There is nothing more beautiful than watching an innocent angel fall apart at my sinful actions. I'm going to ruin her.
"Augustine."
And she comes, looking down at me as she does so.
She glows, lighting up the goddamn room. Her feet barely touch t...
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"What the fuck, Eros?" I snapped, clutching the fabric of my towel to my chest. He was sitting on my bed, bruises and cuts littering his beautiful face. I couldn't really tell because of the poor lighting, but I swear his shirt was covered in blood, too.
What happened to him?
He looked me up and down, noticing my lack of clothing. I wasn't even angry about him scaring the shit out of me, I was worried about his health. His gaze was heated, but that was the last thing on my mind right now.
"Eros...," I breathe out, hurrying over to him. His body tensed at my rapid approach, and when my fingertips grazed his cheek, he hissed in discomfort.
I was quick to draw back, not wanting to hurt him. Five hours ago, he was fine, and now he was practically beat to a pulp.
"Who did this to you?" I whispered, glancing around his body for any sign of something worse.
He shook his head, establishing that he didn't want to talk about it. I narrowed my eyes as I looked down at him, not appreciating his answer.
How is he going to show up at my home in the middle of the night, and then not explain anything to me?
I backed away from him, leaving space between us.
I pulled out a tank top and some sleep shorts from my drawer, knowing the longer I stay around him with minimal clothing, the quicker he might be convinced to stay for a different reason.
Turning my back to him, I slip on my panties, then remove the towel. I change swiftly, not leaving an extra second of skin bare. However, this tank top does little to support my breasts, and the hardening peaks of my nipples.
Well, shit.
"Are you going to tell me what happened, or just sit on my bed and scare me for the rest of the night?" I ask rhetorically, tossing my towel in the hamper. Eros looks into my eyes from his position below me, and it makes me feel a wave of emotion. Arousal flows through my body, but the real sudden sensation I get is power. When he's not towering over me, I feel as though I have control over him.
"I got sent in at the wrong time," he says simply, "The rest are dead. I killed them."
And everything positive I felt flushed away, because he's speaking to me as if he's proud of himself. He's proud that he basically got the shit beat out of him, but at least he got to kill some people.
"Why are you here?" I ask, crossing my arms. I keep my distance from him, not trusting myself to be close to him.
"I couldn't walk any longer," he explains, "Car was totaled, and I was just a mile away."
"You walked here?" I exclaim, concern writing across my face. He reached his hand out to me, and I had no other option but to take it.
He ignored my question, and just brought the back of my hand to his lips. A smear of blood was left in remnants, and I shivered at the sight of it.
