Page 10 of A Bloody Merry Christmas
He smiled and his grasp on my cock tightened until it was painful. I didn’t hate it, though. The bite of friction sent more spikes of desire through me and my balls felt heavy. I wasn’t going to last long.
It was when he ran his thumbnail over my slit that I lost all control. My world tilted on its axis and stars burst in my vision. My cock jerked in his hand and strings of cum shot from it, splashing my clean sweatpants. I arched my back, shuddering groans slipping past my lips. I rode out the waves of pleasure until I had nothing left to give and collapsed back on the bed.
A tremble worked through my body and I shivered, realizing he hadn’t let go of me. Samael had stroked me through my entire orgasm and even after I was done. He gave me a final caress before he pulled his hand out of my pants and stared at his fingers in the lamplight, as though my cum on his palm was the most unusual thing he’d ever seen.
I laughed because the entire thing was crazy, and he frowned at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I paused and stared up at the ceiling. Reaching beneath the blankets and into the waistband of the sweatpants, I rearranged myself and grimaced at the mess I’d made. That’s what I got for not wearing underwear, but Samael hadn’t given me any. “This was weird.”
Samael pressed his lips tightly and made a small noise that sounded like a hum. Then he mouthed, “Yes.”
How did I go about communicating with someone who couldn’t talk that well and either mouthed or wrote everything they wanted to say?
“So.” I dragged out the word, unsure where to take the conversation. “You’re not gay, huh?”
He shook his head.
“What was that then?” I turned on my side again, then cringed when I felt the stickiness between my thighs. I would need another shower after this.
A shrug was all I got.
“That seemed pretty gay to me. Just sayin’.”
His response was another shrug of his shoulders.
I huffed out a frustrated breath and sighed. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about who you kill, you don’t want to talk about how not gay you are after you jerked me off. Fucking fine.” I shoved myself out of the bed, my socked feet hitting the soft carpet, and headed out the door and back toward the bathroom. I had no idea what I was going to do with the sweatpants. Samael hadn’t given me another pair and these were now stained and sticky. The best idea I came up with was to wash them with a wet cloth and wear them again.
Mind made up, I slipped them off once I closed the bathroom door and grabbed the washcloth Samael had in the shower. I wet it and wiped at the cum I’d left behind. While I did a good job with the cleanup, I was left with wet sweatpants.
The door opened and Samael leaned against the threshold, his arms crossed. He stared at me carefully, and I ignored him, or at least, attempted to. His gaze made my skin burn, as though hot flames flickered just beneath the surface. A sense of excitement at being watched made my cock attempt to rise again, but after such an intense orgasm, I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Then again, I was only twenty-four and hadn’t been touched like that in a long time.
As if listening to my thoughts, my cock made a valiant effort with a jerk upward. I let out a half laugh, half sigh.
Samael shifted slightly, attention focused on my cock.
“Like what you see, straight man?” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the wisps of pleasure that danced through me at his penetrating stare. I hadn’t even noticed he’d brought his notepad with him until he’d taken a pen to it. Maybe I needed to learn sign language.
He passed his message to me.
Bad people.
I frowned down at the words. “Bad people?”
He snatched the notepad from me, pen scribbling over the paper before I had it back in my hands again.
Killers. Rapists. People who hurt the homeless. Bad people.
“Oh. Is that who you kill?” I licked my lips and searched his eyes. I didn’t know what I was looking for. His gaze was gentle but also pleading. He wanted me to understand and I had no idea why. We barely knew each other. Which was why I thought I’d gone crazy. I should run for the hills. I’d known this man for an evening and he was a murderer.
I could be his next target.
Yet, I didn’t care if I was. I was tired of life, weary of the cold streets and hunger. He could slit my throat while I slept and I probably wouldn’t care.
Then, I laughed. “Good. They deserve it.”
His lips bowed into a smile, creating dimples in his cheeks. “Yes.”
