Previously 'Man of Steel.'
- This is a pretty old story, so please forgive any grammatical errors, or confusing writing!
When a man at the top of the world met his demise by falling off a rooftop, he woke up in the body of a villainous man by the n...
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Morning gave rise to a new feeling washing over me like a steady tidal of wave. I was buried beneath the shallow stream, and forcibly awoken, my eyelids shot open. Cracking my sore neck, consequently, I had, by chance, peered down at my body littered and pestered with purple-brown bruises, otherwise called 'love-bites.'
Etienne was as foul as a beast, if not worse than a beast. I slowly lifted the wrangled sheets off my legs, and was appalled at the sight of my inner thighs, marked and bruised with both hickies and hand-prints. Gritting my teeth, I began to relapse my memories, only to meet with the familiar face of regret. This was the aftermath of all our wrestling in bed.
Placing a hand over my forehead, I smoothed out the wrinkles in the space between my two eyebrows. When I had attempted to move, my lower bottom had began to hurt, and a certain, profuse amount of warm liquid seeped out of my body, refilling my stomach with a sense of shame. My face dripped blood, and I steadily rose to my feet, attempting to drag my heavy feet all the way to the bathroom, stopping by the side of the bed to pick up a pair of pants, and a black, professional jacket and a tattered shirt.
It felt as if I were walking on knives, and with every step I took, jolts of electricity shot up my spine. Mustering all of my energy into one final step, I suddenly catapulted myself onto the metallic handle with a bizarre outburst of strength. I yanked the door open, and closed it behind my back and locked it for safety measures lest Etienne would wake up, and assault me under a barrage of kisses once more.
I usually heard that it was normal for men to be energetic in the mornings, and I was afraid that playing along with Etienne would only get me more addicted to the sensation of a body pressed against mine. The consummation that we had last night was a memory that remained hazy even if I had expended lots of effort to try to remember it especially. It was like a mosaic had blurred my eyes.
But, even if I couldn't recall it fully, I could still remember so vividly the low gasps ringing beside my ear, a hard chest pressing against my naked back, the erotic slapping of flesh against flesh following after each groan. I kneaded my temples, then leered up intently.
I raised an eyebrow as I stared at the man in the mirror. The ambiguous kiss marks were like shame imprinted on my body, especially the two points on my chest. They were red and swollen and about twice as big as they were before. Embedded in my chest, the image it presented looked pretty obscene.
Letting out a low, cold laugh, I braced my hands on the marble sink, a sardonic half-smile remained on my face as I lifted one hand to palpate the dangerous bite marks, polluting my skin with dried blood. If I had pressed down on it too hard, the wound would tingle with a faint shock, only reminding me that Etienne had not given me a chance to regain back my clarity, but how could he? I had specifically ordered him so. Him doing this was just an answer to my plea. I had no one to blame but myself.
Besides, as disordered as it seemed with my lifestyle as the new head of the Junta family, and also being the only one left, I was sure I was bound to encounter a bottleneck. But, even if I loathed being a Junta, I would still have to spare effort to maintain a neurotic image. Etienne was just being reckless marking me in places that could easily be discerned.
