"I could spend hours between your legs, teasing... sucking, tasting you."
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*Completed & Slowly Being Rewritten*
Previous title: Cabaret of Whispers
One night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached. But when Ax...
The road to hell is truly paved with good intentions.
Ax’s good intentions were purely selfish and he had no desire whatsoever to lie about the fact. And so, he needed to do everything in his power to ensure that he would get what he longed for, even if that meant striking deals with the Devil himself.
He longed for ignorance. He longed to remain carefree and keep his mind away from the terrors that haunted him whether they lived in his past or if they resided in his future.
Ignorance truly is bliss.
A type of bliss he could never possess.
Their month was up.
Xavier had contacted Mick a few days ago, telling him that the shipment was being placed on the aeroplanes. He assured him that everything would work out fine.
The next phone call came a day later or it would be much more appropriate to say twenty-five hours later.
It had arrived exactly on time.
He hadn’t been kidding when he’d mentioned that they liked to be punctual.
Ax had spent the whole month repairing Eros’ Jaguar, not giving himself time to doubt any part of their plan or time to think about who was behind Eros’ ‘accident’.
That time would come much later.
When Bruce was no more and he didn’t offend the planet with his presence anymore.
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Celia was curled up in his bed, a sheet draped over her naked form. Ax’s fingers traced her tattooed flesh and his touch felt as light as a feather’s.
His gaze scrutinised her raven black hair and how it framed her face. He traced his fingers over her lush lips, bending his head down to capture them with his.
He couldn’t help himself when it came to her.
He wanted to fall on his knees and show her exactly how she should be worshipped but even that wouldn’t be enough.
She quivered beneath his touch. Even in the state of dreaming her breath hitched and soft moans rose from her vocal cords. Ax was enthralled, completely in awe of her response to him.
She would purr like a kitten each time his fingers brushed the column of her neck and reached her carotid. She melted into him. She felt her pulse pounding against his finger as he traced her artery. There was something beautiful about that particular spot on the human body.
It only took one small cut and death was inevitable. Blood would escape from the body as if it had been caged for so many years. As if it was Billy Hayes in the Midnight Express.
Something beautiful lied in the gore a river of crimson offered.
The macabre could be fascinating if one was able to look beyond the external layer of pain. Edgar Allan Poe had given the lyrical tools for people to appreciate it.
