《A Writer and A Serial Killer》The Serial Killer
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the nightmares came back
they woke him up in the darkness
the sweat soaking the sheets
he was drowning
he couldn't think about the things he'd seen
things he'd done
was it wrong to live for those little moments when he felt alive?
he thinks about the writer
will she see the new deaths on TV?
will she cry?
women always seem to cry when it's a child that he takes
even if it's not their own
he goes to the bathroom and splashes water on his face
the moon is a bloody shadow on the floor
it illuminates the trash bags in the corner
the phone on the counter
20 missed calls: mom
if he talked to her would she hear the death still thick in his voice?
it has to be someone else
that girl
does he remember her number?
would she answer the phone?
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Marcus narrowed his eyes at her and brought a hand up, tangling his hand in her hair and tugging on it so she was looking up at him. "You're asking for it, Mila. I could have you moaning my name and begging for more in seconds," he said, squeezing her ass and rubbing himself against her. Mila inhaled sharply and let out an involuntary whimper, craving to be closer to him, with nothing in the way."You're all talk," she said breathlessly. "All talk, no action. You talk too much," she said, looking up at him with darkened eyes. "I'll believe it when I see it."Marcus growled, planting another hard kiss on her lips, pinning her to the wall with his body as his hands slid down lower on her ass, fingers curling around her inner thighs and getting dangerously close to where she was already wet for him. "You're going to eat those words, Mila," he said against her lips, pushing off the wall and carrying her towards the bedroom. "You're going to eat them while I fuck you so good you scream my name."Mila is desperate for money. So desperate she is willing to do anything to get it and has tried most things. She reaches the end of hope that she will get the the necessary amount in time to take care of the person who needs it, until she remembers her life insurance. The life insurance she gets through her work could cover everything, the only issue being it requires her death and a suicide-clause means she can't do it herself. Desperate enough to sacrifice her life, she finds hiring someone to do it too expensive and one night while drunk, she turns to her superstitious roots and tries to summon a demon to do the deed for her. Several failed attempts later, she's surprised to discover it actually worked, and a surprisingly attractive demon named Marcus is standing in her living room, refusing to accept her request and sparking a lot of feelings she wasn't expecting to have for a demon from hell.this book comes down Nov 1st, then only on patreon
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Young master Damien's pet
"Who touched you?" he asked, his eyes brooding down at her and when she didn't answer, his voice thundered in the room, "WHO?" The butler who stood near the wall spoke shakily, "Sir it was Mr. Reverale," Damien's face turned sour, his jaw ticking in anger he turned his face to the side where the butler stood behind."Bring the man here.""N-now?" stuttered the butler. It was the time of night.Damien who hadn't broken his eyes contact with the girl in front of him pushed his hand against the wall which previously rested beside his beautiful girl's head. Turning his body, he first looked at his butler who had his head bowed. With great courage, the butler came to meet his master's eyes, "Do you have any other better time? Or should it be after I wring your neck?" Damien asked calmly tilting his head. Not a second later, the butler ran out of the room to return back with Mr. Reverale after twenty minutes. "Damien, are we having a late tea party?" Mr. Reverale came to greet but the master of the house had other plans. Spotting the knife that was stuck to the apple on the table, he reached for it to pull it out. Just as Mr. Reverale went to exchange a handshake with him, Damien took hold of his hand to place it on the table. In one swift movement as if he were chopping onions, he chopped the four fingers of the man off his hand making him yelp and cry in pain."No one touches what is mine. I am sure this will remind you the next time you even think about touching her," sighed Damien as if he were tired of telling people to keep their dirty hands off his belongings.
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