Famine by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 48

That night, I stare at the bed in our bedroom for a long time, the lanterns giving everything a soft glow.

Our bedroom.

This is so weird.

“It’s not going to grow thorns,” Famine says from behind me, making me jump. I didn’t hear him walk up. “Unless, of course, that’s your thing. Because I can make that happen.”

I let out a laugh before falling silent once more.

Beds are one of those ordinary things most people take for granted. For me, however, they’re sort of a moving target. I’ve slept in them, fucked in them, been beaten and assaulted in them, and just about everything in between. Beds are a bit of a battleground for me.

But staring at the bed in front of me, with its soft sheets, I’m facing a new reality. It’s not just Famine whose world is changing.

“You’re really going to sleep right there. With me,” I say, nodding to the mattress.

I can feel the horseman’s gaze on me. “We don’t have to sleep.”

Another laugh slips out. I can’t even say what I’m feeling at the moment. There’s hope and fear and an anxious sort of excitement.

“Is this where you decide to give groveling a go?” I ask. He’s already pledged himself and sexed me up. All that’s left is groveling—well, that and actually proposing to me.

“Petulant thing.” Famine grabs me by the jaw and gives me a ferocious kiss. He walks forward, into my space, forcing me to back up until I bump into the wall. “Just for that, I think tonight I’m going to make you beg.”

I wrap a hand around the back of Famine’s neck. “You can try,” I say.

He grabs one of my legs and hooks it around his waist. Famine’s reaching for my other leg when I catch his hand. “Just—don’t ruin our bedroom floors.”

The Reaper gives me a wicked look. “Floors are overrated,” he says, grinding into me.

“Famine.”

“Ana.” He grinds into me a little more, and I forget the point I was making. “Besides,” he adds, “you like me a little wild.”

This is true.

“Fine, but if you break the floors, you’re going to have to fix them too,” I say, releasing his hand.

“Is this what domesticity is going to be like?” Famine asks. “Long discussions about floors? Because if that’s so, I suddenly see the perks of fucking you speechless.”

I guffaw. “You’re not that good a lover.”

He pauses. “Excuse me?”

I fight back my smile. “You heard me, Reaper. You’re not that good.”

Lies. All lies.

Famine knows it too.

“Take it back,” he demands.

“No.”

He presses deeper against me. “Take—it—back.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He reaches up the new dress I’m wearing and rips my also new panties clean off of me. It takes a little more effort for him to unbutton his pants, his erection springing free. The Reaper doesn’t even fully step out of his trousers, just pushes them down far enough to give his dick some room to breathe.

I raise an eyebrow.

Famine still has me pinned against the wall, but now he pulls his hips away long enough to align himself with my core.

And then he drives his cock into me.

I gasp at the overwhelming feel of him inside me. Everything about his presence is demanding. His grip, which has me pinned in place, his dick, which is forcing my pussy to give way for it, and his eyes, which are all but telling me to recant.

When I don’t, he gives me a challenging look. At my back, the wall shifts a little, then—

Crack-crack-crack!

The tile flooring breaks in a dozen different places. I smell the sharp scent of wet soil before I see the spindly plants rising from the ground.

“Damnit, Famine,” I rasp.

The horseman doesn’t respond, too busy thrusting in and out of me, each movement slowly forcing my pussy to better accommodate him.

I part my lips, a dozen different responses at the ready, but then the horseman begins laying into me, his hips slapping against mine, making my body jerk with every aggressive thrust.

My breath comes in shallow pants. The two of us stare at each other as he rails me.

All at once the Reaper pulls out. Still holding me up, he carries me over to the bed that was brought in only hours ago. He tosses me onto the sheets.

Around us, the room has morphed into something fantastical. Several small trees now crowd the space, their branches fanning out across the ceiling. And in the midst of it all there’s Famine, with his glowing tattoos. He’s much like this room—fantastical.

Before I can do much more than take him in, he grabs me by the ankles and flips me onto my stomach. The bed dips as he joins me, and I feel his lips skim the up curve of my back.

He brushes the hair away from my neck.

