F**k, Marry, Kill Me, Daddy (Murder Daddy, #1)

by Lance Lansdale

No matter where I go, he’s there. Waiting. Observing. Others might call it stalking, but I just think he’s being adorable.

Oh well, more time with Murder Daddy for me.

Now I’ve connected with Daddy McStalkerPants, I don’t think I ever want to let him go.

“Take it,” I rasp, trying to catch my breath. “Take it all, baby. Wanna coat your skin. Want you to wear me like lotion.”

“No one gets to hurt you but me. They don’t even get to fucking touch you.”

I don’t want a second Uri, I want my Uri. My stalker. My salvation. My murder Daddy.

I cuddle up to him, wanting to crush his ribs just to get him even closer. I’d carve open his chest and burrow myself into him like one of those lovely little Russian dolls if he’d let me. I just want to be inside him, tucked away, safe from the world.

What’s that old saying? If you want someone to come, fuck him yourself? No. No, that’s not it at all. A ball in the hand is worth a load in your ass? Ugh. No. I don’t think that’s it either. Live, laugh, come?

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Jesus on the cross. Mary at the tomb. Joseph getting cuckolded by God on their honeymoon.

“High-five me.” “What?” “I just lost my topping virginity. High-five me.”