Page 9 of A Bloody Merry Christmas
He guided me inside the room and over to the bed. Tugging back the blankets, he beckoned me with a finger. The heat in the room was warm on my skin, and the biting cold I was used towas stuck on the other side of that window. The entire situation was surreal. Here I was in a nice warm house with heat and fireplaces and everything I used to have before Gary happened. Maybe I wasn’t here in the first place. This could be a dream to keep myself sane while I slept on the cold stoop of an apartment building. Had I been hit in the head and was now knocked out, slowly freezing to death while hallucinating? Certainly felt like it.
“I’ll get you to tell me your secrets,” I murmured, stare fixated on the area he’d just revealed on the bed. “Where are you going to sleep?”
He pointed at the floor.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose again, eyes widening in surprise.
“Don’t sleep there. This bed’s big enough.” I swallowed and crossed my arms. I felt naked without my coat because I was used to having it on all the time while I was outside, but I was also clean and smelled amazing. If this was a dream, I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t even care if he was a murderer. The fear I should feel wasn’t so much as a blip inside me. Shouldn’t I be afraid of him?
“Come on.” I clasped his hand and tugged him toward the bed. I slid in first, shuffling to the other side and digging my legs beneath the covers.
He followed me onto the mattress and under the blankets, then lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The only light was the lamp that came from his side of the bed.
I twisted to lie on my side, hand holding my head up as I stared down at him. The handsome lines of his face were prominent under the dim light, his mouth tightened in worry. After the shower he’d had, he smelled of the same soap I’d used.
Water clung to his curls, dripping down over his temple and forehead, but it didn’t seem to worry him, and I resisted the urge to reach up and run my hand through his hair.
“Are you afraid of me?” I whispered, stroking the back of my forefinger over his cheek. The touch made him jerk and he turned his head to look at me.
“Why?” He mouthed the words, no sound leaving his lips.
“I don’t know. Looks like you are.” I wriggled closer. I’d always been interested in men, since I was twelve years old and realized that while other boys wanted girlfriends, I wanted a boyfriend. On the streets I used it to my advantage when I got really hungry, turning a few tricks here and there. Some of the regular hustlers caught wind of what I was doing and threw me into the garbage. Literally.
I’d have to be blind not to see how attractive Samael was, and being so close to him made my dick hard. I couldn’t remember the last time it’d plumped up like this without a hand from me.
He didn’t look away when I leaned closer, but when I pressed a kiss against his lips, quick and sweet, he didn’t respond, either. I drew back, studying his nonchalant stare.
“You’re not gay, Samael?”
He shook his head mouthing, “No.”
“Oh. Well, fuck.” I laughed off the embarrassment that flooded me, making my cheeks hot. Falling back against the bed, I reached under the covers to cup my hard cock in the sweatpants. Without underwear, it got free rein. Even though I’d been rejected, that didn’t stop my dick from straining, wanting something. “Not even a mood killer.”
“You?” The word was garbled and drawn out. “Gay.”
I snorted. “Wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t. Straight guys usually don’t do that.”
Samael touched me on the shoulder again, but I refused to look at him. I pressed the heel of my palm against my cock, willing the traitorous bastard to go down. When he dragged his hand down my chest, I stilled.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, barely audible in the deadly quiet room.
He slid his hand lower, under the blankets to where I had a hold of myself. He nudged my fingers out of the way and cupped my cock, palm rolling over the hardness that wasn’t really constrained in the loose pants.
“I thought you weren’t gay.”
Without a word, he slithered his hand into the waistband of the sweats and used a firm grip to grab my erection. I hissed through my teeth and threw my head back against the soft pillow. I couldn’t remember the last time someone I was attracted to had touched me like this. The warmth of his skin felt good but not as fantastic as the pressure of his hold on my cock.
Wait, I wanted to tell him. I should’ve asked him to slow down, but I didn’t want him to. Electricity shot through my body, pleasure building at the base of my spine. The air thickened around me, the room spun, or at least, it seemed to in that moment. When his hand began to move up my length, I was flying so high I was surprised I didn’t come crashing down. Everything about this situation felt surreal, from the fluffy blankets I was buried beneath to the rough palm that worked me over. Thishadto be a dream. Either that or he’d killed me and I was in some weird, sexy afterlife with a hot ass serial killer as the star of my fantasies.
But it wasn’t.
“Oh my fucking God,” I said without taking a breath between words. I exhaled out through my nose, back in through my mouth, making it sound like I was a woman in labor rather than a man getting jerked off. But fuck, anyone would sound like I did if they hadn’t been touched by another person that they actually wanted in years. Johns were different. They were the ones who got the pleasure, not me, and most claimed they only wanted a hole to fuck.
Samael grabbed my chin with his other hand and turned my face so I could see his lips. “Good?” he mouthed.
I nodded so hard I dislodged his grip. “So good.”
