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Ignoring his demand, I roll my nipples between my fingers.
“Look at me when I’m haunting you,” he snarls.
Death has brought out an unpleasant aspect of Xero’s personality. He never used to be this much of an asshole when he was alive. At least not to me. Forget what I said about playing along. He can get fucked. I won’t let him ruin another of my orgasms.
The buzzing between my legs stops, and I crack open an eye.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Obey me or the pleasure will stop.”
“Fine,” I snap, opening both eyes.
Outside, clouds drift over the moon, encasing the room in complete darkness. Xero’s eyes are no longer visible, and all I can see is a vague outline of his cloak.
“I have a question.” When he doesn’t answer, I continue. “Why do you come to me as the Grim Reaper?”
“You know the answer.”
“Because you’re a killer?”
“Precisely.”
The buzzing restarts, making me groan. Shockwaves of pleasure course through my core. My clit swells and throbs, feelinglike it’s doubled in size. Rolling my hips, I let out a throaty moan and lose myself in the sensations.
“Pinch your nipples,” he says.
“Like this?” I close my fingers around my tem and pull.
“Harder,” he growls.
I pinch so hard that pain shoots down to my clit, and tears gather in the corners of my eyes. The muscles of my pussy tighten around an object the girth of my finger, making me realize there isn’t just a toy in my panties but within my walls.
The vibrations press against a spot inside my core that sets off an explosion of sensations. I release my nipples with a gasp. This is even hotter than our morning phone calls.
“That’s my girl,” he rumbles. “Now, slap them.”
“Slap what?”
“Your tits.”
“Why?” I screech.
“Obey me,” he roars, making all the fine hairs on the back of my neck want to uproot themselves and fly out of the window.
What the fuck am I doing? Xero isn’t just a dead killer. He’s the ghost who murdered Kayla and then cut off Gavin’s fingers. Why the hell would I antagonize him when he has me one broken chair leg away from death?
“Sorry. Sorry.” I slap my breast, making it jiggle.
“Harder,” he rasps, his voice breathy.
I slap the other.
“More.”
Burning heat spreads across my skin, igniting every nerve with humiliation. My face heats at with embarrassment, and tears stream down my cheeks as I’m forced to attack my breasts.
He never made me hurt myself during our morning phone sex, yet I’m compelled to obey. My fingers tremble with a cocktail of unwanted emotions: fear, excitement, arousal, and shame. I should plead for mercy, yet I can’t stop. I deliver another stinging slap, with a burst of pain that my brain morphs into pleasure.
