TWISTED

FIVE; MARKS OF SAFETY

FIVE; MARKS OF SAFETY

It was just a one-night stand, Aria, I thought to myself somewhere from in between the faded cracks in my subconscious mind as sleep's drug started to wear off of me. Nothing less, and absolutely nothing more.

I shifted in my spot amongst the pillows that barricaded me in, holding in my groans of pain from the prominent ache settling between my legs. I stretched my arms above my head, immediately hissing from the throbbing in my protesting wrists, and my eyes opened--widened--not moments afterwards. Sitting straight up, I tugged the grey sheets over my visible skin and turned my gaze to the place where Vincent should have been lying beside me. He wasn't there. He was gone, again.

I flopped back down on the bed, huffing a relief through my lips that floated the hair hanging in my face away from my line of vision. That relief only lasted about two whole seconds before I sat up again, looking around the room with nothing but confusion and slight anger plastered to my features. "What the actual fuck?"

I pulled the sheets off of my legs and grabbed my shirt off of the floor, both quick, precise movements, then stormed my way to the bedroom door, tugging my shirt over my head only after I had descended the staircase at the head of the house. Attendants stared me down as I walked past them; one of them dropping her tray on the floor as she spotted my naked body at the top of the stairway, not removing her shocked expression even after my shirt covered up the necessities. My feet carried me to the kitchen, where I was forced to stop in my path when I saw the scene in front of me.

Vincent was standing in the middle of the kitchen, cooking eggs utterly shirtless with nothing else to cover his heavenly sinful body but boxers that hugged the muscles in his thighs. I had to blink a few times to rejoin reality, but once I did, the red in my eyes turned to red on my cheeks. Vincent's back was covered in deep pink marks from my nails down his flesh from the night before, and he wasn't even trying to be shy about it. I glanced around the kitchen to see attendants whispering shyly in the corner, sizzling shame settling throughout my frame as I made my way to Vincent's side.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked, slapping his arm. He lifted his head to look me over, raising a quizzical brow. "You're walking around like an ad for sexual intercourse. Our sexual intercourse."

"Sexual intercourse?" Vincent smirked from my choice of words, setting the pan of eggs on the marble countertop rather than the stove. He side stepped until he was towering directly over me, which caused me to take a step back to keep my chin from bumping his chest. "Maybe I want everyone to know what we've done."

"Maybe I don't."

"Are you embarrassed that I fucked you, bella mia?" His frame moved forward, and my frame moved back again, like it was choreographed. We continued this dance until I found myself trapped between his body and the fridge. "Because let's don't forget, you have marks of your own."

Vincent snatched my arm in his hand, spinning me around before my brain could make sense of it. I sucked in cruel air as my back collided with his front, and his hands began to wander on somewhat familiar territory. They started at my inner thighs--tracing and clawing at the bite marks placed there--made their way to my stomach--where jagged, shredded skin was the result of his nails down that sensitive flesh--then finally past my breasts and collarbone, touching the bruised hickeys on my neck. He added a sensual, open-mouthed kiss there for good measure. I couldn't have been more like putty in his hands; leaning back and giving myself completely into him. I didn't feel in control of my own body.

His hands travelled back down and grabbed my own, which were resting easily by my sides. I didn't recall when my eyes had closed, but I soon became focused only on his words as they started lowly in my ear when he said, "There's no need to hide how well I pleasured you."