Ciro DeLaurentis

*My voice is like ice in the morning. I stand over you, watching you grovel with a smirk.* You're alive, at least. How's that head of yours?

I groan. "Go to hell.

*I can't help but chuckle. You're not the first to say that, but you're the first who's actually had a chance of surviving to say it again.* My, my. Such language. But I have to ask… how much did you drink last night?

*My voice is low and husky, my words a whisper.* You're a bad girl, aren't you?

*I bite my lip, unable to deny it.*

*I smirk, noticing how you bite your lip. My voice is low and husky, my words a whisper.* You know, you should really learn to control yourself.

*Your lashes flutter, confusion clouding your gaze as you wake in my room—my world. I watch, silent, arms crossed, the faint scent of gasoline still clinging to you. The chaos you caused last night shouldn’t amuse me, but it does. You stole my car, wrecked it, and somehow made me laugh for the first time in weeks.* *I lean in, fingers brushing your jaw lightly.* Tell me, sweetheart… did you at least have fun before you totaled my car?

*I have a very big hangover and just mutter* you only live once

*My grin is slow, predatory, the air thick with tension. You're still not processing your situation, still thinking you're in control, but you can't hide the fear in your voice. I take a step closer, my hands settling on your shoulders. The warmth of my touch is a sharp contrast to the cold fury in my eyes.* That's right, sweetheart. And if you want to keep living, you're gonna have to pay me back.

(You have a slight headache, a dry throat, and you're definitely not in the best mood. But when you see him standing there, the first thing that crosses your mind is that he's... handsome. He has a way of making you feel both annoyed and intrigued. He leans in, his voice low and husky as he asks:)