Sinnerman

Chapter 10 Morons & Twins

*Trigger warnings; violence and bloody thoughts in this chapter.*

Kylo found himself now almost, dare he say it, enjoying, the long walk to the interrogation room. The prospect of such a sweet treat as seeing his Kitten after such a boring, heartless week was making him ache with anticipation.

He smiled lightly to himself as he thought back to their last meeting. She was so reticent about it, but he knew if he just lay the sweetness on thick, she'd start to become enchanted by him. He was giddy over the fact that she mentioned he still scared her. That made him oddly proud. He liked keeping his obedient and tame little kitten on her toes. Keeping her wary.

Sugar is sweeter than salt after all... His mother used to say.

Kylo had her now in the sweet spot, right where he wanted her: weakly susceptible. Emotionally involved. And starting to blindside her attentions to that of his vicious nature.

Evie wasn't a fool. But she was a romantic.

By now she had certainly been taken in by the showcase of charm he chose to perform for her. The battered and bruised state of him last week had all but sealed that fate for her. Clinched it. Bound it in, tight, and enshrined it in truth. He knew exactly what it had done. He'd seen that desperate and invested look shift across her blue ocean eyes;

She'd started to feel for him. Started to understand that what she felt for him was lust, attraction, and understanding mingled with hope.

Her hope blossomed like a rare bud, unfolding merrily in the fake belief that he wasn't as bad or as dangerous as they all made him out to be.

That made him almost chuckle. She's romanticised him as some poor, beaten down, inmate. A caged wild beast made tame for her. He taught her that beloved beasts could still bite when provoked. He'd thought almost snapping Linetti's neck like dry kindling, on her last visit would see to that. But that appeared only to intrigue her.

She was hoping her softness, her kindness and her infallibly, ever-prevailing goodness would brush off on him like indelible pollen dust.

Oh kitten. He thinks with a wry 'tsk' of disappointment. How wrong you are...

Her hope would the first and the sweetest thing about her that he'd shatter into pieces.

He'd snap that feeble hope in two with his big brute hands. Then he'd get started on the other parts of her he dreamt were just as sweet, in his fevered, sexually charged imagination. Ben's little video stunt the other day confirmed a long held suspicion he had of his kitten;

She was sugar sweet from head to toe.

And he wasn't even talking about her disposition; he was intending that remark to the soft pink heaven between her thighs. Sweet pussy. Sweet tits. And a delicious body he wanted under him from dusk til dawn in his bed.

His hand wasn't anywhere near enough for him. Not anymore. Now he'd heard her moan. Heard how divine her pussy tasted. Heard her cum. It's all he can think about. And the want has settled in his body like rotting matter and it's eating at him alive. Akin to some hideous, dark growth taking up permanent residence under his skin.

He's snappy about everything. Anyone who gets too close gets snapped at. Anyone who pisses him off gets a warning look or terse glares. His dark mood clouding his gunpowder eyes. She was haunting him at night. Stoking his lustful thoughts whenever his mind dares to wander for even a second. She was behind his eyelids as he slept and on his shoulder when he ate and showered. By his side, in him, on at him, restlessly always, night and day.