Page 134 of When Death Whispers

That’s when I realize—I have power here.

This fearsome, ancient, unshakable nightmare is at my mercy.

And that sends a thrill through me unlike anything else.

So I push further.

I lean in, voice sultry, teasing, thick with control.

“Come for me, Bone Daddy.”

I slide my other hand back up his chest, and grab him by the throat, testing how far he’ll let me push him, and increase the pace with the one wrapped around his cock, now curious as to whether shadow monsters have cum.

His growl spills into a full-body shudder, hips jerking helplessly into my hand as his shadows cinch tighter around me—frantic, feverish, already clawing at the seams of my pants like they can’t wait to tear them away.

But I don’t stop.

I stroke him faster, fingers squeezing, twisting, watching his restraint fray thread by thread. The sight of it—the sound of him unraveling—makes me dizzy with power. It’s a high—a rush. Like I’ve conquered something ancient and terrible and claimed it for myself.

And it feels too much like lust.

Like triumph dressed in heat and hunger, blurring the line between what I want and what I shouldn’t.

His shadows must feel it too because they fight back—removing the last of my clothes while I’m distracted, then curling around my breasts and gliding along my bare skin. I let them, no longer willing to deny the craving, no longer caring about what it could all mean.

It’s a battle of wills and lust, a war of dominance, and I refuse to lose. Neither of us backing down nor admitting defeat.

He lets out another growl that carries so much longing, so much hunger, that it becomes an almost physical feeling, spreading along his limbs, stretching along his shadows, and rippling along my skin in a vibration that sends all my nerve endings into overdrive.

My pussy flutters in response and my movements falter only for a second—but it’s enough.

His shadows instantly know what I want, before my mind even entertains the idea, and they push between my legs, stroking, pulsing, gentler than they did the last time, like they’re reading my reactions, and syncing with them. They find a rhythm that’s so perfect, hitting just the right places, that it pushes me dangerously close to the edge without having given them any direction at all. My body reacts violently, my thighs shaking, my breath hitching.

“Steo—” I gasp, legs unsteady, shaking with the effort to stay upright. The pleasure is too much, too fast, too deep. I don’t even know how to articulate what I need.

I barely have time to brace myself before his arms are around me, locking tight at my waist, holding me up effortlessly. My body melts into his, every inch of him solid and unyielding, his grip possessive but controlled.

“Too fast,” I pant. “Too much. Slow down, bone man. What’s the rush?”

His fingers flex against my hips, nails just barely pricking my skin, a silent warning. But he stills. Holds. Waits.

His next breath is slow, deliberate. But his eyes? They’re wild with hunger.

“You taste exquisite.” The words are a growl, dark and rich, vibrating through my chest where we’re pressed together. He leans in, his nose dragging along the line of my throat, inhaling deeply. His eyes flutter shut, their glow vanishing, and for a heartbeat, the room darkens around us.

Then the sound comes.

A low, primal rumble, deep in his chest, resonating through the very air itself. It rolls outward, into his shadows, making them tremble, making me tremble.

And suddenly, I feel it—everywhere.

A vibration spreading through every tendril wrapped around me, through every slick inch filling me, pulsing against my clit, pressing against the tight ring of muscle that’s already struggling to take him.

It spreads through my body in a wave of heat, and I arch, gasping, my inner muscles clenching down hard.

Oh, fuck.

Steo shudders, his grip tightening. His chest vibrates with another growl, and his shadows flex in response, a perfect, synchronized storm of sensation. I cry out, my body bowing back, my head tilting toward the ceiling?—

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