the feeling of looking into the deepest ocean and the highest skies. There was a strange sense of vertigo and she felt like she was falling or flying, deeper and higher, on and on into the beautiful, drowning blue.

  Still staring straight into her eyes, the raven spread its ebony wings and pushed off the window into her room. Its wings seemed to grow and spread, fluttering and swirling until it became a flowing black cloak. The cloak hid the raven momentarily from Emma's view but she saw that beneath the cloak, broad shoulders had formed and a statuesque figure was straightening up from the blur of feathers and shadows. The raven was shifting before her very eyes into a tall, masculine human shape. Everything about the raven had changed, except for its eyes. Those eyes were still the same pure blue of the clearest skies and untainted seas.

  The cloaked figure took a step towards her and this small movement jolted Emma out of her immobility. Those uncanny, knowing blue eyes seemed to have a hypnotic effect on her. As if she had just been freed from a spell, Emma blinked and swallowed a big lungful of air before jerking bolt upright in her bed.

  “Hush, Emma, I won't hurt you,” a silken voice told her.

  The voice was deep and gentle, and it stopped the scream which was about to erupt from Emma's throat, but it didn't stop her questions. “Who are you? What are you? What do you want
? How did you do that? Why are you here?” Her questions flew thick and fast from her lips, as she scrambled up and gripped the covers close to her naked body.

  But it wasn't the presence of this tall, masculine figure in her room that frightened her. She should be petrified, terrified of this dark, imposing, cloaked stranger who had materialized in her bedroom in the middle of the night—but she wasn't. She had seen his eyes and heard his voice, and she trusted them. She trusted her instincts, which had always been alarmingly accurate.

  And her instincts told her exactly who he was.

  The answers had come to her even as the questions tumbled from her quivering lips.

  She knew.

  She just knew who he was.

  Chapter Two

  Emma could almost hear his voice in her head, answering her questions even as she thought them. He was in her head, and he was by her bed. There was no way to deny his presence. Yet, she refused to accept that he was here—for her.

  “No,” she whispered. “You're not. You can't be.”

  “Dear Emma, I'm afraid I am,” he said with a sigh as he lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal light blond hair and a handsome face which looked ageless, yet hinted at knowledge and experience which were as deep as the seas and as ancient as the stars. Emma thought he looked like a young man in his twenties, but when he frowned, he suddenly looked older. He could be twenty, thirty, forty, maybe a thousand years old—there was no telling. His bright blue eyes contrasted beautifully with the golden tan of his skin. He had a strong jaw and sexy, kissable lips. Emma gulped audibly at the erotic turn of her thoughts. How could she be thinking of kissing him, when he was here for her life, her soul? She should be plotting to kill him, not kiss him! But how do you kill Death? She shook her head hard. No! This cannot be happening!

  “You're Death,” she breathed, pinching herself and willing herself to wake up.

  The sexy stranger nodded once.

  Giving her thigh another vicious pinch and closing her eyes at the smarting pain, Emma hoped that he would be gone when she next opened her eyes. Please, please, please, wake up! Let this be a dream, a nightmare. Nothing new here, Emma, you've been having so many damned nightmares you should be used to them by now. Now, wake the fuck up!

  Her eyes snapped open, and—he was still there.

  “Y-you're real,” she stammered, panic and disbelief warring in her.

  “Death is real. You, of all people, should know that,” Death said gently.

  Emma's breath caught. His words opened up that deep wound in her heart, the one she hadn't really allowed to heal. She had just buried it under hours and hours of exhausting, numbing work, and pretended that she was fine. Death was all too real. She knew that, but she just didn't want to believe that. She hadn't wanted to believe that her parents were gone when the accident happened. She wanted it all to be just a bad dream, one that she was still waiting to wake up from. She kept hoping that one magical morning, she could jump out of bed and run to her parents' room to hug them and tell them everything that she hadn't had the chance to tell them. But every morning, when she woke up, she was still alone. Death was indeed real. And horribly, terribly cruel.

  “Go away!” Emma hissed, feeling the tears sting her eyes. “Get out of my room! Get the hell away from me! Haven't you done enough?”

  “I'm just doing my job,” came the flat reply.

  “Go do your freaking job somewhere else.” Emma clutched the covers and pulled them up to her chin. “You've got the wrong place, and the wrong person.”

  Death shook his blond head, and said, “I never take the wrong person.”

  “I'm not dying. I'm young and healthy, and I am fine! Now go away!” she shouted.

  “Look at your pillow, Emma.”

  With a sense of dread, Emma tore her gaze away from his and glanced down at her pillow. Her hand flew to her mouth as she backed away from the bloodied pillow. The floral pattern on her pillowcase was completely covered by the spreading mess of deep crimson. Her pillow was drenched in her own blood.

  “Your head injury...was fatal, Emma.”

  “No! It can't be...I can't be...no, no, no...” Blindly, she scrambled away from the bloody pillow and stumbled out of bed. The sheets tangled around her ankles and she crashed headlong into the strong, steadying arms of Death.

