Page 36 of Psychotic Faith
"And then?"
"Then he's yours."
The words land hard. She's offering me Neumann. Offering to let me have him after she's had her legal victory. To combine our methods.
"You'd let me…"
"I want to watch." The words come out in a rush, like she's afraid she'll take them back. "After. After I've gathered all the evidence for the public destruction. I want to watch what you do to him."
Something dark recognizes itself between us. She sees me truly now. Not a monster to fear but a match to her own darkness. The patience she's shown, the careful planning, it's the same as my methodical kills. We're both artists in destruction, just using different mediums.
She reaches up, her hand finding the back of my neck. Her fingers are cold against my skin, but they burn like brands.
"You've already ruined me anyway," she whispers, and there's something like wonder in her voice. "A lifetime of being good, and you destroyed it in weeks."
"Faith…"
She pulls me down.
The kiss explodes between us like violence. Her mouth crashes against mine, desperate and claiming and nothing like I expected. I thought she'd be tentative, careful. Instead, she kisses like she's drowning and I'm air. Like she's been starving and I'm sustenance.
Her lips are soft but her kiss is brutal. Teeth and tongue and suppressed rage pouring into me through her mouth. She tastes like tears and wine and something darker: that violence she's been hiding under cardigans and kind smiles.
My control shatters. My hands find her waist, yanking her against me hard enough that she gasps into my mouth. I swallow the sound, deepening the kiss until it's not a kiss anymore buta claiming. Mutual destruction. She's devouring me as much as I'm devouring her.
Her tongue slides against mine and my cock goes painfully hard. She must feel it pressed against her stomach but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she presses closer, her soft body molding against me like she was designed for this. For me.
I taste her fury. Her patience. The little girl who watched her mother die. The woman who spent half her life planning revenge. The librarian who reads to children while dreaming of blood. All of it, all of her, pouring into me through this kiss.
My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head back to change the angle, to go deeper. She moans into my mouth, a sound that goes straight to my cock. Her nails dig into my neck, not scratching but anchoring. Holding me to her like she's afraid I'll disappear.
I won't. Can't. She's in my bloodstream now, more addictive than any drug I've used on victims. The taste of her, the feel of her, the knowledge that she's as dark as me beneath the surface. It's everything.
When we finally break apart, we're both panting. Her lips are swollen, red from my assault. Her pupils are blown wide, only a thin ring of hazel remaining. She looks thoroughly kissed, thoroughly claimed, thoroughly ruined.
"That was a mistake," she breathes, but her hands haven't left my neck.
"Everything about us is a mistake." I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers. "Doesn't mean we can stop."
15 - Faith
We stay frozen for a moment after pulling apart, that desperate kiss still burning between us, the word “mistake” hanging in the air like smoke. But we both know it’s a lie. This was inevitable from the moment I saw him.
His pale eyes search mine, and then we crash together again, the kiss even more violent than before. His mouth claims me with calculated devastation. I taste blood and don't know if it's mine or his, don't care because I'm biting him back just as hard, my teeth finding his bottom lip and making him growl into my mouth.
This is insane. I'm kissing my stalker. The man who's murdered people for looking at me wrong. Who breaks into my apartment while I sleep. Who watches me through cameras I've already acknowledged, spoken to in the darkness.
"This is insane," I gasp when we break apart for air, but my hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as I speak.
"Yes," he agrees, his pale eyes burning. "Completely fucking insane."
Then his mouth is on mine again and I stop thinking about sanity. This is just physical need, I tell myself. All that damn suppressed sexuality finally breaking free. It has nothing to do with who he is, what he's done. My fingers grip his hair hard enough that it must hurt, and when he groans against my lips, power surges through me. I can affect him. This controlled killer who plans every breath, and I can make him lose control.
His hands find my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing, and suddenly my back hits the wall hard enough to knock a picture frame loose. Glass shatters across the floor, but neither of us even glance at it. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and I can feel how hard he is through his pants, pressing against me exactly where I need him.
"Wait," he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to see my face. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving. "If you want me to leave, say it now. But understand this: even if I walk out that door, you'll never be free of me. I'm in your blood now, Faith. In your dreams. In every shadow you see."
I laugh, dark and broken. "Free? I haven't been free since I found that first Polaroid on my pillow." My hands frame his face, forcing him to really see me. "Don't you get it? I LET you invade my life. Some part of me wanted… wanted something. Maybe not this, but something to break the pattern."
