Sweet Obsession (In Progress)

Chapter Six: Part Three

Picture is of the office.

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 Despite the tremor of fear that ran through me at that moment, I tried my hardest to crane my neck around towards my rear view mirror, to get a better look at the man behind me - but it was useless. I couldn’t so much as twitch, only move my eyes enough to see from my peripheral vision that the object of my desire was hanging within sight, but at the wrong angle. I can’t look to see if he's telling the truth then. Damnit!

Denial instantly set in, my rational mind working overtime in a vain attempt to dispel both the horrific claim Daemon had just made, and the feelings that such a confession had evoked in me. 

"That's impossible. I saw your mouth," I said, disbelief clear. And then I realized just what I had said, and quickly acted to cover myself. "I- I mean, I have seen your body. Clothed. I have seen your silhouette." A pale blush covered my cheeks at my embarrassment. Today was apparently the day my brain had decided that I couldn’t form words, and of course, Daemon was given a front row seat to that.

Surprisingly, I received no laugh this time. Only a short, concise explanation, which alluded to Daemon's true form. "Yes, well, in my defense I was trying my best not to get caught watching you sleep. If it wasn’t for that damn cat, you never would have known." At this, Zeus let out a yowl and hiss from the passenger seat.

I'm really hoping that he scratches Daemon's eyes out, I thought. I didn't realize that I would soon regret thinking such a thing. There was a click, followed by my seatbelt slowly slipping off of me, my arms moving of their own accord to remove the black strap. A pair of strong, warm arms snaked around my waist, pulling me up, over, and back towards one very pissed off, brooding Daemon. 

"That wasn't a very nice thought, Rosaline," he spat, displeasure apparent in the both way he sneered my name and roughly jerked me into his lap, holding me snug against his chest in a vice grip. "Time to go now. I'm growing restless, and I'd like to get home." With this he released his hold on me, my body falling slack in his grasp as I grew more and more weary by the second.

I had no strength in me to argue, as it felt almost as though I was completely and utterly drained helpless. "I'd close my eyes if I were you," Deamon grunted before everything around us went black. I let out a scream, or I should say I tried. No sound came out, and that's when I noticed that there was no air.

I began to panick, and soon after, I lost consiousness. 

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Cool air fanned my face, the strong scent of expensive male colonge and aged bourbon choking me in its abundance. "Time to wake up, Little Bird. We're here," Daemon cooed mockingly in my ear, his warm cheek, lined with a miniscule amount of stubble. brushing lightly against mine as he pulled away to stand. My eyes were heavy, and it took great effort to pry them open, but alas I was successful.

I scanned the room taking in every detail, from the heavy mahogony desk at the other end, to the glass wall that showcased thick, green shurbery outside. The wall that jutted up to that one, and was home to the big, neatly organized desk, was built completely out of bookshelves, which were jam packed with ancient looking novels and worn leather journals of every shape and size. Suspended from the high ceiling was a circular, subtlely midevil looking changelier that appeared to be made of a dark stained metal and held an abundance of flickering candles.

The room was monsterous. I had no doubt that it was someone's office - someone of very high importance. So just who was Daemon to be afrorded such graduer and luxry?

I glanced down as I pushed myself up to a sitting position, inspecting the worn leather couch beneath me. Stiffling a yawn I began to lazily recline when the clanking of glass brought my attention to the left. Standing by the door with his back towards me and his gaze cast down as he moved with swift percision, deeply concentrated on his task, was Daemon. His straight, inky hair was a tousled mess, his taut muscles strained against the white fabric of his suit shirt, and his stance was extremely... off putting.