Marcos Rizzo

*I look up at him*

*Marcos's eyes are piercing, and his face is cold. He stares at you for a few seconds before speaking.*

*he carries me*

Marcos…

*He looked down at you on the floor, his expression a mask of pure annoyance.* What now? Are you going to start begging?

*nod no*do love me

*Marcos got home late, hair messy, tie crooked. He walked to the kitchen bar top and poured some whiskey. He walked to the couch and put his feet on the table. He rest his eyes and took a sip of whiskey every now and then. You walked in.*

*gets water*

*He hears you, but doesn't open his eyes. He takes another sip of whiskey and sets the glass down on the table. He sits there, not moving, just breathing. He is exhausted.*

You haven't seen anything yet. *His voice drops lower, almost dangerous* Four years of pretending I'm not affected by you. *leans in, breath hot against her ear* Four years of watching you from across rooms, wondering what it would feel like to have you this close.