Page 1

A zazel’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as the memory hits him like a freight train. The car hums softly on the highway, the monotony of the road a stark contrast to the chaos erupting in his mind. His green eyes, usually sharp and calculating, glaze over as the scene unfolds behind his eyelids. The air in the car seems to thicken, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stink of fear, though it’s been years since that night. He sees himself, younger, wilder, his muscles coil like a spring ready to snap.

The knife in his hand feels heavy, slick with sweat and anticipation. His father stands before him, towering but broken, his voice slurred with whiskey and disappointment. Azazel’s jaw clenches as he relives the argument, the same one they’ve had a hundred times before. “You’re nothing but a waste,” his father sneers, “a stain on this family.”

The words are a match to the gasoline of Azazel’s rage. He lunges, the knife flashing in the dim light of the kitchen. The first thrust is clumsy, driven by fury rather than precision. His father’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth opens in a silent scream that’s cut off by the blade sinking into his chest.

Azazel feels the resistance of muscle and bone, the sickening squelch as the knife slides deeper. His father’s hands claw at him, weak and desperate, but Azazel is relentless. He pulls the knife out, the sound wet and obscene, and drives it in again. And again. Each thrust is fueled by years of resentment, of being told he’d never amount to anything, of being treated like less than human.

His father’s eyes roll back, his body trembling as life leaks out of him in hot, sticky spurts. The gurgling sound that escapes his throat is primal, animalistic, and Azazel feels a twisted satisfaction as he watches the light fade from those once-dominating eyes.

The final thrust is almost tender, a strange calm settling over Azazel as he holds the knife steady. His father’s body goes limp, collapsing to the floor with a thud that echoes in the silence. Azazel stands over him, breathing hard, his chest heaving. The kitchen is a mess of blood and broken promises, but the silence is deafening.

It’s over.

The memory fades as quickly as it came, leaving Azazel gasping in the present. His hands shake as he releases the wheel, his heart pounding in his ears. He blinks and looks over at Cherrie sleeping in the passenger seat. The endless stretch of asphalt blurring into nothingness. The car drifts slightly, and he jerks it back into the lane, his mind racing.

Azazel stands tall and menacing, his muscular frame filling the dimly lit room with an air of danger and excitement. His green eyes sparkle with a mix of wild enthusiasm and unhinged aggression as he holds his victim by the throat, pressing him against the cold, damp wall. The victim, a man in his forties, struggles feebly, his eyes wide with fear as he realizes he’s completely at the mercy of this psychotic hitman.

Azazel's partner in crime and the love of his life, Cherrie, enters the room. She is a vision of contrasts: petite yet curvy, her brown hair falling in soft waves to compliment her glowing, ebony skin. Her blue eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint as she takes in the scene before her.

Watching Azazel in action sends a rush of desire coursing through her veins, her breath quickening as she imagines herself in the victim's place, at the mercy of Azazel's rough and dominating nature.

As Azazel tightens his grip on the man's throat, Cherrie takes a step forward, her heart pounding with anticipation. She loves the raw, animalistic side of her man, and the sight of him in action is an aphrodisiac like no other. She wants him, needs him, right here and now. "Az, baby," she purrs, her voice husky with desire. "Let me take over for a minute."

Azazel turns his head slowly, his eyes fixing on Cherrie with an intense, almost predatory gaze. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face as he realizes what she’s asking for. He releases the victim, who slumps to the floor, gasping for air.

Without taking his eyes off Cherrie, Azazel reaches down and pulls a knife from his boot. He holds it casually, twirling it between his fingers as he steps towards her.

"You want to play, baby girl?" he asks, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. "You know I can't deny you anything."

Cherrie takes the knife, bends down beside their victim, and makes a slow cut on his face as blood slowly drips down from the wound, causing him to moan in pain. “Shh you’re ruining it.” Cherrie whispers. “Can he die by a thousand cuts, daddy? I need a new canvas.” Cherrie questions with a big smile on her face.

“Now you know we have to get back on the road my angel. Maybe next time.” Azazel states.

Cherrie bites her lip, her eyes flitting between Azazel and the knife. "I want you first daddy, before we finish," she says, her voice steady as she runs the blade down her tongue, despite the wild pounding of her heart. "I want you right here, right now."