  “Emma...” Death reached out to hold her shaking shoulders and at his touch, Emma shattered into heaving, wrenching sobs. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her, and instead of recoiling or struggling, she simply slumped against his solid chest and cried. She cried long and hard, and the tears that she had kept pent up for so long flowed freely. She hadn't allowed herself to grieve, to feel, to be weak, and it was cathartic and liberating to just let everything out, and allow someone to hold her instead of trying to be strong and tough all by herself.

  She felt his hand stroking her hair and her cheek, as she leaned against his bare, muscular chest. With a start, she realized that underneath that black cloak, he was completely naked. Like her.

  They were pressed together, skin to skin, and the heat and energy that was radiating from his powerful, manly frame was raw and sensual, sending an electric charge coursing from the surface of her skin to her very core.

  When she tried to pull away, Death tightened his hold on her and pressed her flush against him. Emma felt his rock hard muscles against her palms, her breasts and felt his rigid length pulsing against her. Lowering her eyes, she glanced at his erect member pushing out from his cloak and gasped. It was huge, glistening, proud and beautiful. Just like Death himself.

  “I...” she stuttered, blushing deeply and backing away.

  “Would you like to touch it?” Death asked. His tone was not mocking or leering, but gentle, tender even. “And feel it?” Inside you. He didn't speak the last two words aloud, but she heard the whisper echoing insistently, infuriatingly, invitingly in her mind.

  “Why?” she blurted out, mortified but inexplicably turned on. Here she was staring Death in the face, or more accurately, at his cock, and she was growing unbearably wet between her thighs. Shouldn't she be feeling more terror and less lust at this moment? What the hell was wrong with her? And Hell was no doubt where she would be heading if she kept this up.

  “Because—” Death stepped closer to her and tilted her face up with a finger under her chin. She blinked into the deep blue of his eyes and her knees suddenly grew weak. His arm circled her waist and held her up, pulling her close to him. “You, my love, should know pleasure, deep, dark, blissful pleasure, before you die. The orgasm has been referred to as “the little death”. It is an incredibly transcendental, existential experience, a surrendering to someone else, something beyond yourself. Like death, sex can bring you from one plane to another. You must feel it to know it, my dear Emma,” he whispered.

  “I...I've never...” Emma rasped.

  “I know,” he drawled. “I know. It'd be good. I promise.”

  A promise from Death? Emma's eyes widened as every instinct warned her against believing in a promise dipped in honey and poison, but when Death bent his head and pressed his soft, warm lips to hers, all rational thought flew right out of her spinning head. All she was aware of was how good he felt and tasted. His lips were soft and his tongue probed her mouth very gently and slowly. He was a very skillful kisser, and as his kiss deepened, Emma could feel the scorching heat of his kiss spear down her body directly to the nub between her legs. An aching need like she had never felt before throbbed between her thighs and her breasts pushed against his broad chest as she ached her back to him. Without thinking, her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him lower to her. Death murmured in her mouth and his lips trailed down her jaw to the column of her throat. She shivered when he kissed and nibbled at her neck and bare shoulders, his hands roving up and down her back.

  Holding her waist, he stood and looked deep into her eyes. Emma's eyelids fluttered as his strong hands slowly moved up the curve of her waist and cupped her
breasts. His finger began to stroke the swell of her breasts, moving closer and closer to the aching peaks. Their eyes remained locked even as he began to thumb Emma's nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut with pleasure as he stimulated her nipples until they were hard and erect, pinching them gently and rolling them between his finger and thumb.

  “Let me go,” she protested weakly.

  “I can't, Emma,” he growled. “And I won't.”

  Death reached up and unfastened the silver clasp at his throat, and his cloak fell from his shoulders, revealing his lean, long body in all its naked glory.

  With a low, guttural sound in his throat, Death pressed his hand into the small of her back so that she was forced to arch her back and present her breasts to him. Swiftly, he lowered his head and began to ravage her breasts with his mouth. He suckled her hard, sucking, licking and nibbling at her nipples until Emma thought she might go mad from the sheer pleasure his mouth was giving her. She had never felt such desire, such pleasure, such need. She needed more, and the need was throbbing insistently in her pussy. Unconsciously, she parted her legs. But for what? To kick him? To entreat him? Even as her mind screamed at her to fight him, her body continued to betray her. Her juices were trickling down her thighs, filling the room with a seductive, heady scent.

  As she whimpered and thrashed feebly, Death carried her to her bed and laid her on her back. Pushing her thighs wider apart, he lowered his mouth to her clit and laved it with his long tongue. With a cry, Emma raised her head to see him looking straight into her eyes as he continued tasting her. His golden hair gleamed in the fading moonlight as his head bobbed slowly between her legs. He licked every inch of her pussy lips and kissed them like he was kissing her mouth. When his tongue swirled relentlessly around her pulsing clitoris, she couldn't hold back the tension and the flickering pleasure that was teasing and torturing her to the brink of insanity. Sparks of intense, toe-curling pleasure shot through her clenching, shuddering body. She cried out in confusion and ecstasy as she blinked the tears from her eyes.