Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(75)

Tentatively he reaches for my jacket, and I help him shrug it off. The two of us make quick work of my layers of clothing until I’m down to just a bra and jeans. I slide the straps off my shoulders, then reach around and unclasp the hooks holding it fast.

Pestilence stares at my bare chest, and a part of me is dying to know what he’s thinking. Reaching out, he tentatively runs his hands over my breasts. Heat floods his expression. He may say he’s not a man, but he’s aroused all the same.

I lean in and press a kiss to his chest, right over one of the angelic markings. “What does this one mean?” I ask, my breath fanning over the foreign word.

He gives me an odd look. “‘Pestilence.’”

His name.

I move my attention down, where another band of golden markings dip beneath his waistline. I’ve caught a glimpse of the entire spread before, but I’ve never had a chance to really look at these lower characters. Even now, they’re hidden from sight.

My hand moves for his pants. Pestilence catches my wrist, his chest rising and falling with obvious want.

I think he knows this is different. Tonight is different. It’s one thing to kiss and admire—to even touch—but it’s another to pursue this.

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Then, coming to some decision, he rises to his feet.

I think this is where I get turned down.

Only, it never happens.

He reaches for his boots and pulls them off. Then the horseman’s hands go to his pants. He hesitates for only an instant before he unfastens them. The entire time his eyes are on me.

Pestilence steps out of the last of his clothes, leaving him as gloriously naked as the day he was born … er, created.

It’s physically difficult to look at the perfection of him in the firelight. It makes his skin glint like muted gold and his markings to glow all the brighter.

He stares at me with such intensity. “I didn’t tell you the full truth, Sara.”

I stare at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

For a moment, all I hear is the crackle of the fire.

Looking as though he’s coming to some great decision, Pestilence draws in a breath.

“That day in the woods, the day I found you, I intended to kill you.”

A good dose of my desire dampens at his admission. Nothing like hearing your post-apocalyptic boyfriend once wanted to murder you to throw a wrench in the mood.

I sit back on my haunches. “What changed your mind?”

He kneels in front of me. “The light that filtered through the trees that night cast strange shadows on your tent, and one of them was this one.” He takes my hand and moves it low on his pelvis, right over one of the curving characters. It takes a helluva lot of effort to stare at the glowing word rather than let my eyes continue downward.

I stroke the skin softly. “What does it mean?”

“Mercy,” he breathes.

Something superstitious ripples down my spine, drawing out the gooseflesh.

“And so you didn’t kill me,” I say, my gaze finding his.

“And so I didn’t kill you,” he agrees, the fire glittering in his eyes.

All this time I’d been hating on God, when He (or She—let’s be gender equal here) was the very thing that stopped the horseman from killing me all those weeks ago.

And now, here we are.

His hands go to my jeans.

He hesitates, probably waiting for me to change my mind. And maybe after that admission I should change my mind.

But I don’t.

I lift my pelvis, angling my body to better help him remove my pants.

Pestilence does so, reverently looking at each patch of exposed skin as it’s unveiled. He traces a finger along the edge of my ill-fitting panties.

“I wished to be convinced of human depravity …” he says under his breath, “but instead, this.”

His fingers hook around the underwear, and then he’s pulling it off of me. And with that, the last of the clothes between us is gone.

Moving agonizingly slow, Pestilence drapes himself over my skin. I almost sigh at the sensation of his weight and warmth against me. My hands come around his back, gliding over the thick bands of his muscles. I pull him closer to me, feeling the press of his cock trapped between us.

Pestilence the Conqueror hasn’t tasted conquest at its most carnal. Not until now.

He hooks an arm around one of my legs and lifts it up indecently. He glances down between us, and even though I’m certain he simply intended to see how our anatomy lined up, his gaze catches at my core, and there it stays.

Whatever he sees causes his cock to jerk.

I reach between us, and wrap my hand around it, pulling a groan from him.

“Sara, this is … beyond words.”

And we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.

I guide him to my opening. For several agonizing seconds, he stays there, immobile, soaking up the moment.

“Please,” I finally say. My hands move to the small of his back and urge him on.

“Please,” he repeats, letting out a pained laugh. “I should deny you, but I cannot.”

His breaths are coming faster, his blue eyes piercing me even as his cock begins to push its way in.

I release a breath at the sensation of him filling me up. He feels … sublime.

Pestilence has only partially sheathed himself when he pauses, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.