Diavolo

xxxi

PRESLEY ROSSI

        This was torture. Slow, rotting, knife-twisting torture. The man was torture dressed in an expensive black suit and costumed to fit him perfectly.

Fuck, he filled the suit and wore it like he ate my pussy every night. Perfectly. Mind shattering and totally orgasm-worthy.

        It was hard enough not to peel the damn suit off him when he was talking about the things he wanted to do with me at night but now I had to watch him walk around and not moan every time those muscles bulged tightly.

        Also every time he placed his hand dangerously low against the back of my dress. Gently caressing my skin and leaving his touch carved into me.

        Through the car ride, I couldn't help but lean into the warmth of his body, stealing his soft kisses and greedy for his possessive touches as he rubbed my back in a comforting manner, playing with the fabric of my dress and toying with my hair.

       A conscious part of me recognized that this wasn't entirely normal. He was my husband and I was his wife as well but if someone were to hold a lit flame to the paper and let it burn to ashes, it would all nothing. A lie. A two-sided knife. A falsification.

        Everything that screamed false and constantly reminded me that this man wasn't mine. He wasn't mine to touch, or kiss, to even love. 

        I knew this little contract of ours came with a expiration date and sooner or later, I would have to give him up.. and everything that came with him.

        Despite everything, I couldn't find a bone or muscle inside of me to care.

        And as he wrapped a rough hand causally around my hips, holding me tighter against his hard body as we walked together in perfect synchrony with the beat of my pounding heartbeat, everything came into focus.

        The perfect curve of his strong jaw, the various piercings that outlined the soft lobe of the shell of his ear, loop of silver curved above his nostrils. Black ink just about everywhere.

        Green pools of ink swallowing me up effortlessly, arousing me and sparking me alive with a single look.

        We hadn't said more than a couple words to each other since we arrived; He'd walked around with me on his hand like an accessory with the perfect gentlemen smile in a black suit I'd seen normally whenever he was talking business but it was nothing more than a facade.

The gentleman act, the silent and brooding persona.

        I didn't say much, smiled when needed and constantly stuffed my face with puff pastries and held on to a glass of wine. Expensive wine that'd most likely cost way more than my yearly salary.

        I didn't belong here. It was evidently clear. Even as I glanced down at my outfit that'd surely made a huge dent in Silvio's Amex, everything about my face down to my toe screamed outsider.

        I knew the stares, I recognized the look of confusion whenever Silvio introduced me as his wife.

I could sense a mixture of petty jealousy and sparkling irritation from women who'd causally placed a manicured hand on his shoulder in the name of greeting. Or even went as far to place an innocent kiss on the side of his cheek.