Chapter Twenty-One
Are serial killers even allowed to get married?
That’s the thought currently swirling while I scamper, gleefully, inside the mansion with my fiancé’s fingers tangling around mine.
His warm, perfectly large doctor hand is squeezing mine, even though I’m sure it’s clammy as hell.
But he doesn’t care. Because he’s my fiancé, and I’m a serial killer.
If he doesn’t care about that, then I’m sure he doesn’t give a rat’s ass that my hand is sweating because of how wondrously, nervously stupefied I am right now that he just asked me to marry him.
Technically, that’s just one of many thoughts bouncing around in my head at the moment, like someone just tossed a handful of bouncy balls inside my skull.
Mainly, holy crap, I can’t believe Dr. Lemuel Love, Philosophical Doctor—yes, that’s what PhD stands for, I looked it up—just asked me, Felix Harmon Darcey, MoMH—Murderer of Many Humans—to marry him.
But also, the deeper stuff; the insecurities, vulnerabilities, fears, and doubts.
Lem is just the most incredible thing that’s ever existed, let alone showed up in my life. Naturally, because I’m obsessive and neurotic, I’m worried that he may have, like, hit his head or something. Because what doctor of the mind, in their right mind, would choose to marry a serial killer??
Glancing up at him, I find him smiling while tugging me along, up the stairs toward his bedroom. Or is it our bedroom now? Since, you know… we’re engaged.
But a frown tugs at my lips. Despite the popped question and the enthusiastic yes from yours truly, I am still a prisoner.
And even though he continues to sneak me out of captivity on occasion and bring me into this giant, beautiful, if creepy, mansion, I doubt there will ever come a time when we can actually live together.
The thought puts a teeny-tiny damper on my joy.
But I ignore it, because Lemuel Love asked me to marry him, and I said yes, and he’s obviously happy about it.
Regardless of all the other bullshit, my uncertainties about our future on this island, and doctor-patient marriage logistics, I’m in love with him.
And I know for a fact that he’s in love with me too.
That’s literally all that matters right now.
Well, that and being quiet.
It’s late, and there’s a brutal storm raging outside, meaning The Ivory could very well be home. I can’t imagine a world where Manuel Blanco isn’t aware of what’s going on in his home. Even so, it’s best not to tempt fate.
We’re not sure where exactly The Ivory is at the moment. We left the prison a while ago—distracted by the proposal—coming to the mansion to rest for a few and prepare for our part of Operation Overthrow.
It’s about to get all kinds of tense up in here, but Lem and I aren’t really concerned with that right now.
This is our routine. Lem sneaks me out of the prison late at night, and we frolic through the woods holding hands.
Enter the mansion through the spooky garden and kiss surrounded by crawling vines and wilting flowers.
Sneak up to his bedroom on the second floor where we fuck and cuddle, in secret, because it’s forbidden—God, that’s hot.
Then he returns me early in the morning, and no one says a damn word about it.
Denial is a potent cocktail, man. Pairs nicely with willful ignorance.
I think the power is out all across the island, making everything much darker than usual.
It was still on when we left the prison, but the lights were flickering for sure.
The floodlights, which can normally be seen through the woods from the mansion, went out after that last crackle of lightning and big boom of thunder, the lights in the mansion following almost immediately after.
“There are supposed to be backup generators somewhere,” Lemuel says quietly as we enter his bedroom with nothing but moonlight lighting our way.
You never notice just how much light there is until you’re on an island in the middle of the ocean and the power goes out.
“You got any candles?” I hum, following him around the room like a puppy.
I can’t help myself. I’m hypnotized, even more than usual.
We’re engaged.
My heart eyes have heart eyes right now.
“Mmm… good idea, beautiful,” he hums, wearing one of those little grins that might look subtle on anyone else, but on Lem, it’s a neon sign professing his state of smitten.
And it’s aimed right at me.
I truly am the luckiest monster ever.
Lem goes for a dresser drawer, taking out some candles and matches. “Make yourself comfortable… fiancé.”
His face, illuminated by only the glow of the candles he’s lighting, is even more radiant than usual. I seriously wish I had a camera, because this is a moment I want to remember forever.
Though I’m sure it’s a night I’ll never forget.
“Don’t mind if I do, fiancé.” I bite my lip, scampering toward the en suite.
“Get that sexy ass ready to be devoured,” he growls at me from across the room. I almost trip over my erection. “I wanna see how many more times I can get a yes out of you, sick boy.”
“Fuck, Lemuel…” I whimper, grabbing something on my way into the bathroom. “Yes yes yes, baby.”
