I'll Bring You To Your Knees
[AN] This chapter is told in Lady's point of view. If you like it, please review!
[Disclaimer] I do not make a profit off of this, nor do I own the characters or franchise.
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It was quiet in the office today. It was becoming more frequent for the building's owner to be out hunting vile creatures from the underworld. The building started to reek of sand and decaying blood, the waste basket near the mahogany desk full of old bandages covered in the crimson liquid.
"That's disgusting." She mumbled softly. Holding her nose, for the bandages reeked of demon, a smell she was still unaccustomed to smelling, and carried the basket out to the dumpster and threw its contents to scatter among the other debris inside the metal container. "God, that smells worse." She commented, coughing a bit at the smell burning the inside of her nose.
She walked back into the office and to the room that had been redesigned into a bedroom, really only to be considered so because of the bed that sat in the middle of the room. Other than that obvious point, the room was basically empty, save for a small nightstand which was a few feet from the right side of the bed. Always the right, never the left. His strange habits never seemed to fail at making her smile.
There was a single closet in the room, which, under normal circumstances could barely fit a male wardrobe, but, in their case, held a man's and a woman's, since she had moved in (and Trish moved out). He really only wore that coat and pants, not much room needed there, and her clothing was pretty small, and tended to take up very little space. All her items were in a small dresser wedged into the closet that she brought from home. The dresser had been her mother's; it was the only thing her father hadn't destroyed when he went on the murderous rampage that eventually took her mother's life.
It always amused her why her dresser was in the closet; to be honest, she really didn't understand why, something about Dante's aversion to change, or maybe he was claustrophobic. She briefly considered that possibility and laughed as she fished through her dresser drawers, looking for something Trish had given to her as a joke sometime before she had left.
The drawers were still unorganized from when that half-devil had gone through them, looking for god-knows-what, and he still has the bruise on his arm from when she threw her gun at him.
She eventually found what she was looking for.
She had never been the kind of woman who even considered buying lingerie, let alone wear it. The fabric was always cold and sheer, and she just felt overly exposed. Of course, her daily wardrobe barely left room for imagination, but everything was covered and she was really careful about it remaining that way.
So, as she looked over the black lace and ribbon and sheer fabric a cold shiver ran up her spine. A demon? No problem. Trying to look sexy? Big problem. It's not that she was self-conscious; in fact, she was proud of her body and the shape she kept it in. It was those eyes, his eyes, on that body that made her nervous enough to jump out of her skin. But she wasn't going to play victim, or deer-in-the-headlights. A woman didn't wear this kind of thing to sit there submissive. No.
The second she slips that on, she'll be the only person in the world able to overpower him, control him, and she's going to love every second of it.