The Serial Killers Guide to Love (Deadly Darling #1)

Chapter 11

11

Sam

Lilly sat across the table from me, reading the menu. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The way her finger traced the menu and her neck moved and her chest swelled with each inhale.

Never before have I been interested in the way a woman looks. Not that I can’t perceive beauty, I only never had this desire to touch anything without scrubbing my hands raw and bloody after.

Killing doesn’t scare me as much as touching something living and trusting myself enough to allow the creature to breathe after that.

She smiles.

“Do you eat meat?”

She asks and as if she said something dirty, a soft blush creeps onto her skin bringing her freckles out even more.

“I eat everything. Love food.”

“Really? I mean you look so healthy and in shape.”

“Thanks. What about you, any favorite food?”

I can talk food and books. Those are safe subjects. I can’t, whatsoever, tell her that I spent last night in her house watching her sleep on the couch and that I worry because she has those dark circles under her eyes in the morning before she adds concealer to them to cover them up.

Could I say, talk to me, Lily, whatever it is that scares you, I can kill it for you. Nope, this line won’t make it on a Hallmark Vday card.

I can barely stop myself from smiling. If she knew that not only I am willing to kill for her, but that I kill out of pure joy, would she hate me for it?

She would not sit here, relaxed, watching me read the menu.

Lilly ordered a loaded baked potato and I ordered pizza. Pizza is always a good idea and this place was famous for its pizza.

I couldn’t stop myself from watching her eat. Each bite moved inside her mouth, before it traveled down her wonderful throat. My cock hardened in my pants and I was shocked by this reaction.

Sex was never on my list. I couldn’t understand other men who ran around all day long trying to score. Sure, I involved myself in the occasional locker room talk, because it’s part of my role. Cosplay normal.

Don’t attract too much attention.

The widower card gave me enough space from that. Most people had the tendency to respect that, even if I have a feeling that most women found it very attractive.

“How did you end up owning a bookstore?”

Lilly asks, and those blue eyes sparkle under her lashes as she looks up to me. A bit of cream sticks to her upper lip. I want to reach out and touch her lip.

“Hm, I am a failed writer. I assume this was the next best thing. This way I can still be surrounded by words all day long.”

“No way, what have you written? Was it published? Was it good? Can I read it?”

“It’s not finished. No. And no and maybe.”

She giggled at my matter of fact reply.

Okay.

“What trope? Tell me, I am dying here. And if you say monster romance, please allow me to be your beta reader.”

“No monster romance. hough, if I think about it now, that could be a thing. It is a very personal story, about my childhood in the system.”

Her eyes look at me and for a split second, I want to tell her everything. I want to cut myself open and lay bare for her on this table, allow her to see all my darkness and the blood that covers all the parts of my soul.

But I can’t.

No one can ever know that.

And because she can’t know it, I can’t open myself that way.

“Yes. It had been a long time ago. How did you get into being a florist?”

I ask and I watch her face. Reading killers is easy, and for a second I see a familiar shadow rushing over her features as if she has to hide a part of herself from prying eyes that could make her unravel her soul.

Her hand clasps the fork, and she holds her breath for longer than usual. This was a simple enough question, it should not create such a strong reaction.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

I say, trying to erase my words and not wanting to scare her away. What if she would jump up and run? A part of me would never be able to forgive myself for being so clumsy.

“No, it’s fine.”

She said as she took another long sip from the lemonade.

“It’s only, I was thinking about my Granny, she taught me all about flowers and I miss her.”

The sparkle in her eyes at the memory is genuine, but there is more and the side of me that wants to know what Lilly hides is awake and sharp like the set of knives that I love to use on my victims.

If one is meant to die, they deserve a sharp blade. Not a blunt piece of crap.

I inhale deeply and watch her eating her food, only to notice that she built an invisible wall between us in the last few seconds.

I find myself silent, not knowing how to get her back to talking to me.

What have I done?

And could I bare her being upset with me.

