Page 44 of Spitfire

Ask him about the murders we didn't commit.

"You're my accomplice, but not all the recent murders were mine," I state as his hand slides down my back and squeezes my asscheek, both of us groaning when I rub my core across his rapidly hardening cock.

"No, I found I had a passion and hunger for dispatching the filth of the world too. It became a way that I could handle my own rage at my past, and I needed a way to get you to realize that you weren't alone, so I started to recreate your crimes." His other hand dives into the back of my hair, massaging my skull until I release a moan of pleasure.

"I quickly realized that you were like me, two parts to a coin, but you didn't seem to have any recollection of the other side of yourself, or what you did in those blackout moments. They call it dissociative identity disorder, and mental fugue. You don't realize what you've done, or that you're Ashmaker, and that's why you've been hunting yourself, Agent Lyssa."

All of this is so much to take in, and most of it sounds unbelievable. Like something right out of a horror or thriller movie, and not even possible. Could I really lose myself so completely in one of these blackouts that I hunt and murder men without realizing it? What if he's really Ashmaker, and he's trying to make me believe it's me? I don't know what to believe anymore.

Yes, you do. You've always known, but you refused to face the truth then, just like you're avoiding it now. We are righteous killers. We don't kill indiscriminately, only those who have sinned against women and children. Ones like us, like Xavier, and all those who suffered at the hands of demons.

"Spitfire?" Xavier questions, concern written across his face.

"I'm still here, it's still me, Xavier. You said like us? Does that mean the same thing happens to you, you have blackouts?"

He nods his head, his lips forming a stern line. "Not exactly. I've always heard a voice speaking to me in my head since I was a small boy. He and I, however, are one. We communicate with each other to keep us safe. He protected me, when I couldn't go on with everything I suffered. He took over when it became too much, when I had to do whatever was necessary to survive. I can see and hear what he's doing. I'm aware of him, just like he is of me."

My blood rushes in my ears at the way he's describing this other version of himself that lives within him, and has done everything to keep him alive. Is that what Ashmaker is to me? Is that how I've made it all these years without committing suicide, or going insane?

I was always here to protect you, sweet darling. You and I were always one, you just fought hard against me. You didn't want to turn into a monster, so I became one for both of us.

"It's all too much right now, Xavier. I don't even know what to think. None of this sounds plausible, and yet I can't deny what I've seen and experienced, and the memories I'm having flashbacks of. I don't know what to think about being a serial killer. If what you and the voice inside my head claim are true, I'm Ashmaker, but I'm also an FBI agent sworn to uphold the law."

He uses his hand in my hair to push my face closer to his, until we're exchanging the same air. His lips lightly brush against mine, and I can taste the dried blood on his mouth from his cut. "What do you need at this moment, Spitfire? Tell me how to help you."

I bite down on his lip, reopening the split until the taste of copper floods my mouth, and a hunger ignites inside of me. Our lips and teeth clash together, his tongue slipping inside of my mouth like an invading conqueror, as he swallows all of my whimpers, our tongues swiping at each other feverishly. His hands roam my body, squeezing my asscheeks, caressing the round globes of my breasts, pulling on my taut nipples, and kneading my flesh. We kiss until neither of us has any oxygen left, and we're forced to break apart to catch our ragged breaths. My core clenches again and again on nothing with desperation, begging to be filled, as my soaked panties stick to my swollen flesh.

I lean my forehead against his, the feeling of rightness settling over me. This right here, at this moment, is exactly where I'm meant to be. In Xavier Poine's arms. The man who has spent most of his life protecting me, and refusing to allow me to get caught.

"Fuck me, Xavier. Ruin me. Use me hard and fast, make it hurt and help me to forget, at least for this moment in time. Show me all the ways that I belong to you."

"Fuck, Spitfire. I thought you'd never ask."

THIRTY-THREE

XAVIER

My fingers wrap around her delicate neck, the fingerprints I previously left already beginning to fade, as she gasps, the sound an electric bolt straight to my cock. The primal urge to replace them, to mark her even more, is trying to take control of me and make me more beast than man. Her dark eyes stare into mine, filled with heat that could make both of us combust. The naughty minx grinds her pussy on my straining cock, and I tighten my fingers in warning, until her face starts to rise in color. "You're trying my control, Spitfire."

"And?" She croaks, one of her perfect dark brows rising in challenge.

God, she's so beautiful. She's everything I dream about when I close my eyes, and all that my sinner's heart prays for, even though I know I'm unworthy. I worry that this will all be too much for her to take, and that she'll shatter before me, both mind and body. I wonder if everything I've done will lead to her demise, even though it was all to protect her. Neither of us is normal, but we're functioning, and together we can be so much more.

Normal is boring as fuck, who the hell wants to be that?

Fuck off, X. This is my moment with her, my victory because she's finally mine, and realizes who I am. I won't have you tainting this for me. I try in vain to shut down the wall between us, but just like the many times before, it's useless, and he's too strong. If you ever try to hurt her, X, I swear I'll end us.

Don't threaten me, Xavier, we both know, when push comes to shove, which one of us is stronger. Your attachment to this woman will lead to our death. You know it, and I do too. If she tries to hurt us, I won't hesitate, and you can't stop me.

"Where... did... you... go?" Scarlett croaks, her hands cradling my face as I refocus on her. There's no way that I'm divulging to her that X is not exactly her biggest fan. I need to distract her and myself, and hopefully the fucker stays silent.

I release her throat and push her off my lap, and she stumbles before catching herself on my knees. "Strip and get down on your knees," I demand, my voice filled with iciness, even though my insides are burning up with desire for her. When she doesn't immediately comply with my order, I sit up and slap her right breast, and then her left. Her whimpers only motivate me to hear more of them. I want, no, I need to hear her scream my name.

She strips her shorts down her shapely legs, exposing the pair of white cotton panties that look far too innocent on her, before trailing her hands seductively up her abdomen and over her breasts. At the same time, she drags her cami upwards, and exposes more of her alabaster flesh to my needy glance. More and more of my bite marks and hickies are exposed, and they fill me with a feeling of euphoria. "All of it, Scarlett. Don't test me right now."

Her gaze is intent on mine, as she drags her panties down her legs and steps out of them, before dropping to her knees and crawling closer, as I part my legs for her. I reach down and undo the button of my jeans, followed by my zipper, the metallic sound loud between us. "Pull out my cock, Scarlett, and spit on it."

Her slender fingers reach between the folds of my pants and grasp my cock, her thumb rubbing against the velvety, leaking tip. I push my pants down past my hips, and her other hand drags them down to my ankles. She leans forward, her hair trailing across my pale flesh, and positions her mouth over my cock. She never takes her eyes off of me as a bead of spit slips from her mouth, a string of saliva still connecting us, and her fingers greedily spread the moisture over my length, and the rungs of my Jacob's ladder. "That's my perfect slut. Now open wide, Spitfire, and take me to the back of your throat."