Warning: this is a dark romance. No copying. *** las·civ·i·ous /ləˈsivēəs/ adjective (of a person, manner, or gesture) feeling or revealing an overt sexual desire. *** His dark eyes seem colder than cold. They're as stagnant as icebergs, really, as if a blizzard is raging somewhere in its depths. His tongue darts out to wet his plump lips, his facial expression remaining blank. Her head still throbs in the back from earlier. Her eyes lower to his raw cheekbones and the strong clench of his jawline that's heavily dusted with a veil of stubble. She squeezes away from him, pressing her bruised back against the rough cinder block wall behind her. The bricks dig into her spine as if the thin fabric of her tank top isn't even there. Regarding his crisp black suit that seems so out of place, she speaks, her tongue dry. "Who are you? And why am I here? Where the fuck am I?" The man chuckles quietly, his dark hair flopping subtly over his brows. He crouches before her, bringing a musky scent of what smelled like expensive cologne and blood. He's so close that when he speaks she can smell the spearmint on his breath as the heat smooths over her cheeks. He smiles evilly. "The less questions you ask, mio fiore, the longer you'll live. Consider yourself warned." She's about to respond when his expression turns cold, dead as his eyes. She falters, and sooner than she can blink does he have a gun pulled out. The icy ring where the bullets would exit if he pulled the trigger presses into her skin, seemingly chilling her to the bone. He presses the barrel to her forehead and a twisted smirk comes over his features. With his voice still devoid of emotion, he cautions her. "Watch yourself or I'll blow your brains out." Then he removes the gun from her face, satisfied at her horror, and is gone, vanishing into the darkness. *** Complete summary inside.