Page 87 of Psychotic Faith
"I wanted to decide first. If I could raise a child in blood."
My hand spans her still-flat stomach, feeling for changes too subtle to detect yet, but knowing they're there. Possessive and gentle simultaneously. "Our child. Raised in truth, not performance."
A child. The word rearranges everything in my mind like a chemical equation finding balance. We who deal in endings creating a beginning. Our enemies will see this as weakness, leverage. My hands will have to get so much bloodier to keep this child safe.
"Little psycho junior," she teases.
"Or perfect actress," I counter.
She turns to the gravestone. "Mom, I'm pregnant. With a serial killer's baby. Living in a mafia mansion. Helping plan murders. And I'm happy. Actually happy." Wind moves through cemetery trees. "I think you'd understand. You fought to the death rather than submit. I fought my way TO him. Different battles, same war."
I add my own vow: "I'll protect her like you would have. Except I'll succeed."
Not criticism, just fact. I have resources Jenna Winters didn't.
"We're not good people," Faith says. "Never will be. Our child will grow up knowing violence as a lullaby."
"Good. Better an honest sinner than a lying saint."
She pulls me to my feet. "Promise me something. When I'm gone, however that happens, bring our child here. Tell them the truth. All of it."
I promise, though I plan to die first or together. I can't conceive of a world where she's gone and I remain.
We walk back through the cemetery, hands linked, my thumb rubbing circles on her pulse point. Other mourners arriving step aside instinctively. A grandmother hurries her grandchildren past, primal recognition making her clutch them closer.
In the car, Faith puts her feet up on the dashboard. She knows I used to hate that, now find it endearing. She guides my hand between her legs, already wet through her underwear.
"The violence makes me need you," she admits, no shame anymore.
I finger her while driving, making her come just as we pass her father's courthouse, her cries of pleasure a declaration of what she's chosen over his version of justice. She tastes like victory when I lick my fingers clean at the red light.
"Take me home," she says.
"Which one?"
She guides my hand back between her legs, still soaked from her orgasm, her pussy clenching around nothing. "Wherever you can fuck me hardest. The baby makes me need it rougher."
My cock hardens instantly, pressing painfully against my zipper. Nine more months of her pregnant and insatiable. Nine months of her body changing, swelling with my child while her hunger for violence and cock only intensifies.
"The basement?" I suggest, already knowing her answer.
"Yes," she confirms, her fingers working at my belt while I drive. "I want to celebrate our child where we celebrated our revenge."
She unzips my fly carefully, and her hand wraps around my cock, stroking with that perfect pressure that makes me swerve slightly. "Faith…"
"I've been ready for you since you threatened that PI," she confesses, thumb circling the head of my cock, spreadingprecum. "The way you look when you're about to hurt someone for me… God, Luca, it makes me need you inside me."
I press harder on the accelerator. The mansion is eight minutes away. Eight minutes before I can bend her over the same table where Neumann bled out, fuck her until she screams loud enough to wake the ghosts we've created.
"You know what pregnancy hormones do?" she asks, still stroking me with maddening slowness. "They make everything more sensitive. Every touch, every orgasm. And the violence…" She moans, her free hand sliding under her dress. "Watching you work makes me so fucking horny now, I had to change my underwear twice during your interrogation last week."
My cock pulses in her grip. The thought of her watching me torture someone while dripping with need, carrying my child while craving more violence. It's everything I never knew I wanted.
"The world doesn't know," she continues, releasing my cock only to pull her soaked underwear aside, showing me how wet she is. "What we're creating. What we're becoming."
I want more of her. Nine months isn't long enough to fuck her in every possible way while she's swollen with my child. This hunger between us will only grow stronger, darker, until we consume everything around us.
And I can't fucking wait.
