He’s a soul reaper?
So…you mean this whole time I’ve been having a casual conversation with the devil’s minion?
And not only that, I’ve been ogling the crap out of his body?
Ah, hell no!
Do I even call him a ‘him’ or an ‘it’?
But more importantly, why on Earth am I dreaming about a soul reaper in the first place?
And why won’t he let me go?
Oh God…is…is he here to kill me?
Am I going to die?
Is that what this dream means?
There are too many questions racing around in my mind at once, each one screaming and begging for answers that I just don’t have.
He obviously notices my drastic change in demeanor—I mean, how could anyone not?—because his eyes zone in on mine again, holding my gaze.
But, in spite of being scared shitless, I find the strangest, most inexplicable comfort in his gradient-blue eyes. They’re such an enigma and yet, for some reason, they have this…this indescribable familiarity about them.
He brings his hands up and lightly brushes my bangs away from my forehead, letting his knuckles caress my cheeks on their way down. The action simultaneously calms me and leaves me scatter-brained all over again.
He smiles at me, so effortlessly that it’s hard to believe he can scowl as hard as he does.
God, it’s such a charming, sexy smile.
“No, I’m not here to kill you, kitten,” he says suddenly, his finger idly trailing down my neck. “And you can refer to me as ‘him’, for while I’m not human, I am male. Very much so,” he adds in reference to my last silent question, answering another question entirely that makes me want to hide in shame.
He stares at me intently, letting his long fingers linger on my skin, creating hotspots of fire at the points of contact.
Almost instantly, his striking eyes seem to grow even more intense, their magical hue mirroring one thing:
Pure and utter lust.
It’s not mistakable.
Not. One. Bit.
It’s blatant and raw.
Normally, I’d be revolted at such unconcealed ogling from a man. But this time, all I can do is return the favor.
I watch as his eyes roam over my face, piercing into my own eyes, before dipping further down to my lips and back up again.
Before I even realize it, my breathing quickens, becoming a lot shallower in a fairly short amount of time, and I only notice because I’m trying really hard to take deeper breaths—all in an effort to calm my suddenly erratic heartbeat.
I can practically feel the heat emanating from my ears and cheeks, the accompanying blood rush spreading to the rest of my body and chaotically settling in my core.
I awkwardly press my back against the pulpit in an attempt to back away from him—a miserably failed attempt. Not only can I not move away from him because, duh, there’s nowhere to actually move to, but I also probably look like I’m trying to bump and grind against the golden podium.
He continues to touch and stare at me. “You have a pretty scent, kitten,” he says, his tone strangely endearing but also somewhat…possessive. “I like it…I like it a lot.”
I don’t know why he keeps calling me that.
I don’t particularly like dainty nicknames, mostly because I have to be the least dainty girl out there, but something about how he says it makes my skin tingle in appreciation; the delicious depth of his voice, the scorching intensity of his eyes, the subtle yet mesmerizing motions of his lips, the way the word rolls off his tongue…
Suddenly, my throat is as dry as a desert.
Without thinking, I part my lips, impulsively licking at them to ease the parched sensation in my mouth…just before realizing the implication of the action—considering our current circumstance.
My cheeks set themselves ablaze as his sharp, sexy eyes follow the movement, knowing how much of a horny fangirl I must look like right now.
But, the crazy thing is, I almost don’t even care.
I kind of want him to see; to see how attracted I am to him—even though it’s ludicrous and I would normally never in my life give a man I just met the satisfaction of having that kind of knowledge and power over me.
Then again, this isn’t real life, is it?
And he’s doing exactly the same thing.
He’s a soul reaper.
At least, he claims to be.
I know dreams can be bizarre but how is it even possible that I’m actually talking to one?
And since when do soul reapers look this good?
But, more importantly, how on earth can I be attracted to him?
I mean, do I subconsciously have a death wish, so to speak? Is that it? Do I have some sort of sick, twisted affinity for death deep down inside?
My head is starting to hurt with the influx of questions bouncing around in it. I’m so confused by everything right now, but I’m even more turned on. More than I’ve ever been.
It doesn’t help that, in all my confusion, Mr. Reaper decides to just keep staring at me, his gorgeous eyes unrelenting.
I finally break eye contact, tearing my gaze away from his perilous beauty in embarrassment and from fear that I’ll probably end up drenching my panties if I keep looking at hi—
All my thoughts instantly crumble, vanishing from my heavily taxed brain before they get a chance to conclude as I belatedly realize something:
I’m completely naked underneath my gown.
He can probably see through the sheer fabric.
That’s why he’s staring.
My first instinct is to fold my arms over my chest but I manage to resist the urge, figuring the action will only bring more attention to my chest.
I instantly become self-conscious, wanting nothing more than to sink into the golden floors beneath my feet, but all I can do is pray my nipples don’t pull a peek-a-boo show on me. I’m afraid to look down and check but I’m afraid to look up and face him even more.
I can actually feel his gaze on me, and I find myself completely powerless under the overwhelming scrutiny and intensity of his magnetic blue eyes.
My awkward bout of self-consciousness doesn’t last for long though, because next thing I know, he’s leaning into me, pushing us both further against the marble that now entirely supports my weight.
Before I can even react, his head dips lower, his hand effortlessly lifting my chin, forcing me to meet his arresting gaze once more. He stares at me intently, his eyes never leaving mine, not once letting up, and then, without a word…he kisses me.
The sensation of his mouth on mine is simply… indescribable.
His lips feel so warm and soft, yet firm; simultaneously determined and unsure.
The initial contact is light and gentle, a stark contrast from the hard lines and raw intensity of the rest of him. It’s so unexpected; the complete opposite of what one would expect from someone so sinister.
It’s almost like he’s kissing for the first time.
Lord knows I am.
I have absolutely no experience with kisses, and hence can’t theoretically gauge what a good kiss is or isn’t but I know without a doubt in my now scrambled mind that this one falls into the ‘amazeballs’ category.
Hell, my feet are on fire if that’s any indication!
And it’s a relatively chaste kiss, too.
Yes. The perfect chaste kiss…
He pulls back and looks at me again, his seductive eyes roaming over my body, moving further down.
This time I’m positive he can see my nipples beading through the treacherous gown.
I’m nervous and excited all at once.
I want to hide but I also want him to see.
It’s all so strange; such a novel mix of emotions for me.
As he continues to stare at me with those invasive, breathtaking eyes, all I can think is:
God, I really want to keep dreaming.