Page 22 of Love in the Dark

Azazel throws the weapon aside, moving to stand between the man's spread legs. "You like that, don't you?" he taunts in a low, hypnotic voice. "You like the sting and the burn. You want more." It isn’t a question. Azazel goes to his bag and retrieves his gun.

"Please … stop this." The man breathes, his eyes glazing over with tears and desperation.

With a wicked smile, Azazel shoots the man in the left leg. "That's it. Beg." The man obeys, screaming out for help.

Cherrie moans at the sight of the man's pain-stricken face. "Oh yes, so beautiful. Now it's her turn."

Azazel chuckles–a deep sound that vibrates through the room. "Indeed. But first..." He digs his index finger into the man’s wound and brings his finger to his lips, licking it clean with a lascivious smile. "Mmm, delicious."

Cherrie's eyes flutter closed at the sight. "I need to taste her next, my love. I need to feel her blood on my tongue." Azazel unties the woman, pushing her to her knees in front of Cherrie. "Make her bleed, Baby. Show her what real pleasure is."

With a feral grin, Cherrie pulls the woman closer, pressing their lips together in a passionate kiss as she works her knife slowly into the woman’s stomach. She breaks the kiss with a gasp, moving her mouth to the knife and licking it.

Lilith cries out and gasps for air. "That's it, bitch, bleed for me." Cherrie urges, her own breath coming out in short gasps as she brings the woman closer to death , then pushes her over. Cherrie leans over and whispers, “That one is for Bianca.”

The woman's cries fill the room, her body shaking as she applies pressure to her wound. Cherrie drinks in the sight and sound of her. As her

cries fade, Azazel unties the man, pushing him toward Cherrie. "Finish him, my pet. Show him how it's done."

Cherrie needs no further encouragement, moving to straddle him, his eyes wild with fear. She takes her knife, lifts it with both hands, and stabs him in the heart. “That's for Brandon.”

Cherrie sits back, her eyes sparkling with delight as she watches the man take his last breath. She turns to Azazel, who is on one knee, his eyes shining with love and lust. "Will you marry me?" he inquires, his voice steady despite the bloody scene before them and the ring, Cherrie’s favorite, a round cut garnet ring with a black diamond halo, metal rose accents, and bat wing-shaped red opal inlays.

Cherrie’s eyes widen, and for a moment, her usually unreadable expression softens. "Yes." She breathes, reaching for his hand. He pulls her to her feet. "Yes, I will, Daddy! YES!" As the victims take their last breath, Azazel pulls Cherrie close, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that is equal parts passion and promise. Their tongues dance, tasting each other as the sound of the couple's passionate cries fill the air around them. When they finally break apart, Cherrie smiles, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears of joy. "I love you, my psycho, unhinged killer." Azazel's eyes darken, his hand tightening possessively on hers. "I love you too, my crazy, beautiful queen."

And in that moment, Azazel and Cherrie know that their love is as unbreakable as it is unconventional. Theirs is a bond forged in blood and lust, and it will endure forever.

Chapter Twelve

Russian Roulette

Cherrie and Azazel take a break from their drive, finding themselves in a dimly lit motel room, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of lust. The room is sparse, with a single bed, a nightstand, and a small table in the corner, adorned with a solitary candle, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the walls. The atmosphere is electric, charged with a dangerous energy that only these two could create.

Azazel towers over the bed, his muscular frame adorned in a black leather vest, his eyes piercing through the shadows. He exudes an air of raw, untamed power, like a predator ready to strike.

Cherrie sits on the edge of the bed, her curvy figure accentuated by a sheer, black lace nightgown. Her brown hair falls in soft waves around her face, framing her stunning blue eyes. She is the epitome of a femme fatale, a seductive siren with a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Her plus-size figure isa work of art, curves in all the right places, and a soft, inviting warmth that draws Azazel closer.

On the nightstand between them, lies a polished revolver–its metallic surface gleaming in the candlelight. The gun is the centerpiece of their erotic game, a deadly prop in their twisted romance.

"Let's play, my love," Cherrie purrs, her voice dripping with desire.

She reaches out, her long, slender fingers caressing the gun's barrel, running along its length with a possessive touch. "I've been craving this moment–cravingyou."

"Oh, I know you have. You're a wild one, always craving the thrill." His deep voice rumbles, sending shivers down Cherrie's spine.

"And you, my handsome devil, are the only one who can satisfy this craving." She leans forward, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. “But tonight, we take it up a notch. Tonight, we play a game of chance.”

“A game, you say? And what rules do you propose?”

"Russian Roulette. A game of trust, desire, and the thrill of the unknown." She leans in, her breath hot against his ear. “We take turns, spinning the chamber, and pulling the trigger. Each click, each breath, brings us closer to the ultimate climax.”

"A game of life and death, intertwined with pleasure. I like it." He reaches for the gun, feeling its weight in his palm.

“But there's a catch. With each pull of the trigger, we strip away our inhibitions–our clothing, and our secrets. We bare ourselves, physically and emotionally, until we're left with nothing but raw desire.”

“A game of revelation, then. I accept.”

With a slow movement, Cherrie takes the gun, her fingers brushing against his, sending a spark through their connection. She holds the revolver, the candlelight glinting off the metal.

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