sweetaspuddin:
Evening’s end. The two words that HOOKED her; The Master had plans for her––––for the two of them. Something within touched her, some greater, UNNAMEABLE emotion. How intent he seemed. His charm considerable and telling, especially as he closed in her surroundings and claimed cherry lips, sending a new CONTRACTION of pleasure to her core. She briefly wondered if she tasted like every D A R K thought she’d ever had. James opened her eyes to a kind of LIBERATION, an introduction into a world of bizarre yet irresistible DELIGHTS when he had both graced her with his presence and acquainted her with absinthe. She almost tittered from happiness. Normally, she’d reject A N Y man’s demand for further entertainment upstairs, but he was a far cry from any man she had met before and the first self-proclaimed spirit. But his touch was far from cold, his eyes bright when they met hers and his voice smooth. The petite blonde wondered if he’d still find her as APPEALING if he discovered her sadomasochistic fantasies. Her breath hitched; His touch became intensified by the drink, cheeks still white as before, but BURNED like two fires at his fondling, gold and black diamonds ending far above her knees, material fallen into a crease between her legs so that the shape of her sex outlined, beneath the table, away from voyeuristic eyes. Fingers that had taken countless L I V E S were stopped as bare legs held tight, refusing to surrender just yet. She definitely wasn’t a prude, but reputation meant something to her. Without a second thought, she took to his elbow, unaware of what awaited her. “Easy, Killer.” A knuckle brushed against his jaw. “I’m not runnin’ fer tha door yet.” A heated pause. “But I do have a question.”
If he was tuned into her more peculiar needs regarding intimacy, it wouldn’t do a damned thing to sway him. She speaks to a man that has gutted victims during forced intimacy, asphyxiated them, tortured.. That’s not to say that he doesn’t hold a special place in his blackened heart for those that are like him, providing his own brand of softer affections-- and we say soft very loosely. Though those pallor cheeks remain as such, the heat can be felt beneath the fingertips that scathe delightfully over it, bringing a charming, yet wry smile unto a wicked mouth. He briefly wonders how many lives she’s stolen with these tiny, manicured hands..wonders if she prefers a certain method -- one that appeases her more than the rest. He loves to use blades, loves to feel the cut steel wedge between layers of flesh and viscera, the intimacy of being close enough to watch the light dissipate from their eyes. He looks to her, lifting a brow as a hand comes to rest over the one that’s taken hold of his bicep; her response earns a soft chuckle, and now that those knuckles drift over a diamond jaw, he leans right into their touch, giving his head a little nudge. “Yet, you say..? Sounds as though you’ve made up your mind, that there might be reason to run..” Spoken in a teasing fashion, of course..and sunset russets drift, lift to her. “A question, hm? ...you have my attention.”
