Chapter 3
EZRA
Samael led me up the stairs. He presented a bedroom to me with a gesture of his hand, and I walked inside, taking in the large comfortable looking bed and dark wooden armoire against the farthest wall.
Like his kitchen and family room, he didn’t have much furniture.
The bed and armoire were the main pieces, with a small nightstand next to the right side of the bed with a phone charger sitting on it.
The room itself was painted navy, the window near the bed hidden by thick curtains that kept the light out.
There weren’t any photos or many items I considered to be personal except an iPhone that sat in the charger. And possibly clothes in his armoire.
“Is this your bedroom?” I threw a grin over my shoulder at him.
He stood behind me, tall and hovering nervously like he expected me to tell him how ugly and boring it was.
His curls were damp from the shower, some of them sticking to his forehead, and he’d trimmed his beard.
His pajamas pants were striped with two different blues and his t-shirt was white. Like I said, minimalist.
He nodded and pointed at me, then the bed.
“I can sleep there?”
His smile should have been manic, something that belonged to a bat-wielding killer who didn’t blink twice about beating someone’s head in.
Instead, his curved lips left me breathless because the grin felt genuine and kind.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone was nice to me.
As a homeless man, I was nothing but the mud on someone’s shoe whenever they saw me. Not to Samael, though.
He nodded at me.
“Isn’t this your bed?”
Nod.
I frowned. “So, why are you letting me sleep in it?”
He wrote on that notepad again. It seemed like he carried it everywhere.
Why not?
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m a homeless guy.”
And I’m me.
I grinned. “So, this isn’t the first time you’ve killed then?”
His eyebrows darted up, and I wanted to laugh.
“Who do you kill?” I asked again, hopeful he’d give me answers.
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 to was 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.
This had to 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.”
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.”
“Is there a reason?” I stepped closer, highly aware of the fact that I didn’t have pants on. “What makes you want to kill?” I touched his chest, and he looked at my hand before laying his over mine.
“Don’t know.” He mouthed something else, but I couldn’t distinguish the words. My frown must’ve told him I was confused because he wrote it down.
Urge. Can’t explain. Need to do it.
I understood, in a way. I’d never killed anyone, of course, but the urgency to do something reminded me of the short time when I danced as a kid.
Whenever I was happy, I danced. As soon as my thoughts went to the past, I shoved the memories aside.
I refused to think about those days when I was happy, where no one could shut me up and all I did was talk.
I’d never expected to be here—homeless with a personality that had hardened from years of festering hatred.
I waited for the fear, the dread of knowing I stood in front of a man who bashed people’s heads in, but like before, nothing came. Was I dead inside? While I wasn’t horrified at the thought of what he’d done, exhilaration made my fingertips tingly.
“How often do you need to do it?” I leaned a little closer and breathed in his scent again.
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the soothing lavender.
How long would he let me stay before I was back on the streets?
I knew too much now. Either he’d kill me or keep me around. I hoped it was the latter.
When I need to.
His puckered brow told me he didn’t know the answer. I wanted to ask him more questions, but I knew when I’d reached my limit. An annoyed line had crinkled his forehead and he looked more interested in my half hard cock than answering any more questions.
“Do you have another pair of sweatpants?”
“Yes.”