Page 52 of Reaper's Ruin
Now I was going to live it.
Things like oysters were supposedly aphrodisiacs, but apparently, so was death—because ever since I’d died, it seemed I’d become a giant, walking hormone. Or maybe it wasn’t death. Perhaps it was the stone-cold hot zombie Reaper bodyguard causing my desire to go haywire.
Rhyker led me up a narrow staircase to a small room at the end of the hall. He pushed open the door, revealing a space barely large enough for the bed that occupied most of it, a rickety chair, and a small table with a basin of water.
One bed. Small enough that even if we both squeezed in, we’d definitely be touching.
Oh, God.
This is it.
The one-bedroom scene was really happening to me.
And I couldn’t lie.
I was here for it.
It was wrong. Naughty. Ridiculous even. I was dead and on the hunt for my killer so I could find my peace. But all I could think about was slipping beneath the sheets with Rhyker. An accidental touch here. A whoops I didn’t mean to brush that there. And finally, a clothes ripping, body slamming complete bangathon.
I’d had sex in life, of course. But they’d both been boyfriends. The sex had been... fine. Vanilla. Regular. And now I was dead, and I had no idea if I was going to get reaped and cease to exist or if I finally made it through my door, what awaited? Was there sex in Heaven?
All I knew was that right now, in this strange, inexplicable existence of mine, I wanted to do that one thing I never would have done in life. Never would have been brave enough to go for. But here, in my afterlife, I wanted to fuck the bad boy in the single bed and live out that fantasy in these last fleeting moments of my existence.
“You take the bed,” Rhyker said, already turning to leave. “I’ll keep watch outside.”
“Wait, what?” I reached for his arm, stopping him. “You’re not staying in here?”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said stiffly.
“But where will you sleep?”
“I don’t need sleep.”
“But you’re in a physical body now. Of course you need sleep.”
His jaw tightened. “I’ll be fine.”
Now I wished this was just a scene in one of my books and not real life because I would have thrown it across the room.
But as frustrated and simultaneously disappointed as I was, I was also touched. Disappointed that I wouldn’t get to see what that hot shadow daddy looked like underneath all that leather (did he even take it off to sleep?), crushed I was getting denied my only chance at living out one of my romantic fantasies, but also touched by his old-fashioned gallantry.
“If you’re sure,” I said, unable to keep the hint of disappointment from my voice.
He nodded once, then stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him.
I sighed, looking around the room. At least I had a bed, which was more than I’d expected when the day began. Even if it didn’t have a hot, shirtless Reaper in it waiting to let me act out all of my hidden desires.
I moved to the small window, looking out at the now-darkened streets of Centralia. So much had happened in such a short time—discovering I was dead, learning I was on some royal hit list, meeting a second Reaper, finding out Rhyker was known as Death itself.
And lusting for him like a complete idiot.
I turned away from the window, trying to figure out how to light the small oil lamp on the bedside table. I missed electricity. And indoor plumbing. And Google. I fumbled with a flint striker, cursing under my breath.
“Come on, you stupid—”
I gave up, moving through the dark room toward the chair to undress. But in the dim light, I misjudged my step, stubbing my toe on the chair leg.
“Ow! Son of a—”
