Serina Accardi had everything, and wanted for nothing. Her brother gave her whatever she desired, but kept the parts of her destined world out of her reach.
Until she lost everything in one night to a man who's eyes looks like the devils wrath.
Th...
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The door handle was cold, and rain water puddled at my feet. I wanted to go in, hold her hand. Make everything better.
But I couldn't. I could not make what I have done better.
I chastised my father, hated him for how he treated my mother. I told myself that I'd never be like him, never.
But I am. I am just like him. At the end of the day, I am my fathers son.
I had played games with Serina when I first met her, I found it interesting how drawn to me she was, how badly she failed at denying me her angered responses.
I started a game between us, and told myself that my curiosity was a disease she'd plagued upon me.
I'd hurt her, sometimes I'd start a fight with her just because I liked how she looked when she got mad.
Sometimes I had to hold every ounce of my anger back, to prevent me from doing something I'd regret, because I knew I'd regret it—but I think she liked that, because she knew that I knew she wasn't scared.
I Liked how hot she looked when she showed her inner crazy.
She had the wild in her eyes that scared even me. No one scared me, no one but her.
I liked the chase, I liked how small she was. How light and fluffy she looked on the outside, I thought she was easy.
That day in the bathroom, oh so long ago, when I first kissed her lips I had every intention on screwing her and walking out.
I'd end that curiosity, get her it of my systems because surely it was just my body that craved her.
I had grabbed her hips, and my mind went dark with the thoughts of us.
Her lips tasted like cherries, before her I never cared for cherries—but now I like them because they remind me of her. Everything reminds me of her.
In that bathroom, She'd taken over my sense whether she knew or not. Her hands plagued my hair and I was obsessed with her.
For this my demons wanted to ruin her—but I couldn't, not when she looked at me like she did.
She looked at me like I was just a man, and she was just a woman. She looked innocent, even though only god knows all that she has done.
I had wanted her to look away, I had wanted to walk away—But then I found myself showing my sins to her, like I wanted her appraisal.
Showing her my scars, lashes from whips on my back—her hand running along the crevices, where no other hand had touched me before.
I'd never had people touch my back, or let them pleasure me without my say. I was always in control, but with Serina I never was.
