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Aryahn Kryach turns in my direction, centering his eyes on mine. The heat in my flesh grows along with more rosebuds on my arms as I survey him. By the time I finish my circle, I’ve closed all distance between us so my bare breasts brush his outer robes. His brows draw low, smile mischievous to mirror mine.
First, I touch his strong brow, then his statuesque cheekbones, thrilling when he closes his eyes and inhales. I smile from the muscles throbbing in his cheeks, his jaw clenching from the effort it requires not to touch me. Next, I touch his lips?full and soft as silk and shadows. I trace them with one finger, flinching when he opens his mouth to suck the skin. Sighing, I withdraw my finger, and before he can blink, I thrust the robe off his shoulders, shaking my head in disbelief when I discover another. And another. And another.
“Hells balls!” I snap, thorns growing from my fingertips.
Ary throws his head back and laughs. I thread my brows and hold my chin high, pulse rushing blood to my ears.
“Forgive me, little wonder,” he chuckles and reveals, “Consider it my little Night of Masks trick. For the God of Death wears shades without number. All you need do, Isla, isask.”
I cross my arms over my chest, a little perturbed, but then, I sigh, tap my foot, and meet his eyes. “Will you?”
He shakes his head, simpering. “Not me. The shades.”
I shake my head in disbelief, huffing before eyeing the shaded robes swelling all over his form. After studying them for a few moments, I find the perfect method to request, “Please let me see him?” Not quite a question or a command.
“Spoken like a true goddess,” declares Ary, pride in his voice as he stretches his hands to the sides.
Awed, I part my lips, stepping back and hugging myself. Countless shades branch off into thin whorls to curl from his body. They travel to mine, transforming to thin, twirling bracelets to tingle my skin with chilled goose flesh. In midair, Ary hovers, eyes closed as more shades forsake him, flirting with my bare skin. As the shades billow wind into my hair, I fling strands aside, holding them in place, so I may rivet my eyes upon Ary’s form.
At last, his everlasting shades surrender.
He descends to the earth, the naked soles of his feet disturbing the tree’s petals while I gaze at him, eyes not knowing what to take in first. Breathless, with tears shimmering my vision from the shaded wind, I approach Ary, curving my trembling fingers to his godlike form.
The High God tilts his head, lips parting as I touch his snowfall-soft skin. If snow is black as midnight. Blood-fire whirls all over his body like scarlet ink, and I lick my lips, remembering the taste of him: of shadows and nightmares, of black death roses and the sweet peace of surrender, of transforming to a current of cold, dark water. His stalwart chest is strong as a dark citadel, his arms like mighty rods of obsidian. I station my hands upon his hips, lower myself, beaming when he inhales sharply, dilating his pupils.
Despite how I am a goddess, despite how he has not requested this, I appreciate this newfound power. This understanding: I am thefirstto ever kneel before the God of Death with utter desire?not by force.
“Little wonder...” he tips his head back and closes his eyes as I stroke his legs, beginning with his feet. I caress his muscular legs and thighs hard as black diamonded pillars.
My throat grows thick, mouth watering as my aching fingers capture his already swollen and turgid dark member.
“Isla!” He balls his hands into fists, pounding them against the tree behind him, He quakes, writhing with blood fire.
All my nerve endings flutter as if butterfly antennae tickle them. Warmth growing between my thighs until something oozes from my sex. Just as he lowers his head to open his eyes, I fold my mouth around the hard tip of him, his wide, silken crown. All my muscles soften, so I may take him deeper.
“Fucking goddess!” he growls, thrusting his hands into my hair. I grin around him, permitting the desperate touch. “Spirit!” he roars.
The moment my throat contracts around his thick member, Ary wrenches himself from my mouth, unable to bear with it. Instead, he folds his powerful arms around my body and engulfs me within a whirlwind of his shades. As he carries me, I press my cheek into his shoulder. I lean into the warm energy of his blood-fire ink before cold iron greets my rump. Or what feels like iron.
Once the shades clear, I understand where we are. I gasp from the wide berth of the God of Death’s throne around me and under me. Alone, the width of the seat spans three of me. He has set me upon his throne. A position of the highest honor next to the thrones of Heaven and Hell themselves.
Formed of an otherworldly substance of hundreds of skulls and great wings soaring far above my head, the throne is the perfect embodiment of the God of Death. On each side is an enormous sickle?at least five times my height. All the hairs prickle on the back of my neck, and a bone-deep chill spreads through me when I realize those sickles are for dispensing justice to the souls. These souls gather around Aryahn Kryach’s Court.
But tonight is not for justice.
I shiver when Ary turns to his Court and commands in a voice to rival time itself, “Bow to the Mistress of the God of Death: the Goddess of Souls!”
Thousands of shimmering souls fall to their knees, bowing before my nude form seated upon the throne. Trembling, I hold in a breath, skin flushing from the public proclamation. My heartbeat roars in my ears from so many eyes upon me?for I am arrayed in nothing but my human-born goddess flesh glowing from starry oil.
And then, Ary drops to his knees before me and spreads my thighs wide.
“Oh, gods!” I gasp and arch my neck, head falling back but without hitting the throne’s backing. No, I cannot even spread my arms wide enough to grip each armrest. Instead, I stay on the edge of the great throne seat. I dig my nails into the skull heads beneath me. And breath gasps as Ary worships me upon the throne as he’d vowed.
With a host of twinkling soul eyes bearing witness, the God of Death licks my swollen pubic lips, tongue delving into my inner chamber before swiping up to my distended clitoris. I gulp, sucking in deep breaths. My chest heaves. A cry catches in my throat as my fluids discharge while I shudder from the pleasure rocketing through me. Before I can so much as nudge my hips, Ary’s tongue flicks my enlarged nodule, the throbbing, rosy nub still thrumming and burning like a tiny, flaming heart. And my sex is the center of a flower prepared to burst its nectar.
I grip the sides of his neck. My nails rake his flesh as he cocks his head to change the angle and circles around and around, drawing a deep groan from within my throat. The bliss flourishes, so intense, I grow a multitude of wildflowers from my chest, my arms, my lower legs. They clench with the heightening pleasure. The blossoms soar into the air, climbing and climbing to dance all over the Court of Souls, poised on the edge of my rapture.
Just before I reach the edge, Ary rises.
