TWISTED

SEVEN; LEI FIAMMA

SEVEN; LEI FIAMMA

The uncomfortable, cold feeling of an empty bed is what caused the opening of my heavy eyelids. A half of my brain protested for more sleep, for more hours of the numbing sensations sleeping granted, but the other half of my brain was reacting to the faint sound of water running in the bathroom across from the foot of the bed. I sat up as quickly as I could in this stage of waking up, rubbing the black spots out of my vision with the back of my hand. My bare legs were instantly covered in goosebumps when the very real contrast of warm bed to cool air hit them with an unforgiving wind. I checked the digital alarm clock sitting on the bedside table, confused to discover it was the early hours of the morning, the early hours of the morning so ungodly that the sun refused to lift its head from its earthy blankets.

I slipped the loose sheets around my uncovered skin and stood to make my way to the bathroom doors, pushing them open with a light palm just to have a peek inside. The warm light from the bathroom trickled onto the floor around my feet, the small crack illuminating half of my face in the shadows. The instant my eyes were able to adjust from the darkness I had once known, I heard the water shut off, like the source of the sound knew they would be having a guest. Vincent stepped out from behind the shower curtain and into the revealing light of the bathroom, gracing me with the body that only, now, shimmered with water droplets I wanted to brush away with my fingertips very, very slowly. Vincent Romano was an element, was a force I felt in the fire my soul contained under wraps most of the time. He was the ignition of me in the most poetic form. I couldn't stand purely watching him, so I pushed open the door all the way, leaning my barely covered form against the doorframe to rival with his.

"I didn't mean to wake you, bella mia." His voice ran through me like silk, and I almost shuddered. After a towel, unfortunately, covered his lower half, he crossed the tile floor to meet my body with his, pressing my spine into the doorframe. "But since you're here..."

I met him in a kiss that was far too otherworldly for this ungodly hour. The gentle notion of his hand touching my neck is what made my lips release from his, a small, breathy sigh escaping from my lungs and into his throat as our bodies broke apart. His fingertips indented my pulse while he looked down at me, the question of why I ended the kiss before he was done with me pulling down his brow. I finally met his eyes after seconds of staring at his chest to catch my breath, which seemed to be stolen from me every time we were in close proximity of each other—sometimes literally.

"Why are you awake?" I asked, unconsciously curling my fingers against the hard skin of his lower stomach. "It's like four in the morning."

Once Vincent's body assumed he was no longer going to receive steaming affection from mine, he stepped away from me and brought his frame in front of the mirror again, taking a smaller towel from the shelf for the damp blackness of his hair. I followed him further into the bathroom, studying the ripples that went through his arm as he shook away the water from his head. "There's an exchange this morning, right before sunrise."

My ears perked up at the mention of work. I hadn't been outside of the mansion's walls in weeks. I soon felt an itching excitement to see action again, to maybe have to run again. I chewed on my bottom lip, staring down at the floor as I thought of ways to approach the situation with Vincent. I knew he was still on edge with the information about the real me, and I knew edgy water needed to be treaded lightly with a man of his...persona.

"Could I-"

"Absolutely not," he said, hanging the towel back on the shelf to dry. He turned to meet my eyes again, leaning back against the counter. "This is one of our hardest, and oldest, clients. There's no room to fuck up."