Page 24 of Slay All The Way

“Do you always take care of the women in your life like this?” I ask, my voice teasing but genuinely curious.

He pauses, a flicker of something darker passing through his eyes. “No. Not like this,” he admits, his tone steady. “I’ve actually never cared for a woman like this before. Normally, I use them for whatever the fuck I need, and get rid of them. I’ve never seen a reason to keep them. No one’s ever meant anything to me—until you.”

I search Johnny’s eyes, trying to untangle the web of his words. “What do you mean when you say, ‘get rid of them?’” My voice wavers, but I press on, desperate for clarity.

He leans back against the tub, his dark charisma filling the air with a sinister charm. “Oh, you know, sometimes I kill them, Alaska,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing, as if we’rediscussing the weather instead of murder. “Sometimes it’s an accident—whoops, a slip of the knife when the rage takes over. But then there are those delicious moments when it’s for my own twisted pleasure.”

A chill runs down my spine. It’s terrifying to hear him say it so casually, yet there’s an odd thrill in his honesty. I can see the flicker of something in his eyes, a deep need for me to understand him. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, snowflake. You don’t have to fear me, not like that,” he assures me, his voice softening, a sharp contrast to the darkness he embraces.

“I want to protect you, not harm you,” he continues, his gaze intense and unwavering. “With you, it’s different, you know? You matter to me—more than anyone ever has. And I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m a killer, but I’d never lay a finger on you. That’s not how this works.”

His words wrap around me, warm and inviting, but I can’t ignore the gravity of what he’s saying. “It’s all about acceptance, darling. You’ve got to take me for who I am, flaws and all. No sugarcoating here.”

The way he speaks pulls at something deep inside me, a bizarre mixture of fear and exhilaration. “You’re the only one who matters to me now. I want you to trust me.” His smile is both comforting and unsettling, and in that moment, I feel the fragile strands of my defenses begin to unravel.

“But how can I? After seeing what your capable of?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, caught between the thrill of his confession and the fear of his reality. “How can I trust someone capable of such darkness?”

He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Because, snowflake, I’d do anything to keep you safe, to make sure you’re happy. That’s the new gamewe’re playing. It’s just you and me, and I promise, I won’t hurt you. Not now, not ever.”

With each word, I feel the weight of his promise sink in, and despite the chaos swirling around us, I’m drawn to him—this beautiful, broken man who wears his flaws like a badge of honor.

I’m taken aback by his honesty, the raw truth in his words hitting me like a wave. “Really?” I whisper, my heart racing at the weight of his confession.

“Yeah,” he continues, his gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m fucked up, snowflake. Some will even tell you I’m a goddamn psycho and that I’m dangerous, and they’re right. But with you… everything is different. You mean something to me. So I won’t ever lie to you, or keep anything from you.”

His admission wraps around me like a warm blanket, soothing my fears and stirring something deep within me. I should be scared. Shit I should be fucking terrified. This man, Johnny, he’s a killer. Mark, just one of the many victims to meet their ending by his hands if I had to guess, and yet, right now, even in my most vulnerable states, I don’t fear him. “Thank you, I guess. For being honest,” I say softly, feeling a mix of vulnerability and strength.

As he finishes washing my body, he steps behind the tub, his fingers finding their way into my hair. He gently lathers my scalp with shampoo, and the sensation is electric, each stroke sending goosebumps across my skin. His fingers work through my hair with just the right amount of pressure, massaging my scalp as if he knows exactly how to ease my mind. The heat of the bath radiates through my body, calming me as I lean into him, craving more of his touch.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm against my ear.

“More than good,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. The care he shows feels foreign yet exhilarating, and I can’t helpbut revel in it. I’ve never experienced this kind of tenderness before, and it ignites a warmth in my chest that leaves me feeling vulnerable yet cherished.

When he finishes, he pulls back slightly, his dark eyes searching mine. “You relax, I’ll go make us some breakfast,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, as if he’s afraid to break the moment.

“Wait,” I say, my voice steady despite the rush of emotions coursing through me. I reach for his hand, my fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling him back toward me. “I want you to come in the bath with me.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he considers my request. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or maybe a hint of excitement.

“Please,” I urge, the sincerity in my voice making it impossible for him to resist. I watch as he takes a breath, contemplating before nodding. He slides out of his bloodied jacket and Santa pants, sending them to pool around his ankles on the wooden floor before stepping into the tub, the water lapping at his strong thighs as I take in the sight of him.

My heart races as I absorb every detail—his shoulder-length dark hair slicked back from the water, the way the dim light dances across his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. Without his jacket, I can see the toned muscles of his arms and chest, his skin a warm, sun-kissed tan adorned with intricate tattoos.

He’s incredibly attractive—like, off-the-charts hot—and his cock is by far the biggest I’ve ever encountered.

As he settles into the water, I glance over to him, feeling a surge of boldness. I take the sponge from his hand and begin to wash him, starting at his shoulders and gliding the soft sponge over his toned skin. The warmth from the bathwater contrasts with the coolness of the sponge. His muscles are sculpted, eachcontour perfectly defined, and I can’t help but admire how the water glistens against his tanned skin. I focus on the sensation of the sponge gliding over his skin and the soft sounds he makes with the contact.

Leaning in closer, I let the sponge trail down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers. I continue washing him, moving lower and letting the sponge brush against the hard line of his abs. I can’t help but admire the way he reacts, the slight tension in his muscles, the way he holds his breath as I explore, but his eyes never leaving me.

When I finish, I set the sponge aside and take a risk I wouldn’t normally take. Without thinking, I slide over and straddle him, my body brushing against his as I settle into his lap. I can feel his hardness beneath me. His full lips pull into a cocky smirk that ignites a fire deep within as his hands find their way to my hips, gripping me firmly. Without thinking, I capture his face between my hands, I pull him up to me, and our lips collide in a heated kiss.

The kiss is hungry, filled with a longing that pulls us closer together. His mouth moves against mine with a fervor that leaves me breathless. I taste the remnants of my juices on his lips, and it’s intoxicating. My body responds to him instinctively, igniting a fire deep within as I grind against him, craving more of his heat, more of his touch.

But just as I try to take things further, to claim him entirely, he stops me, his hands firm yet gentle on my hips. “Alaska, wait,” he breathes, his voice strained with need. “You need food first.”

“Food?” I echo, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, but I know he’s right. The ache between my legs is a reminder of my desire, but the logic in his words cuts through the haze of lust.

“Yeah. Food,” he repeats, his dark gaze locking onto mine, a hint of mischief playing at the corners of his lips. “Then, onceyou’ve eaten like a good girl, you can have Santa’s cock as much as you want.”

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