Making Love To Death (One Night With Death)

MAKING LOVE TO DEATH

(One Night With Death)

Death and the Virgin

Death and the Lady

Death and the Bride

By

Natalie Kristen

Copyright
© 2013 Natalie Kristen

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
used fictitiously or are the products of the author's imagination.
Any resemblance to actual locales, events, establishments or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The material in
this book is for mature audiences only.

It contains
graphic sex scenes with the grim reaper, who as it turns out, is not
a cold, passionless entity, but a sizzling, hot male, a walking wet
dream for those lucky, or unlucky, enough to meet him.

Part
1: Death and the Virgin

*****

Death takes Emma.

But it is not her
life that he takes, it is her virginity.

And he leaves her
with not just her soul, but his seed.

One passionate
night with Death leaves Emma alive – more alive than she has
ever felt...

*****

Emma put on her coat and pushed out of the convenience
store where she worked the night shift. At this time of night, there
were hardly any cars on the road. Her small rented apartment was
just across the road, and she couldn't wait to crawl into bed. It
had been a long night, with quite a few drunken, rowdy customers at
the store. Luckily, no fights had broken out and she was able to end
her shift on time.

As she jogged across the road, she caught a movement at
the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see what was coming at
her, but not in time to get out of the way. Her scream was cut off
as she was flung to the side of the road. Pushing herself up, she
caught sight of a black car weaving and hurtling down the road.
There was a brief flash of brake lights as the car rounded the corner
and disappeared.

Emma scrambled up and winced at the sharp pain at the
side of her head. She had hit her head at the side of the curb when
she fell. There was a burning sensation on her left calf where the
car had grazed her. “Hey!” she shrieked. “What
the hell!” But the car was long gone. Even the sound of its
screeching tires and its choking exhaust fumes had faded into the
night.

With no witnesses and no one around to help her, Emma
could only curse and swear at her own bad luck and at the
irresponsible, drunken hit and run driver who was by now wrecking
havoc down another street miles away from her. The street was
completely deserted at this unearthly hour. Keeping her eyes and
ears peeled for any more crazy drivers coming her way, Emma limped
across the road and made it to her building.

Staggering up the stairs to her second floor apartment,
Emma fumbled at the lock for a painfully long time. Her hands were
shaking so badly and her vision was blurring. By the time she
stumbled into her apartment and slammed the door shut behind her, she
felt like she was about to throw up.

Emma flicked on the bathroom light and stared at her own
reflection in the mirror. Her eyes rounded in shock and horror.
Where did all that blood come from? The right side of her face was
smeared with fresh blood. Numbly, Emma pressed her hand to the side
of her head and squeezed her eyes shut to stem the rising nausea.
Her hand came away sticky with her own blood.

Turning on the tap at full blast, Emma frantically tried
to wash the blood away from her face and hair. After she had cleaned
most of the blood away, Emma gingerly untied her ponytail and parted
her wavy brown hair to examine her head wound. There was a long cut
where her head had hit the curb, but it wasn't bleeding anymore.
Deciding that it wasn't serious, Emma began to peel her clothes off,
grimacing and grunting at the stab of pain in her leg as she eased
out of her panties and stepped into the shower. Slowly she soaped
her aching limbs and let the water wash away all traces of her brush
with death. That stupid, speeding car could have killed her. She
was lucky to have escaped with just a cut on her head, some ugly
bruises and frazzled nerves.

Stepping out of the shower, Emma examined her injuries
again. Cleaned up, they didn't look quite as bad as before. She
tried to towel her hair dry and immediately hissed in pain. The
pounding headache was working up to a full blown migraine. Blowing
out a breath, Emma hoped fervently that she would be able to make it
to work in the morning. Besides the stint at the convenience store,
she had a day job as well. From nine to five, she worked as a clerk
in a small logistics company, and after work, she would wiggle out of
her office clothes and into the green and red uniform before rushing
to the store. She worked the night shift at the convenience store
about three or four nights a week. Two jobs meant she could save up
enough money to put herself through college faster. Her parents had
died suddenly three years ago when she was eighteen. Being an only
child of only children, she had no siblings, aunts or uncles to turn
to. But she was a survivor. Her parents weren't rich and they
hadn't left her with much materially, but they had brought her up
well. They had taught her to always be strong and independent, and
she had managed just fine. But holding down two jobs left very
little time for anything. She didn't sleep much, let alone
socialize, date or party. Sometimes as she lay exhausted in bed
after her night shift, she wondered if she should be working less and
playing more, like a normal twenty-one year old. But the thought
never had the chance to linger. She was usually asleep before any
disparaging, destructive self-pitying sentiments could creep in and
make themselves comfortable in her tough, tired heart.

With her limbs smarting from the impact of the collision
and the fall, Emma found it impossible to wrestle her aching body
into her clothes. Surrendering to fatigue, Emma simply crawled naked
into bed and slid between the covers. Her hands fell on her flat
belly and she ran her fingers across her bare skin absently.
Exhaling a long breath, Emma traced her fingers down her body,
suddenly acute aware that her body had never been touched. Not in
that way. Not by a man. Not by anyone. She was a virgin, a virgin
who was too tired to have any fun.