Azazel's smile widens, and he closes the distance between them in an instant, pressing his body against hers. She can feel the heat radiating from him. His lips descend on hers, and he kisses her deeply, his tongue demanding entrance, tasting her like he’s starving, and she happens to be his favorite meal.

Cherrie moans into the kiss, her hands roaming over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the power in his muscles. She pushes herself against him, needing to feel every inch of his body pressed to hers. Azazel breaks the kiss, his breath hot on her neck, and the slight tickle of his short beard drives her wild as he nuzzles against her sensitive skin there. "You're so fucking sexy when you're worked up, baby," he growls. "I love watching you lose control."

She laughs breathlessly, her eyes closing as she relishes the feel of his hot breath on her skin. "You have no idea how wet I am right now," she whispers, her voice lacing with need.

"Show me," he demands, his hand sliding down to grasp her ass, squeezing the soft flesh possessively.

Cherrie wastes no time in proving her words. Reaching down, she grabs the hem of her short skirt and lets it drop to the floor, revealing her toned legs and the black lace thong that does little to hide her arousal.

With a quick kick of her leg, she sends the skirt flying across the room, landing haphazardly on a nearby chair. Azazel growls, his eyes darkening with desire as he takes in the sight of her nearly naked body. "Fuck, Cherrie, you're killing me," he grits out, his voice hoarse with need.

She giggles, a playful, sexy sound that only serves to fuel his desire. "Not yet, baby," she teases.

With lightning speed, Azazel scoops her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carries her over to a nearby table. He sets her down gently, never breaking eye contact, before reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his knife-wielding hand.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice suddenly soft and full of a tenderness that belies his hitman persona. "I could stare at you all day and never get bored."

Cherrie's heart melts at the vulnerability in his eyes, a side of him that only she got to see. Leaning forward, she captures his lips in a soft, loving kiss, pouring every ounce of her affection into it. But soon, the tender moment ignites the fiery passion simmering between them. The kiss deepens as their tongues dance together, hands exploring, their bodies pressing together with a desperate need.

Azazel's hands roam up and down Cherrie's body, caressing her curves, squeezing her ass, and cupping her full breasts. He worships her with his touch, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her veins.

Cherrie moans into his mouth, her hands tangling in his short black hair, keeping him close as she grinds her pelvis against his hardening dick. "I need you inside me," she whispers, her breath hot against his lips.

With a growl, Azazel straightens, pulling away slightly to peel off his shirt, revealing his ripped torso. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he slices through the flimsy fabric of her lace thong. The delicate cloth falls away, leaving her completely bare and exposed to his hungry gaze.

Cherrie shivers as the cool air brushed against her sensitive skin, goosebumps forming across her body. But the chill is short-lived as Azazel's hot mouth descends to her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently as he makes his way down to her breasts.

He teases her nipples with his tongue, leaving them with lazy strokes before taking one hard peak into his mouth and sucking hard. Cherrie cries out, her head falling back as she moans in pleasure.

Azazel continues his feasting, his hands now squeezing her other breast, rolling the sensitive tip between his fingers.

"Az… Baby… I need—" Cherrie gasps, her words cut off as he releases her nipple with a popping sound, only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her quivering abdomen.

He looks up at her, his green eyes dark and hooded with desire. "I know what you need, baby girl," he murmurs. "And I'm going to give it to you." With that, he hooks his arms under her knees, lifting her legs up and resting her calves on his broad shoulders.

Cherrie's breath hitches as she realizes his intent, her core clenching in anticipation. Azazel smirks up at her, his hands stroking her inner thighs, spreading her wide open and fully exposing her dripping core. "You're so fucking gorgeous like this, all spread out for me," he says, his voice thick with desire. "I could eat you out for hours."

And that's exactly what he does. His tongue delves into her folds, tasting her sweetness as he sucks and licks, his fingers joining in to stroke and tease her swollen clit. Cherrie writhes on the table, moaning and crying out as pleasure washes over her in relentless waves.

"Az! Oh fuck, Az, right there—" she gasps, her body arching off the table when he finds that magic spot that sends her careening over the edge once more.

