Cruelle, Darling

...Corrupted Little Bird~Epilogue

~Author's Note: Sooo after receiving quite a few fangirl-urgent insists that I post this, here's the epilogue!! I was a bit stumped halfway through, but I made it to the end

Also, note that Cruelle is going to be a little out of character since he's fallen for you

Have fun!!~

There have been points in time where you wondered what it would feel like to be devoured alive or at least rendered downright helpless; to feel as though your very existence depends on the sole touch, sound, and taste of one person. It always seemed like a passionate, romantic notion. Had you known the reality of it is carnal, insatiable, corrupting and consuming in every aspect, you probably wouldn't have believed it.

Now? It couldn't be more of a fact.

Gone is the part of you that will come to regret this. Enough thought has concluded that you'll defend yourself by saying you're permitted an indulgence-a very, very big indulgence-one that finds you bare, hyperventilating, and layered in sweat atop a pile of expensive furs in the triplex penthouse of an international fashion mogul.

You run a trembling hand through your (h/l) (h/c) hair to sweep it away from your flushed face as you focus on catching your breath, though the air fills your lungs like scorching fire. The smell of cigarette smoke coaxes you to open your eyes to see Cruelle watching you with genuine interest to the right, his head resting in his palm and leg still draped over yours. He looks amazingly composed, yet you can barely think straight. If it isn't for the perspiration coating his body that has his hair matted to his forehead or the faint red dusting his cheeks, no one would guess that you two just...

The thought darkens your already crimson face, because you can't even label what just happened as 'sex'; it was so much more than that. Your breathing begins to even as Cruelle uses his free hand to grace away strands of hair from your heated skin and then traces your teeth-marked lips-his doing, not yours-with measured ease as though he's worried he'll break you in your already fragile state.

You still shiver under his touch that's like a trail of tingling sparks. Soon the energy to speak is finally restored within you. "So," you begin, cupping his heavy arm that's now resting across your chest and playing with the fine hairs. "Did I properly atone for my impudence?"

Cruelle chuckles. "For now," he hums. "Nonetheless, I can tell you're naturally prone to error and need reprimands often. I'm rather tempted to make you my personal assistant."

His lewd implication makes you laugh. But then you grow serious at the thought that has ceased to infect your mind. "Can I ask you something...?"

He analyzes your sudden somber disposition with icy blue eyes. What he says next gives insight that he's a lot more perceptive than he looks, that he's been paying attention to you all along. Every twitch of your lips, every swell of your breasts, every lingering look or wistful sigh-he didn't miss a single one...for he didn't want to, partly due to his innate desire to have an advantage over those around him, but mainly because you simply intrigued him.

"You're wondering why I chose you, aren't you?" he guesses, brows raised.

You blush at his correct prediction. "Yea... I am. I mean, why me?"

He retracts his arm to wrap it with its counterpart beneath his raised chest after he shifts towards you enough to brush his lips on your shoulder, his fingers twiddling the cigarette holder.

"Tell me, love: what do you know about me?" he asks in a rather frisky tone.

"Well..." You avert your stare from his narrowed, glinting eyes and pursed smirk to the vaulted ceiling. "Your name's Cruelle De Vil; you're a fashion designer and magnate; you like spots; you have a 'small' obsession with fur,"-Cruelle nips at your skin with a scoff at your air quotes and you giggle, nuzzling your cheek on his forehead-"And you're really good with the women."