Page 133 of When Death Whispers

Oh.

It’s not a bone. Not some ridged bit of armor.

It’s his cock.

And it’s... impressive. And yet again, unexpected.

A startled laugh bursts from me before I can stop it, the absurdity of it breaking through my tension. The laugh slips out so easily it’s almost involuntary, and as soon as it does, Steo shifts, his cock bobbing slightly between us.

I can’t hold myself back any longer. Curiosity wins out. I slide my hand down, feeling my way along every ridge of his body. My fingers ghost over the firm muscle, tracing the defined lines that disappear below his hips, accidentally brushing his length.

Steo’s whole body jerks, his shadows tightening around me—around my ass, my thighs, holding me in place, giving me nowhere to go. But I don’t stop.

I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock, experimentally sliding my hand upward, gauging his reaction. The sound he makes is primal—a guttural growl that sends a spike of lust shooting straight through me.

“Do that again, Snow Pea,” he rasps.

I do.

I squeeze slightly, dragging my hand down his length. My fingers barely meet around the thickest part of him, and that’s when Ireallytake in the details. His cock isn’t smooth like a human’s. It isn’t even like Rad’s—thick, warm, muscle.

It’s bone.

Or rather, it’s made of interlocking vertebrae, like a spine, ridged and hard, each segment covered by a thin layer of the same translucent skin that covers the rest of him.

I blink.

Then, before I can stop myself?—

“So the Bone Daddydoesget boners.”

The words slip out before I can think. I can’t help it. After years of fearing a shapeless monster made of darkness, this creature—thisman—now standing before me paints a different picture. The shadow monster now seems like a distant memory, something I’d made up and imagined. These two are so vastly opposite that I can’t reconcile them as the same.

Steo stills.

Then, he growls. Loudly. Goosebumps spread on my arms at the sound, and I notice his eyes glow brighter.

So I don’t stop.

My amusement spreads into a smirk. The fear, the anger—gone, replaced with something warmer, more comfortable. I slide my hand up his length again, my core clenching at the feel of those ridges beneath my palm.

His hips jerk, his fingers digging into my waist. His shadows retaliate by undoing the knots of the bakery apron I’m still wearing and letting it drop to the floor.

“What did you call me?” His voice is dangerous.

I raise an eyebrow at his tone, but I answer anyway. “Bone Daddy.”

Another growl. His hips twitch again. His hands tighten, and the goosebumps on my arms turn into full-body shivers. I swear he shudders in response.

“Say it again.”

I blink. “You want me to call you?—”

“Say it.”

“Bone Daddy.” I punctuate the words with a slow, deliberate stroke of my hand and a grin.

Steo jerks violently, a sharp exhale ripping from him as he hauls me closer, his grip firm, possessive, needy. The orange glow of his eyes intensifies, his gaze boring into mine, the darkness around him coiling as if preparing to pounce. His shadows use the opportunity to slice through the back of my shirt, making goosebumps rise along my spine in the cold.

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