Death Is My Soul Mate (Book 5) *ON HOLD*

Chapter 5: Infatuation

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           Death had skilled hands. Truly, he did. He told me that on many occassions, and those words hadn't failed me yet. He had these long calculated, deftly fingers, which he had used many times against me, and probably many other women, for his own personal gain.

         I'll admit, I always felt a sharp ping of jealousy in my chest simply by thinking about those fingers sliding against someone else's skin, intimately caressing another person, making someone else's head spin and heart pound. The man was thousands and thousands of years old, of course he had...been...with other women. Of course he had...touched...other women, and yet I couldn't ever get it out of my mind that I wasn't the only one he had ever touched.

             It should have been a sin in itself to be embraced by the Angel of Death. To feel such strange and alien sensations from a body part that one rarely even thought twice about. Those slightly rough and deadly weapons at the ends of his hands were unpredictable and merciless, just like the man who wielded them. They could be pure fire one day, fed with his rage and power. Not fire as in hot -- Death's skin was always scolding hot, fire as in alive. When his fingers were fire, his touch melted into the core of your body and an explosion of his awareness would occur, lighting you to flames. Other times his touch was icy and empty, when he could physically touch you yet you would feel no connection to him once so ever. You never knew which touch you were going to get. Everything about Death depended on his mood. Everything about Death was well thought out, complex, and most of the time, paralyzed you. His touch, his presence, his voice, even his gaze, could be everything to you, could draw all of your senses, or be nothing at all.

            Death had always been a conundrum to me, even when I thought I knew him right down to his black soul. Maybe he was one on purpose to scare people away, but I personally always loved a challenge. Also, I personally wasn't always paralyzed by his touch, nor did I always appreciate it. Just saying.

            "GET OFF OF ME!"

            "Only if you say please and rub against me with your pelvis a little harder," the Fallen straddling my hips teased darkly above me, those slit green eyes downright thrilled as they watched me wrangle with my handcuffs. My arms were knotted at an awkward angle behind my back, and a thin sheet of sweat was coating my neck and forehead. I fought to be freed, but nothing was budging but my disobedience. The only way I would be freed would be to obey Death.

            I continued to scream. He stuffed something cottony in my mouth. I prayed it was a t-shirt and not his underwear.

            "It is my underwear. Eat up, princess."

            You BASTARD!

            "Do you honestly believe that I wear underwear? It's a clean rag, relax." Death's laughter thundered against my ear, rattling my skull. He was getting more than a kick out of this. Firmly wrapping his hands around my biceps, he lifted my weight easily onto the bed but you better believe I was struggling. The entire time I was kicking out, trying to nail him right in the pretty face with my foot, and gagging against the cloth in my mouth, hoping I didn't barf.

            I still was convinced it was his underwear.

             Death wrestled me on the bed with his long, sinewy legs intertwining with mine until he finally pinned me down where he wanted me at an unbelievably uncomfortable angle and position with my head wedged under his thick arm. I could smell his soap, spicy cologne, and damn him, even that deodorant that reminded me of the ocean. The awkward position he had me locked in allowed me little access to his face or his crotch. Just the way he wanted it. Death curled his arm around me and unlocked my hands. Now he was vulnerable and my inner animal could attack. I started to bring my claws back to stab him in back with my jagged claws, when I  realized how stupid that would be. My head was still locked under his massive arm. Death's plan was to squeeze my skull like a nut cracker if I so much as scratched him and make me black out. I would heal, then wake up cuffed to the bed. If I didn't fight back, I'd be cuffed to the bed. Either way, I would be cuffed. After a long moment of hissing and cursing on my side, I decided it wasn't worth it to black out and willing gave him my hands.