Die With Me (Angels of Désirer #4)

Misty

D rip.

Drip.

Drip.

The faucet in the seedy hotel I’m staying in—the ones where they rent the rooms by the hour—leaks steadily into the rusty, cracked porcelain of the sink.

Beyond the paper-thin walls, I can hear over-enthused grunts and moaning that sounds so rehearsed I wouldn’t be surprised if they were shooting a porn film next door.

But this is the type of place where my monster won’t think to look for me. The kind of establishment police stay away from, so I know I won’t be bothered while I plan my next move.

Pain lances through my gut, pulsing in time with the needle piercing my skin. Pulling it taut, I tie off the last suture needed to sew my flesh back together. Blood seeps from the cut, covering my fingertips, causing me to tighten my grip so the needle doesn’t slip from my grasp.

My wound isn’t fatal, just big enough to require stitches. Luca has a penchant for knives—or perhaps he favors them because they are my weapon of choice when I carve into another part of his delicious body.

When I warned my monster that I had found his hiding spot, I hadn’t expected him to strike back so vigorously. I mean, I expected him to be pissed that I paralyzed him and left him on the floor of the strip club he’s working at for someone to find—but I never expected to find myself caught up in our current game of cat and mouse.

Luca thinks he’s the cat, but our score speaks for itself.

- 3

Luca - 1

And what a thrilling game it’s become.

The pink and blue lights from the hotel’s large sign beam through the window, bathing the bed in a neon glow. Deciding not to close the curtains, I sit down and begin to remove the rest of my clothes. When I’m down to nothing but my bra and underwear, a tingling sensation blossoms along the back of my neck, slowly making its way down my spine.

My eyes snap to the window, searching the dark night lit up by patches of vivid color. There’s no one on the walkway or the stairs leading to the second floor. The parking lot is void of motion, with just a few empty vehicles in parking spots to the left or right of my room.

Yet, the feeling that someone is watching me grows with every second.

Is that you, il mio mostro? Have you found me?

The thought has my nipples puckering as the space between my legs comes alive with the idea of Luca out there, watching my every move.

I hate him. I’ve never hated someone as much as I hate the man who murdered my brother. But I’m also intrigued by him. He captured my attention when I was barely seventeen, and he’s kept it ever since. For the last eight years, he’s all I’ve been able to think about.

Oh, how sweet his blood will smell when I spill it. The way his head will tip back in pleasure as I ride his cock, catching him unawares in the throes of passion—his bronze eyes dimming as the life drains from them when I finally take my pound of flesh.

So why haven’t you taken it yet?

Blocking out my inner thoughts, my eyes scan the lot again as I approach the glass. There’s a patch of faded green on the far side, clotted with dusty, low bushes and short palms. Focusing on the spot directly across from my window, I catch the slightest movement.

It could be a palm leaf, blowing in the lazy, dry wind.

Or it could be my monster.

Keeping my eyes trained on the dark area, I reach up and unclasp the fastening of my bra. The cups spring free, straps slipping down my arms as I let the garment fall to the floor. My breasts hang full and heavy, nipples forming stiff peaks that point directly where I think I have an audience.

A glow appears in the dark—the cherry of a cigarette—followed by a billow of smoke that curls around the inky darkness.

My breath catches in my throat, a soft rasp as I trail my fingers down the swell of my breast and over one nipple, catching my nail on the tip before pinching it. My pussy is wet as the fingers of my other hand meet my opening. I stroke myself over the fabric of my underwear, more wetness gushing as the cherry burns brighter.

Releasing my nipple, I graze my fingers lightly over where Luca cut me earlier.

The figure steps forward. Just enough that the glow of the vacancy sign lights up his face right as my fingers swirl over my clit.

Raw need flows through me as Luca reveals himself .

Apparently, I didn’t choose a good enough hiding place. But he isn’t here to end our game.

He’s here to watch a show.

I take a step back toward the bed. He takes one forward, sucking the end of his cigarette as though it’s the very oxygen he needs to breathe.

My thighs hit the scratchy cotton of the comforter just as Luca approaches my window. There’s a fading cut on his upper right cheek—compliments of me, of course. His thick cock is outlined against his jeans, hard and long. I sit, spreading my legs wide and pulling my thong to the side so he can see what a mess he’s made me.

His eyes trail down my body before landing on my pussy. As though he couldn’t care less that anyone could see him at any given time, he reaches down and undoes the button of his pants, pulling his dick out just enough to stroke it as he watches me.

I swirl my juices around my pussy lips before plunging two fingers inside, matching the pace he’s set as he pumps his cock. My chest heaves, the angle of my body causing the wound on my lower abdomen to bleed through my amateur stitches; blood seeping down in small rivulets until it reaches my pussy.

“Fuck,” Luca mouths as he picks up his pace.

My teeth find my bottom lip, trying to keep a keening moan from escaping my throat and failing miserably.

I want to know what it feels like to sink onto his cock.

I want to know what it feels like to have him fuck me so mercilessly that he’ll make me bleed in an entirely different way.

I want to sink my blade into his flesh as he comes, mixing our fluids and forcing him to lick them off my lips so that a part of me can take root inside him before our lives end.

I fuck myself faster. Harder. My hips lift off the bed to meet my fingers, and I bury them inside me as far as they’ll go. Blood begins to pour as I rip my stitches while stretching my body over the bed, throwing my head back, and crying my release to the water-stained ceiling.

White spots dot my vision as I breathe through wave after wave of intense, hot pleasure, lifting my head just in time to see Luca explode, white cum flowing through his fingers and spraying over the surface of my window.

His eyes harden, and his jaw tics.

Red creeps along the perimeter of my gaze as the pain sets in.

Looking down, I see that I’ve ripped nearly all my stitches out. Blood leaves trails down my mound and into the crevices of my slick flesh. As I sit up, my release gushes out of me, mixing with my red life substance.

Scooping it between two fingers, I rise from the bed and walk to where only the thin sheet of glass separates us; smearing it over where he came.

Luca’s nostrils flare as he tucks himself away, watching as I paint him a message.

Fuck you.

He chuckles, and when he speaks, it’s as if there’s nothing between us at all. “I will, piccola demone. First, I’ll fuck you. Then, I’ll kill you.”

Then he turns and walks away, back across the lot, before disappearing into the night.