Chapter 3
February 20, 2015
Slightly shaking her head, Pansy blinked as dragged her cigar to her lips for another inhale when she heard a loud whine followed by a string of incoherent language that caused a rise in her eyebrows. Gently brushing the ashes off her cigar, Pansy walked indoors muttering to herself, "And they say I need to wash my mouth."
Pushing the doors open to her throne room, Pansy paused as she took in the fist slamming into the lower abdomen, causing the bound man to sputter. Taking in the bruises upon the knuckles, her gaze trailed to bunched muscles in the arms and crossed over the scattered tattoos.
Banging her head on the tile wall, she clenched her eyes shut as he stroked her inner walls and pushed up to his second knuckles, forcing whimpers to escape Pansy's lips. "Shhh sweetheart, you don't want to wake them up," he murmured, intensifying his rhythm. Scrapping her nails along his back, her teeth became imprinted on her bottom lips as her eyes rolled back.
Watching the brunched muscles continue to spring as each fist unloaded a magnitude of power and strength upon its object, her gaze shifted upwards to the ever-present tattoo of a mass of vines and flowers showing the number of lives taken awaiting a new victim to add to its harem.
Heaving, Pansy rolled over to lay atop of his back and stretched her body so that no part of his body was untouched. Seeing his head turn, Pansy smirked, sitting up and grinding on his back as her fingers traced his tattoos. Catching the saliva dripping on her breasts, her fingers began marking him as she whispered, "Most men would deem this sick. To know that the wetness seeping from their woman comes from watching the kills a man has." Flipping them over, his eyes lit as he trailed his fingers from her breasts, following the map to his treasure, and mouthed against her lips, "I'm not most men."
Ongoing, her gaze shifted past the smirk on his lips before settling on his eyes, ever-present with the flames of lust and vengeance. Clicking her heels across the floor, her hands thrust to the bound man and exclaimed, "Why can't I find competent men? Why can I hear you?"
Crossing her arms and focusing her stare on the sole standing man, she argued, "You asked for one hour. One hour."
Interrupting her while cleaning the blood from his knuckles, he chuckled, "Yet, you gave me ten minutes."
Standing in front of her, he remarked, "An oiread sin strus" as his fingers gripped her chin and tsked.
Feeling a chill run down her spine, Pansy groaned, "Nev" before gripping his hand to place a kiss on his palm and strutting towards her throne.
Crossing her legs and running her tongue across her bottom lip, she watched as Neville clutched his hand around the bound man's neck against his body and focused his eyes on Pansy's. Smirking, he tapped his knife against the man's cheek before stating, "It appears my boss is unhappy. Yet, you've chosen the right one" before slitting the man's throat with one slow slash, allowing droplets to splatter across his hand and body. Crooking a finger at Pansy, he curled it in a "come here" motion before rubbing his hands through his hair and down his face.
Feeling the heat between them, Pansy remarked, "Brings us back to old times, doesn't it, gardener." Slowly walking down the steps to him, she trailed her nails across his body, wet by blood, before circling her hands around him. Licking his bloodied lip, she mouthed, "It's about time you acknowledged who's the boss."
Translation:
An oiread sin strus = So much stress