Deadly Saints [18+]

020: Sweetness

|Isadora Xara|

I am not fond of these types of interactions, the exchange of feelings and emotions all that bullshit. With Alysanne it is different, there is more that should be shared between us, so for the life of me why am I fucking standing behind this door?

There wasn't anything to say if I am sent to my possible death, the man wanted to ensure that I didn't come back breathing. Then, in the back of mind it sunk in, I could die and that wasn't the problem. It is that if I do, would he even realize that in my fucked-up brain that I felt something, lust or love? Can never be the latter, I am not a person worth loving and he certainly isn't a man that wanted anything more than a fuck.

Twisting the intimidating golden knob, not surprised if it was made out of gold. My senses became blasted with the spicy cigar smoke, the rich scent that made me hum in content. The entire office bathed in darkness except for the dim light from his lamp on his table, highlighting stacks of beige folders and white crisp pages that haven't been touched. Some where neatly stacked while others scattered in front of him. The cloud of smoke ahead, concealing his striking features.

Those bewitching orbs even for the last time. Smoke seemingly evaporated while he ashed the cigar on a detailed glass tray, dark chocolate strands untamed and his white formal shirt had been unbuttoned till his pecks.

The defined muscle that strained against the expensive silk, clung to him like second skin. It would feel so electrifying to have our bodies molded together, to feel each dent of his abs against me. His skin appeared soft and glowing, the temptation to run my tongue over his skin ruptured my core, would he taste of spices and whiskey?

The eye-fucking halted when I studied the expression on his face, filled with concern. Massaging his temples for a minute before a sigh escaped his plump parted lips. What baffled me is the turmoil of emotions swirling within those sapphires as if mixing with the olive to display the number of things pressing on his mind, it made my body helpless to see him in such a semi vulnerable state. The man is an arrogant, devious, sexy motherfucker but none of those implied he felt raw emotions.

Nearing his desk, the sound of my boots on the tiles filling the silence. "You look tense, Diavolo."

That was my first time saying his name in person.

Seconds passed by while he stared at his desk, not acknowledging my presence. The glass of whiskey on his table becoming enticing as he sipped the amber liquid to release the pressure, "You cannot talk your way out of this one and frankly I am not in the mood for you shit."

There he goes again, being an asshole. Usually I would have a snarky comment to lash out on him but something stopped the words from escaping my mouth, almost like guilt if I muttered them. "I wasn't coming here for any of that, have you even slept?"

It felt overbearing to feel this kind of emotion, to worry about his well being when other instances I wanted him to rot in hell and now that anger seemed surreal. He lifted his head from the unbreakable staring match with the alcohol, evasive of any emotion but his eyes held a different story almost as if he wanted me to see it. A man with immaculate control could mask his emotions, why didn't he?

A chuckle escaped his lips but it wasn't sincere. "More things are important than wasting eight hours on sleeping."

My heart saddens for some reason, the monster didn't care about his health but I somehow did which fucking freaked me out.

"You are not going to find her if you cannot function properly, you fucker."

I didn't mean for it to come out, the words slipped and rather than comfort him, I enraged him or made it humorous. Since, I wouldn't want the pity of others that applied to him and it did add to the list of things we share in common besides torturing and killing.