Her eyelids were growing heavy and Emma turned her head
towards her open window. There was something perched on her window
sill and Emma blinked the shape into focus.

It was a raven.

Emma gasped when the raven cocked it head and stared
right back at her with the most startling blue eyes she had ever
seen. As she gazed into its swirling blue eyes, she had the feeling
of looking into the deepest ocean and the highest skies. There was a
strange sense of vertigo and she felt like she was falling or flying,
deeper and higher, on and on into the beautiful, drowning blue.

Still staring straight into her eyes, the raven spread
its ebony wings and pushed off the window into her room. Its wings
seemed to grow and spread, fluttering and swirling until it became a
flowing black cloak. The cloak hid the raven momentarily from Emma's
view but she saw that beneath the cloak, broad shoulders had formed
and a statuesque figure was straightening up from the blur of
feathers and shadows. The raven was shifting before her very eyes
into a tall, masculine human shape. Everything about the raven had
changed, except for its eyes. Those eyes were still the same pure
blue of the clearest skies and untainted seas.

The cloaked figure took a step towards her and this
small movement jolted Emma out of her immobility. Those uncanny,
knowing blue eyes seemed to have a hypnotic effect on her. As if she
had just been freed from a spell, Emma blinked and swallowed a big
lungful of air before jerking bolt upright in her bed.

“
Hush, Emma, I won't hurt you,” a silken
voice told her.

The voice was deep and gentle, and it stopped the scream
which was about to erupt from Emma's throat, but it didn't stop her
questions. “Who are you? What are you? What do you want?
How did you do that? Why are you here?” Her questions flew
thick and fast from her lips, as she scrambled up and gripped the
covers close to her naked body.

But it wasn't the presence of this tall, masculine
figure in her room that frightened her. She should be petrified,
terrified of this dark, imposing, cloaked stranger who had
materialized in her bedroom in the middle of the night—but she
wasn't. She had seen his eyes and heard his voice, and she trusted
them. She trusted her instincts, which had always been alarmingly
accurate.

And her instincts told her exactly who he was.

The answers had come to her even as the questions
tumbled from her quivering lips.

She knew.

She just knew who he was.

Emma could almost hear his voice in her head, answering
her questions even as she thought them. He was in her head, and he
was by her bed. There was no way to deny his presence. Yet, she
refused to accept that he was here—for her.

“
No,” she whispered. “You're not.
You can't be.”

“
Dear Emma, I'm afraid I am,” he said with a
sigh as he lowered the hood of his cloak to reveal light blond hair
and a handsome face which looked ageless, yet hinted at knowledge and
experience which were as deep as the seas and as ancient as the
stars. Emma thought he looked like a young man in his twenties, but
when he frowned, he suddenly looked older. He could be twenty,
thirty, forty, maybe a thousand years old—there was no telling.
His bright blue eyes contrasted beautifully with the golden tan of
his skin. He had a strong jaw and sexy, kissable lips. Emma gulped
audibly at the erotic turn of her thoughts. How could she be
thinking of kissing him, when he was here for her life, her soul?
She should be plotting to kill him, not kiss him! But how do you
kill Death? She shook her head hard. No! This cannot be happening!

“
You're Death,” she breathed, pinching
herself and willing herself to wake up.

The sexy stranger nodded once.

Giving her thigh another vicious pinch and closing her
eyes at the smarting pain, Emma hoped that he would be gone when she
next opened her eyes.
Please, please, please, wake up! Let this
be a dream, a nightmare. Nothing new here, Emma, you've been having
so many damned nightmares you should be used to them by now. Now,
wake the fuck up!

Her eyes snapped open, and—he was still there.

“
Y-you're real,” she stammered, panic and
disbelief warring in her.

“
Death is real. You, of all people, should know
that,” Death said gently.

Emma's breath caught. His words opened up that deep
wound in her heart, the one she hadn't really allowed to heal. She
had just buried it under hours and hours of exhausting, numbing work,
and pretended that she was fine. Death was all too real. She knew
that, but she just didn't want to believe that. She hadn't wanted to
believe that her parents were gone when the accident happened. She
wanted it all to be just a bad dream, one that she was still waiting
to wake up from. She kept hoping that one magical morning, she could
jump out of bed and run to her parents' room to hug them and tell
them everything that she hadn't had the chance to tell them. But
every morning, when she woke up, she was still alone. Death was
indeed real. And horribly, terribly cruel.

“
Go away!” Emma hissed, feeling the tears
sting her eyes. “Get out of my room! Get the hell away from
me! Haven't you done enough?”

“
I'm just doing my job,” came the flat
reply.

“
Go do your freaking job somewhere else.”
Emma clutched the covers and pulled them up to her chin. “You've
got the wrong place, and the wrong person.”

Death shook his blond head, and said, “I never
take the wrong person.”