40. Angel

The idea of lingering here after the guy is dead makes me nervous. Then again, I have to trust that Messiah knows what he is doing. All the others were killed a bit faster than this one. Then again, I hadn't been in a place where I could really dawdle. But the fact that Joe really had time to let the pain and fear sink in – it feels good.

I am a bit sad the others didn't get the same treatment.

Messiah rinses off my hands and then reaches down into the duffel bag for a pair of black latex gloves. He pulls them on then nudges my chin playfully before giving me a smile. He isn't afraid of me. He doesn't think this is fucked up. He doesn't think I am insane. I could see how hard it was for him to stand back and watch while I struggled with Joe. But he did – because I asked him. When he turns away to begin cleaning up, I grip his arm and pull him toward me.

Without giving myself time to question it, I grasp his face in my wet hands and pull him toward me. He doesn't shy away from the kiss. His arms wrap around me and he pulls me in tighter as I press my tongue into his mouth. The blood on my face reddens his cheeks but neither of us take much notice as he advances toward me, pushing me back until I am pressed against the concrete wall. My hands fumble in the narrow space between us, my wet fingers slipping on the zipper that I am eagerly trying to undo.

"What do you need, Angel?" he pants, sucking my lip between his teeth.

"You."

I do. I need him. Not just in the carnal way my body is craving at the moment. I need him beside me. I am more confident with him. No matter what part of me I have shown him, he hasn't shied away. When I push against him, he only pushes back harder. This is what I need. Not a hurricane to sweep me down but a rock to lift me up on.

When my fingers can't manage to undo his zipper, he reaches down and helps me. As soon as his pants are open I plunge my hands in, feeling the heat of his body as I stroke against his stiffened cock.

"Fuck me, Messiah," I plead.

"Fuck," he moans.

His hands unfasten my pants and they are baggy enough that they slide down easily. His fingers slide beneath my panties and he groans when he feels the wetness already waiting for him.

"Filthy fucking Angel," he whispers.

Dipping down, he slides my panties down my legs. I kick them aside as his hands grip my ass, pulling me up from the floor. As my legs go around his waist, I grip tightly against his neck and feel as he slides into me.

The fucking is raw. Carnal. It is full of need and angst. His fingers slide up into my hair and he grips it tightly in his fingers. A grunt escapes me as he slams his hips into me with enough force that my ass scrapes against the rough concrete wall. I bite his lip. He bends down and bites my neck. My fingers dig into his shoulders as I feel my climax building. It doesn't shock me this time. I know it is coming. I knew I would get it when I told him to fuck me. And I want him to fuck me.

"Messiah," I gasp.

My body is about to erupt. He covers my mouth with his and I suck on his tongue, letting the taste of him consume me.

Tightening my legs around him, I wrap my arms around his neck and let my head rest against his chest. The hard thud of his heartbeat rings in my ears as my muscles tense and then release as the orgasm turns my to putty.

"Fuck!' he shouts, slamming his fist into the wall behind us.

Quickening his pace, he pulls himself over the edge. With a final thrust, he rams his cock inside of me with such force that I am pressed back against the wall. Holding his face in my hands, I stare at the way his eyes soften and that dopey grin turns his lips up as he looks down at me.

It is that grin that makes my own heart stutter. For the first time in my life . . . I realize I am crossing a threshold I never met before. I think I am falling in love with a killer.