The man gaped at him.
“It never is for me either.” Lam said, too honest. “It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t quite scratch that itch, does it?”
Brent still had nothing to say.
“Oh well, there’s always another bar, another Brent,” Lam said, trying to console himself. It would be a while before he could go out again, but there would be other nights. Other, hopefully more interesting opportunities. “Let’s finish this.”
He fucked down hard, edging closer to his own orgasm. Brent grunted. Arousal or pain? Lam didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
“You’re going to come just like this, understand?” Lam asked.
Brent's hands curled and uncurled like he wanted to do something. But he didn’t, he just kept staring up at Lam like he didn’t understand him at all.
“You could’ve had me in the bathroom, you know,” Lam confessed. His eyes fluttered shut a moment, imagining it. “You could’ve pushed me against the dirty wall, fucked me. I wouldn’t have even brought out my knife.”
Most of the time that was how his nights ended. If they approached him in the bar, if they approached him with anything nearing consent, Lam would let them fuck him, and then let them go. No violence, no blood. A simple hook up.
Those instances were more like masturbation for him though. They didn’t give himthis.This, Lam only got to have when they didn’t approach him in the bar. When they followed him out on a dark walk back through the city. When they thought they could have him without asking.
“Fuck,” Brent groaned.
“You could’ve had it like you imagined it, rough and mean. Making me cry as you bullied your way into me.”
“Jesus.”Brent gasped.
“But maybe that would’ve been too close to the wife. To what you have at home. You wanted to chase me. You wanted thefear.”
Lam leaned in to lick at the sweat on Brent’s jaw. “How did it taste, the fear?” Lam pressed the blade in, just above the carotid, letting it split the skin.
Brent choked, but had just enough sense not to move, not to jerk and drag the blade somewhere worse.
Lam drank it in, hips moving and moving, riding Brent.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it? The fear, the power. The moment right before you catch their throat in your teeth–”
“I’m–I’m sorry–!” Brent bleated. Gone was all of that temper, all of that masculine ego. Now he was prey begging to be spared.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Lam said, “I want you tocome.”
Like a switch flipped, Brent did. He hacked a wet sound, cock starting to twitch inside Lam, filling him with heat. Lam’s eyes dipped to the blood at his throat, the beautiful rivulet of it. How easy it would be to press the knife in. To split the skin and have all that blood, all that hot life in his hands, dripping over his skin–
Fuck, then he was slipping over the edge himself, coming in shivery ecstacy. He lost himself in it, just enough that if Brent had any wherewithal, he could’ve done something.
But he didn’t. Brent came, and then collapsed panting against the cobblestones at Lam’s mercy.
Lam sighed as his own orgasm faded. The shocky warmth of it was still sparking in his fingers and toes. He’d made a mess of Brent’s hoodie, come streaking it up and down.
But that was the least of Brent’s problems.
Maybe this man, as simple as he was, was going to make it through. His fish-eyed obedience saving his life. It had been a while since Lam had let one of them go. Most of the men he’d let live had been in his early days, when Lam had been an amateur himself.
But he was about to leave this city, so letting Brent go wouldn’t be too much of a risk. He’d just have to alter his appearance.
It was almost funny that Brent of all people was going to make it through due to obedience and good timing. He didn’t deserve the honor, but there it was.
Lam lifted up, letting Brent’s softening cock slip out of him. Hot, wet come leaked out after, and Lam hummed. He’denjoy that more when he got home, sliding his fingers in through the mess, tasting it. Taking one of his toys and reliving better nights. Fucking himself raw, imagining another man, the faceless one in his fantasies that could give him what he wanted. What he needed. A man who–
“You’re the Three Strikes Killer,” Brent said, jarring Lam out of his fantasy.
