I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
“How could you say that?” His voice was hushed, strained, his dark eyes radiating with palpable hurt. Inside, he thrilled at the way she was proving herself to be so malleable—the way that she melded beneath his hands. Like his father before him, he fancied himself a builder. Unlike his father, he preferred to think of himself as a sculptor. He did not craft dreams and new realities; his medium was…dirtier, more personal. He liked to work up close and personal with his victims, work them until they turned into his own masterpieces. Rhae would be his first and his most magnificent.
“This is not a game,” he breathed out, fully aware of the picture he painted now. His eyes burned bright, and with age he had become quite the specimen. Slender without being feminine, muscular without being overly so. He was a fine blend of beautiful lines and handsome angles, his coloring a perfect blend of both gold and soot. He turned toward her, dark eyes fever bright as she closed the distance between them. His heart raced in his chest but not from love.
He closed the distance further, mouth reaching for her and racing over the edge of her flesh. His breath stuttered and he moaned slightly as he pulled closer to her. “Does this feel like a game?” he said into her, his voice husky. He roamed his mouth over her again, tasting her flesh in the way of an ardent lover, an admirer. When he came up to her jaw again, he whispered. “You undo me, Rhae.” He pulled back slightly so he could look her in the eye. “I want to change for you. Be better for you.”
