Page 22 of Grave Expectations

“Yes. I thought I was clear, but now I realize I never asked you. Rosalin, may I court you?”

How could she say no to that when his hands were in her hair, when he’d made her come twice last night?

“Yes,” she said. “You may, whatever that entails.”

He bent to kiss her, soft and slow. He helped her out of her towel, pushing her back to the bed, his mouth never leaving hers.

Roz settled onto the edge of the bed, Alaric between her thighs, his hard cock trapped between them. He lay her on her back, kissing along her collarbone before straightening, grasping his cock in his hand and running it along her pussy.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned.

“I don’t know if you remember, but you gave me an amazing orgasm last night,” Roz said.

“How could I forget the way you said my name?” he said, his wolfish grin back. He pressed the tip of his cock into her, sliding a hand along her thigh. “I endeavor to make you yell it often. Mostly while orgasming, but I suspect there will be times where it’s in anger.” He slipped another inch into her, his grip tightening on her thigh.

He thrust into her, each deeper than the last, just the way she said she liked it the night before. “When you’re alone, what do you do?”

“What?” she asked, taken aback by the question.

“Show me how you play with yourself when you’re alone,” he said. Roz reached down, her finger circling her clit. It slipped over the surface easily, soaked from the way he worked her now. She pinched her nipples with her other hand, rolling the bud around to bring it to a peak.

“Like this,” she said, her chest heaving. His thrusts came faster, harder, deeper as he watched her, his gaze moving from one hand to the other as she worked herself.

“I’m not going to last long, watching you like this,” he said, his voice strained.

“Fuck, me neither,” Roz said, her fingers moving quicker.

Alaric’s thrusts were hard and deep, shoving Roz across her bed. The only thing keeping her in place was his grip on her thigh, his cold fingers pressed into her skin. She liked the ache of it, the edge of pain his grip caused. She liked the reckless abandon on his face as he watched her, practically salivating at the sight of her getting herself off.

When she came, it rocked her entirely. She arched into him, her pussy spasming over his cock. “Yes! Alaric! Right there!” she cried. Alaric didn’t stop, even as his thrusts became jerky and haphazard, his gaze locked on her face.

Then he thrust into her a final time, his cock jerking, his body rigid. Roz rode the waves of her orgasm, her fingers slowing on her clit as Alaric pulsed inside her. Alaric no longer used her thigh as leverage, but as support as he came.

For a long moment Roz stared up at Alaric, her mouth partially open as she tried to catch her breath. Alaric stroked a hand along her thigh, his cold ghostly fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He bent down to kiss her, soft and gentle. Then he crawled into bed and pulled her against him once more.

“We can’t stay in bed all day, I have to work,” she murmured.

“Even the Puritans had a day of rest,” he replied.

“You don’t strike me as a Puritan,” she said.

“They would have hanged me for heresy. Oh, wait.”

Roz shoved him playfully, then nuzzled into him. “Thirty minutes.”

“As you like,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

CHAPTER TEN

Roz couldn’t help but watch Alaric as he worked in the cemetery. He’d donned the clothes he stole-not-stole from the museum and followed her about the cemetery without complaint. He knew where things were stored, what her general chores were, and did most of them without asking for help.

She was sort of glad he couldn’t feel the elements, because the day was unseasonably warm, and if he took off his shirt she’d be useless at her tasks. Maybe Selma was right, there were worse things than being tethered to a good-looking man.

Her chores were done in a quarter of the time with Alaric’s assistance. He sat with her as she ate lunch under one of the large trees on a small hill, their backs pressed to the trunk.

“Done by lunch, a new record,” she told him between bites of her sandwich.