Everything Sinister

Nine

We should've never tried to be good.

Sinners stay sinners.

And that is the way it should be.

~LA

~

"I could throw you on this bed right now. And fuck you until you lose your voice, baby."

I gritted my teeth in restraint. His jaw was set and he was breathing too fast and too rhythmically.

"Or?"

I felt him between my thighs. I felt the warmth of his hands on my skin, burning like coal. I felt the sweet pressure of lust between my legs and the temptation to pull him down and kiss him tingling on my lips.

He leaned down, his lips brushing mine and it was now me who opened their awaiting that sacred touch.

"Or we could pack up a few caramels and go on a ride. Does he have Facebook?"

I smiled.

"Would you like to key some cars?"

~

We rode into the night. It wasn't hard to find out where the guy lives. No. I hadn't nicked his wallet again, agent but I did search him up online and I think the devil wanted a laugh or something because to our luck I recognised the river behind his house in one of his photos. All we needed to do was ride along with it and we found his ugly car, which in fact wasn't so ugly but he flipped me from it so that car can rot in hell.

But honestly. Don't we all hate everything about the ones we hate? Well, hate is a strong word. Hate is for children with stinky fishes on their plates...

Or people in love.

"Well, what is the plan?"

I turn to Demont. His hair was tousled because he insisted on pulling the roof down. Maybe he wanted for me to cool off or he just wanted to brag about his car. Nevertheless, it was a good idea. The breeze and freshness of the air of cold, deep night ran past us and it felt better than ecstasy.

I changed into a shirt and my favourite jeans. They felt too tight now. Especially after I realised they were the same jeans he slipped his thumbs behind its fabric.

I couldn't stop thinking about that night. And I knew this was going to be another unforgettable night. Especially when the moment just half an hour ago was engraved in my mind already.

"Well, on the scale of assholeness, he is a three. So I think just have some fun with his car will suffice." I grinned devilishly.

"Scale of assholness? What number am I?"

"You are not on it."

But to be honest, when I met him, he was a five. And as the time passed by, when he made me fall in love with him, there was no number in the motherfucking universe that could describe how much I hated him.

We got out of the car and I looked at the SUV with disgust. I leaned on Demont's 70's convertible mustang and lit up a cigarette. There appeared an imprint of my lipstick on the cigarette when I breathed out the smoke with my nose.

"Lovelle," Demont growled. I looked at him. It always amazed me how someone with such pervy jokes could lose it so quickly. I stood up straight.

"Don't worry. Your dear car will survive me, sweetie."

He held my gaze with darkness in the gold. It was like thick golden paint dancing with dark bitter chocolate. So dark it resembled the night sky. That's what Demont was. Delicious. Tempting. But when you bit into him, he bit back.