I can hear his growly chuckle, and it’s driving me goddamn wild.
I’m stripping out of my clothes so fast, I’m practically falling down.
Though I choose to stay in boxer briefs, so I can tease him with every inch of just how hard I love him.
Pulling his Johns Hopkins hoodie over my head, the ensemble is complete.
I need my robot doctor to understand just how his I am.
Sauntering back into the bedroom, I chomp down on my bottom lip to contain my zeal. He’s unbuttoning his dress shirt, which is a delicious sight to behold as it is. But he stops mid-button-pop when he sees me, his grin going fifty shades of fuck me.
“I thought you were getting naked…” He swaggers over to me, grabbing two rough fistfuls of his sweatshirt I’m wearing, hauling me in close, until our lips are hovering. “This is better.”
“Is it?” I purr through a teasing smirk, though I’m wholly desperate to get him in me right now.
He nods, eyes on my mouth. “Mhm.”
“I figured you’d want to get me naked yourself, my big, sexy, I could’ve sworn I was straight until I kissed your cock, soon to be husband.” My grin is lust-drunk.
And when he hums out his amusement, like a growl of vibration into me through the firm wall of his chest, I’m mewling, thrusting my hips forward to rub my dick on him.
Lemuel shoves me onto his bed, immediately crawling over me, pinning my arms at my sides. It stirs me up mad, even more with frustration because I’d really love to grab him by the dreads right now. It’s my favorite thing.
His mouth brushes over mine, plush lips sucking my lower in a tender kiss that curls my fucking toes and throbs my balls.
“I did think I was straight until I tasted that dick, baby,” he croons, kissing me again, slower, while grinding his massive shape between my legs. “Fuck, so sweet…”
“Mmff, Lemuel…”
I’m spreading wide and not giving a single fuck. I’m such a slut for this man, I swear…
But he wants to marry me, so it’s fine.
“I do love proving you wrong,” I tease, breathless. Eyes drooping as he bites my jaw and sucks on my neck. “Is that when you knew you wanted to marry me?”
“Hm?”
“When you realized how much you love sucking orgasms out of me?”
He rumbles another one of those sexy ass chuckles. “Oh, monster… I’ve known I was gonna marry you since three inches.”
A laugh bursts out of me, and he looks purely elated.
Releasing my hands, he cups my jaw, kissing me deep, and so in love, my head is spinning.
I’m frantic, running my hands inside his open dress shirt to feel his unbearably soft skin covering boulders of muscle.
Dragging them down, I cherish his strength and size, going for his belt.
I unbuckle, then unzip him, stuffing my hand in to feel him.
“So so big, Dr. Want,” I trill in raspy, ravenous desire. Squeezing him until he throbs in my palm. “Ask me anything. I swear to God, I’ll say yes…”
He growls. “Can I fuck your perfect ass until you’re in tears and suck on your big cock until you’re coming down my throat?”
“Oh, baby, fuck… yes.”
Lem lifts his hoodie over my head.
But before it can come off, he’s gone.
Ripped right off of me.
What the fuck?!
It happens so fast; a blur body parts that spikes adrenaline in place of lust. In the blink of an eye, the mood has gone from wanton to worry. Hushed pants and kissing to the grunts of a struggle.
I sit up fast, watching in shock and horror as Byron Kang wrestles my fiancé on the floor. I barely have the chance to process what’s going on before Trevel Fenwick lunges on top of me, holding Lem’s straight razor up to my throat.
“Easy now, sweetheart,” he hisses over my face, grinning. “Wouldn’t want you getting carved, now would we?”
I’m stunned solid, the rage in me spreading quick, like a poison injected directly into my heart. Accentuated by how stupid I feel…
Never let you guard down. Jesus…
You used to be good at this. Now look at you??
Too busy being in love to see the potential of getting caught around every corner.
“If you hurt him, I swear to God…” I seethe, glaring up at him. This British asshole I actually thought was cool for a hot second.
My eyes flick to Lemuel and Byron… My heart is screaming. But on the outside, I’m calm.
It’s my thing. The benefits of being a sociopath, I suppose.
I puff myself up, snarling some psycho shit at him, though I can barely even tell what I’m saying. I’m just so worried about Lem.
Yes, he’s huge, and he could totally hold his own in any fight, but I don’t want him to have to. And Byron is a fighter. It’s what he does, according to Luthor and Ren. Not only that, he’s also pissed. So is Trevel.
They’re angry, I know that. I have no misconceptions about why this is happening.