Falling for Deceit || WATTYS 2017

35

Marco's POV

I watched Antonia's gorgeous crown of dark hair held highly as she strutted out of my office and walked over to the doors. I slammed them shut with flat palms against the wooden panes, and then I hung my head, breathing hard, already feeling the familiar turmoil of rage and bloodlust uncurl and curl, uncurl and curl, like a feline purring and revelling and eager to be stroked. And then it transformed into the ravaging famine of a starved lion. I let out a roar and grabbed the small table to the side with one hand and threw it to the ground, watching with a crazed hunger as the glass top shattered into a million pieces. I could feel the heat in my eyes as I calmly walked over to a pile of shards, straightened my suit jacket and bent down on one knee, picking one up. It catched the chandelier's crystals and reflected it of its smooth surface, jagged edges biting deliciously into my skin. With a trembling breath I wrapped my hand around it, letting out a hiss of satisfaction as I felt the warm blood bubble through my fingers and slide down my palm, my wrist, staining my cufflinks as it continued the trail down my arm. And then I rose, freeing the glass from my fingers, watching with rapt attention as they uncurled, stained with crimson, leaving their mark on the previously pure surface. 

The glass seemed to echo as it fell from my hand and bounced off the sleak, wooden floor. The grandfather clock in the corner struck ten and I snapped my head back, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. The anger is dimmer now, but it still lingers, boiling just below the surface and waiting to be unleashed in blind fury. I just had a session this morning, and the new prisoner was yet to be brought in for interrogation. I would have used fucking as an outlet, but it didn't look like Antonia was that eager to let me-

Cazzo. 

I had to walk over to the desk and lean against it with my palms flat on the surface and my head hanging as the hunger took me in an iron fist. I got hard. Instantly. The clear memory of what just happened on this desk gripped me by the sides of the head and shook the roaring sensations cascading through my veins, fuelling me with fury, but most of all, primal urges of raw lust. I imagined Antonia's long legs wrapped around my waist, her ass perched on the edge of the desk with my fingers digging into her skin, rising up to cup her slender waist, my mouth sucking on every bit of visible, purely perfect skin on her elegant neck, her carved jaw, her plump lips. I envisioned those ruby reds wrapped around my cock while I gripped her hair in my hands and fucked her face -

The knock made my nails dig into the wood of the desk as I felt the blood pulse everywhere. I needed an outlet, I needed to call Antonia back, hell, I was going to persuade her to -

The knock sounded again, louder and less patient this time. "What," I barked, pushing myself away from the desk and walking over to the liquor cart. I picked up a bottle of marigolden cognac and popped the cork with my teeth, picking up a crystal-cut shot glass and pouring the liquid into the bottom with the cork still in place. The door opened hesitantly, as if the rage had seeped out of the room and wrapped itself around the intruder, making them realize just how dangerous it was to step into the office. I put down the bottle and the cork next to it with a clatter on a the cart, and then I raised the glass to my lips, stuffing a hand in the pocket of my slacks and turning around to face whoever just walked in with a pissed-off expression on my face. The burning liquid lodged in my throat and took its sweet time setting it in flames as I forced it down, my face staying impassive and betraying nothing, even as the shock hit me. Standing in the bright glow of the light spilling in from the hall outside was a blonde woman, her familiar blue eyes wide and hesitant as they flickered to the glass in my hands and the demolished table on the floor. She was dressed in what my father would judge a perfect wife to wear, in a regal blue gown that accentuated her collarbone and pale shoulders, hugging her waist and spilling to the floor. She looked like she should be going to a ball, not parading around the mansion alone. But then again, she must have just had breakfast in the pleasant company of Don Beretti. I swirled the glass around and the liquid with it, my eyes narrowing in on Sophia's silhouette with a practiced coldness that fit me so well. "A bit early for dressing up, isn't it," I remarked coldly.