This is a new feeling. I don’t care what people think. I am not saying that in a generic, ‘hey I don’t care what people think’ way, but in a real bone deep and organic way. The only thing I care about is if they could suspect who and what I am. Do they notice the empty space that is filled with darkness and carefully hidden under the facade that I maintain. This cosplay of a normal man that couldn’t hurt a fly.

She is fidgeting with her fork.

“How about dessert?”

I ask.

“I don’t know.”

She said and looked at the food again.

“This was a huge meal.”

“I can always go for desert.

I smile.

And it’s an honest thing. I like food, I understand food. Eating is giving me instant pleasure. Maybe because in many of the foster homes I have been, food was a type of luxury that I didn’t have access too.

The first thing I ever stole was a chocolate bar when I was five. My foster parents would kick me out in the morning and leave me to fend for myself, and I preferred that to hanging around their drunk and drugged asses, and I walked all the way to a huge store.

No one noticed a small dirty boy, but I had a chocolate bar.

I stole it and ran out with it only to hide between two dumpsters and eat the whole thing. I swallowed it so fast, knowing that I would keep it no matter what.

Maybe it was the day when I understood that no one will give me anything, and that if I want something I need to take it.

A young waitress talked about the desserts and I somehow ended up ordering a Creme Br?lée and a chocolate cake.

When they arrived, both looked mouth watering.

“I really shouldn’t.”

Lily said as she eyes the sweets.

“Why? Do you have allergies?”

She made a sign that indicated her body.

“I don’t get it.”

And it was no lie. Her body was that of a Venus that just walked out from the waves of the Mediterranean Sea. She was perfect in every way.

“I am not a size zero.”

Her face blushed and she bit her lower lip.

“Sweets make life, hm, uh sweet.’

She started to giggle at my weird attempt at talking up the sweets.

“And you look beautiful.”

The words rolled out of my mouth. It was not the first time I paid a woman a compliment. Flattery will open doors and women like to flirt with me. Maybe they feel something, I am not sure, but I know when to drop a line to make a woman smile, but with Lilly, this was my honest opinion. She was beautiful.

A part of me longed to touch her and the other was scared to feel what she was bringing up inside my dark shriveled soul. If I had a soul.

“Thank you. I should be careful with my weight.”

“If you need a running buddy, I am more than happy to invite you when I go on a run.”

What was I waffling there. Shut up man, just shut up.

She scrunched her nose, the freckles moving.

“Hm, running is not my thing.”

She took a spoonful of the creme br?lée, the crack of the burned sugar just perfect.

Her eyes closed and I felt parts of my anatomy harden again like last night, when I watched her getting herself off.

Holy shit.

There was a crumb of sugar on her lower lip and her tongue darted out to lick it off.

Watching her doing that, I had to recite all the chemicals that I need to buy in order to clean a crime scene. Especially chlorine.

Hm..

Still, my raging cock wanted something. Not to be inside her. Thinking about sliding inside her body was still so much more than I could manage, but I wanted to touch her. To be the source of her pleasure. To be the one that makes her moan like that and roll her eyes.

Could I handle touch?

Yes, I could touch her. I could even slide my hands between her legs and. No.

Fuck.

I can’t lose control.

She would have to be drugged and tied up to give me time.

But I am not a rapist. I kill rapists.

Taking a big bite from the chocolate cake, I mulled things over. If I would date her, a kiss would happen and the idea of someone having their dirty tongue inside my mouth made my stomach turn.

Not that Lilly is dirty. She looks as clean as possible, it’s just the general repulsion I feel when it comes to bodily fluids and to the idea of touch. Of feeling anything or anyone touch me, put their hands on me. Take liberties I don’t want.

“You are my downfall.”

She said with a smile as she kept working on her desert.

“Want to try? It’s delicious.”

All the alarm bells started in my head.

Bacteria, dirt, no. The idea of sharing a bite was beyond anything I could stomach. My inner voice made fun of me. Sure, I am okay gutting a man like a fish, but the idea of sharing food with the woman I crave gives a deep sensation of discomfort.