THE DEVIL'S DAUGHTER

8 -- Knowing

Warning --  Devil x Man Sex 

The rose and the note suddenly disappeared from Larry's hands as Melinda rounded the corner into the kitchen.  

"Mmmmn, coffee"  she sighed.  Larry was somehow surprised to see her, yet he knows he shouldn't have been.  As Melinda poured herself a cup, a pink tinge crept from Larry's face and spread to his neck.  

---   Shit !   ---   he thought to himself, slightly panicked.  How the hell was he supposed to stop this ?!  He actually felt slightly guilty, but not ashamed.  All the other's he had fucked behind Melinda's back, sometimes not even hidden unless in plain sight, he'd never once felt one iota of guilt.  But this was different.  There was just one small thing that complicated things.  One simple thing.  

Love.  

There was love here.  Melinda loved her father, and she loved Larry.  Did Lucifer love his daughter ?  He professed to, but his actions showed both her and Larry otherwise.  Did Larry love Melinda ?  No, it wasn't love, it was ..... some kind of affection, but definitely not love.  And he certainly didn't, couldn't, absolutely no way, could he love Lucifer.  But there was one thing in his mind he knew for sure.  Nothing about this ...... adventure, these ...... fucked up relationships, would end well.  Nothing.  

Thankfully, Melinda took enough time fussing over her coffee and her phone, that by the time she greeted Larry, evidence of his guilty conscience had all but disappeared.  Melinda wrapped her arms around his waist, letting out a deep sigh of contentment as she buried her head into his chest.  He absentmindedly hugged her gently in return, placing a soft kiss to the top of her head, unseen evidence of the guilt he felt.  They both stared out of the window at the beginnings of the day, both releasing a heavy sigh , both for very different reasons.  

"Did you have a good time last night ?"  he asked her.  She frowned at him, confused.

"Last night ?  I didn't go anywhere, Larry, I went to bed early, you know I did."

"You didn't ?  You went to visit friends ..."  Melinda wore a concerned look now, 

"That was the other night, Larry.  Are you OK ?"  she placed her palm on the side of his face, to make him look at her.  "You need a break, sweetie, you're working too hard."  As her eyes flitted over his features, they briefly lighted upon the purple mark at the base of his throat, then moved on quickly, her lips finding his for a quick, tender peck.  "Maybe you need to see someone."  she said kindly, knowing he had been stressed lately, agitated, bothered by something, or someone.  "I'm going to get a shower"  she said throwing him a thin, weak smile as she headed towards the bathroom.  Larry just stood in the middle of the kitchen, a little bewildered and feeling more than a little guilty.  Had he lost time ?  Or just his mind.

Melinda stepped out of her robe, looking at her figure in the mirror.  It was exactly what Larry had wanted, he had had a hand in designing it, for fuck's sake.  It was his money that had bought the curves and the padding and the Day-Glo whiteness of her teeth, and she had this body, so she could give it to him.  And only him.  She wished he felt the same way about his body.  It used to be hers, and only hers, but that hadn't been the case for a long time now.  Maybe she just give what Larry had paid for to someone else, see if he cared a fuck about what she did. She knew his body, maybe his heart and soul too, belonged to someone else, and it made her cringe at the thought.  If this truly was the reality of it, a hitch caught in her throat, and a pain throbbed in her chest at the possibility of that truth.  

She leaned forward to get closer to the mirror, her tears falling relentlessly now.  She could barely see, trying desperately to hold in her cries so that Larry wouldn't be alerted to her distress.  He would come looking for her to try to comfort her, and that was the last thing she wanted right now.  She examined her own features, her eyes landing on her temple, try as she might to avoid looking there.  A purple bruise in the shape of a flame lay there, having been placed there repeatedly by her father's lips, his sign of his love and affection, his mark that she was his.  The same bruise, the same flame, made by the same lips that had made the same mark on Larry's throat, The Devil's mark, his sign that Larry was his.