“Take it back,” he whispers into my ear.

Is he still thinking about my comments on his skills as a lover? Because if he is …

I arch into him. “No,” I breathe.

The horseman kisses my shoulder, and I feel his smile against my skin. Then he drives into me.

I let out a small sound, my body going boneless as he fits himself back into me. His cock pumps in and out relentlessly, and I can barely do more than fist the sheets.

I am all sensation, powerless to do much more than enjoy each deep stroke of his.

“I was going to make love to you slowly,” he says against the shell of my ear. “I was going to be gentle—and you know I’m not gentle by nature—but now I have a point to prove.”

I shudder at the sound of his husky voice. Even it has the power to pull me deep under his spell—it always has.

“Are you going to prove it?” I pant. “Or are you going to waste all your time chatting with me?”

His hips go still, and I can feel that unnatural gaze on my back.

I hear his laugh, and a very real chill runs up my spine.

Famine slips a hand between my stomach and my legs. He finds my clit, even as he’s hammering into me. The horseman rolls it between his fingers, and Jesus.

A low moan escapes me before I can stop it.

Oh God, he’s going to end this for me way before I’m ready. Everything feels so unimaginably good.

“Famine,” I gasp. My climax is right there. Another stroke or two and I’m done. “Famine, I …”

Suddenly, his fingers are gone.

My orgasm, which had been building up, now falters.

“Say it,” he says.

“Damn you.” This bastard.

“Just tell me the truth, little liar—that I am an exceptional lover—and then I’ll give you your orgasm.”

“No,” I say. I didn’t even want to come at the moment.

“Fine.”

His fingers are back on my clit, and somehow his heavy, punishing strokes deepen.

Once again my orgasm begins to build, coiling up inside of me—

He removes his hand.

“Say it.”

I’m not proud of it, but I think a sob slips out.

“Stop toying with me,” I say.

“Flower, you invented this game. Now, say it.” He’s still moving lightly in and out of me, but he’s withholding his powerful thrusts—the ones that will make me come.

“You are the devil.”

“Nope,” Famine responds smoothly. “He’s nicer than me.”

The horseman’s hand moves back to my clit, and it begins all over again. I’ve been having so much fun baiting the Reaper that I didn’t realize he had been baiting me.

I exhale, then arch against him.

“You’re not a great lover—” I begin.

Already, I can feel Famine reacting, ready to torment me some more.

“—you’re the best lover I’ve ever had.”

It’s easy to admit because it’s the truth. Everything about the sex we have is entangled—our limbs, our wills, our very personalities.

I feel his breath at my back. Finally, he kisses the juncture between my shoulder and neck.

“Thank you, flower,” he says. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

The fuck?

But then his adept fingers find my clit and he’s driving into me and touching me and touching me and it’s impossible to fight—

I cry out as my orgasm goes off, lashing through me. Famine continues to stroke my clit, stretching my climax out. But as he does so, I feel his body tighten. And then, with a groan, he empties himself into me, pistoning in and out until he’s spent.

Famine finally withdraws, and then all of that intensity transforms into something that is gentle. His palms glide over my arms and he kisses my shoulders and my scarred back.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against me.

I flip over and touch his cheek, my thumb rubbing against his skin. He turns his head to kiss my palm.

I can’t believe I get this man. Or deity. Not even sure at this point what he is.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Famine says, staring down at me.

I swallow, looking back up at him. “This is too good to be true. You’re too good to be true.”

He laughs at that. “Too good to be true? You wound me, flower. I haven’t built a reputation of violence and destruction to be so easily complimented.”

After a moment, he asks, “Are you still scared of this bed?”

I furrow my brows. He remembers my hesitation?

“I was never scared,” I admit.

He lays down next to me and pulls me close. “Then what were you thinking about when you were staring at it?”

“Like I said, this is all too good to be true. And good things don’t happen to me.”

Famine’s eyes go soft, and it’s an attractive look on him. “That’s not true. Not anymore. Not for either of us.”

He holds me tight, and that’s how I begin the first night of truly living with the Reaper—in his arms, in our bed, with his wildness all around us.