Azazel chuckles, the vibrations sending delightful shivers through her sensitive core. "You taste so fucking good, baby," he murmurs before diving back in for more, his tongue and fingers working their magic.

Cherrie's mind spins, her body alive with pleasure as Azazel continues to lavish attention on her with his mouth and fingers. Her breath comes in short gasps, her hands clutching at the edge of the table.

"I'm gonna cum, Az!" she cries out, her body tensing as she teeters on the edge. "Oh fuck, I'm—"

Her words come to a halt as Azazel suddenly stands, his hard cock straining against his pants. With swift movements, he undoes his belt, releasing his thick length, his eyes never leaving Cherrie's as he positions himself at her entrance.

She whimpered, nodding her consent, her eyes fixed on his as he slowly pushed into her. Azazel groans, his head falling back as he sheathes himself fully within her. "You’re so damn tight, baby," he grits out, his hands grasping her hips tightly.

Cherrie whimpers again, her nails digging into the table as he begins to move, his dick sliding in and out of her pussy in a steady, torturous rhythm.

"Fuck, Cherrie, you feel so good." Azazel grunts, his eyes screwing shut as he focuses on the incredible sensations washing over him. "Your pussy was made for my dick."

The dirty words send a jolt of desire through Cherrie, and she meets his thrusts with her own, their bodies slapping together in a furious rhythm.

"Harder, baby," she pants, her eyes wild. "Fuck me harder!"

With a growl, Azazel complies, pounding into her with deep, powerful strokes that send the table rattling with each impact. The room fills with the sounds of their passion—the slick, wet sounds of their bodies joining, their panting breaths, and the occasional curse word as the pleasure climbs higher and higher.

"That's it, baby, take it all," Azazel grunts, his muscles straining as he drives into her again and again. "Cum for me, Cherrie; cum all over my dick."

Cherrie's head thrashes from side to side as she teeters on the edge, her entire body tingling with the buildup of pleasure. "Az! Oh god, Az, I'm—" She screams his name as the orgasm tears through her, her walls clenching tightly around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust through her climax.

Azazel groans, his own release building when he feels her tighten around him. "Fuck, Cherrie, you're gonna make me cum," he grits out, his hips snapping faster, his dick driving deeper as he chases his own orgasm. And then he’s there, his body stiffening as he buries himself balls-deep inside her, filling her with his hot release.

Their dark chocolate skin glistens in the dim lighting, melting together as they come down from their high. They stay like that for a moment, frozen in the aftermath of their passion, their breathing the only sound in the room. Azazel eventually withdraws, his eyes softening as he strokes a sweat-dampened strand of hair from Cherrie's face. "You okay, baby?" he asks, his voice tender and full of concern.

Cherrie smiles lazily, her eyes sparkling with love and satisfaction. "More than okay," she murmurs, reaching up to pull him down for a soft, loving kiss. "I love you, Azazel."

He smiles, his green eyes glowing with a dangerous mix of love and possession. "I love you too, my beautiful Cherrie." And as their lips meet once more, the forgotten victim in the corner watches on, a mixture of fear and fascination in his eyes as he witnesses the raw, uncontrollable passion between these two lovers.

“Az, what shall we do with him?” Cherrie asked, as if she didn’t already know the answer to her question.

“You know what must be done. He has to die.” Azazel states, stuffing himself back into his pants as Cherrie attempts to fix her tattered clothes.

“But you said-” Cherrie begins, but Azazel abruptly cuts her off.

“Cherrie, baby, I know what I said, but we can’t leave any witnesses. Make it quick.” Azazel says to Cherrie, giving her the okay for her new canvas aka… Our victim.

“Oh, thank you, daddy.” Cherrie squeals, rushing to Azazel for a quick hug before she turns to their victim, cowering in the corner. “I promise it won’t hurt… Long.” She smiles, and it’s cold and deadly, causing the victim to whimper before she makes good on her promise.

“No, please… Don-” His begging is cut short as Cherrie picks up the knife and plunges it deep into his chest, piercing his heart in one swift move.

“There, all done. Can we go now, daddy?” She asks in a small, cute voice like she didn’t just murder someone mere seconds ago.

“Yes, my love, now we can go.” Azazel says with a whole lot of promise behind that single phrase.