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“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, isn’t your dad the extremely antisocial type?”
“Uh yeah, that’s why I’m the one inviting you, remember? Besides, the house is big enough for us not to disturb him and vice-versa.”
Trish Una was a rare and unique type of girl. Born to a very wealthy father, Trish had never let his money get to her head. She knew that one needs more than dollar signs in their eyes to grasp happiness as well as self-respect. And even though she had a history of being arrogant and borderline bratty to people she met; Trish was your friend.
You were both relentless in your passions and formed an admirable alliance. Therefore, it came as no surprise when she invited you over to her and her father’s villa in the countryside for a week-long rendezvous.
“Alright. I can’t really refuse an offer like that.” You smiled sweetly at your longtime friend, who was prepared to pounce at you with a hug but stopped once she saw a frown replacing your joy. “Even though I’ve never even met him... What if he kicks me out or I annoy him or something? I don’t even know the guy!”
Besides being unsociable, Trish’s father was said to be a very private person. He wouldn’t even make an effort to leave his own home, and would do so only when necessary. And - according to Trish - he was deeply paranoid.
Trish burst out with laughter, squeezing you in her arms to brush off your worries. “Don’t even think about such a thing! He may be a jerk sometimes, but he’s not that big of an idiot. It’ll be fine.”
You responded to your friend’s reassurance with a weak but sincere smile, reciprocating her actions by wrapping your own arms around her in a loving hug.
By the next week, you already found yourself loading your luggage to the back of Trish’s custom pink Bentley, and closing the trunk with a bump. Trish was leaning against the driver’s door, touching up her nose and cheeks with the pressed powder that seemed to be way too overpriced for such a small amount of product.
“Alright, we’re all set.” You huffed, fixing your clothes and walking over to be passenger’s seat.
Trish looked surprised, as if she was expecting for you to take longer with your luggage. “You’re only taking one bag?”
You laughed it off, knowing how extra she could be, “It’s not just a bag, it’s travel sized. I’m only coming over for a week.”
Trish shrugged her shoulders, getting in the driver’s seat and starting up the car. “Hm. Fair. If you need any clothes you can always borrow mine.”
With a snort, you playfully slapped her shoulder, in which she made an exaggerated pained noise before laughing it off with you.
The villa in which Trish and her father lived during the Summer was situated in Costa Smeralda - a Sardinian paradise home to various members of the elite who basked in the jealousy of those less fortunate than them, driving their overpriced cars with their overpriced escorts hanging on to their arms. But even that ugliness couldn’t dim the beauty of the Italian island.
As you both stepped out of the car parked in the outside parking space of the villa, Trish quickly began pointing out various details from around the lot - everything from the flowers in the garden she had picked, to the view of the ocean that seemed to be just around the corner. It was truly breathtaking, even if Trish looked desensitized by it all.
Her voice and jingle of keys broke you out of your thoughts, “I can’t wait to show you the jacuzzi.”
Oh god, she even has a jacuzz—
“PAPA! I’M HOME!”
The sheer volume of Trish announcing her presence made you physically shake for half a second, her voice echoing in the large lobby.
Trish groaned when no one answered her thunderous calling, closing the door after you got in, “He never comes down to greet me, or anyone, when I get home. So much for antisocial... He’s probably in his office upstairs.”
“Is that all he does?” You ask, half joking and half sincerely.
Trish began walking to what you assumed to be the living room – which was connected to the kitchen and dining room - beckoning you to follow her to one of the sofas and sit down. “Well, yeah actually. Ever since he got divorced, he’s been way more reclusive and almost insecure. It was freaky watching it all unravel.”
You hummed, sitting on the sofa next to your friend. “Wow. I can’t believe we’ve known each other for so long and I never knew that.”
“Duh, my dad is hardly ever the topic of our conversations. And where would the fun be if he was?”
You both shared a laugh before Trish excused herself, “Oh! I promised I’d call my mom today, she’s out of town. I’ll be back!”
Chuckling to yourself, you gave her an understanding smile as she left. You knew you’d be waiting a while, since phone calls with Trish always seemed to last for centuries.
Typical Trish thing to do, I guess.
With her gone, you decided not to walk around – you’d feel strange doing so in a house you’ve never been to, and on top of that, you didn’t even know the owner! The VOGUE on the coffee table seemed like a last resort in this dire situation, so you stretched your legs and flipped through whatever trash its pages displayed. The gossip wasn’t even juicy!
“Trish?”
Oh fuck me...
Subconsciously yet panicking, you rolled of the sofa, landing face first on the wool carpet as the heavy footsteps descended down the stairs. In your mind, you cursed Trish for leaving you alone with her paranoid father, who probably heard you falling off the sofa and could be thinking you’re an intruder! And on top of that, by his tone of voice he sounded infuriated.
“Trish! I saw your car parked outside, and--”
In a swift motion, you gathered yourself up from the floor, mildly startling your best friend’s father, who stood frozen just a few feet away from you. Fixing your shirt (that somehow rose up to expose your bra), you locked eyes with the man himself, your words caught up in your throat.
He was absolutely nothing like you had imagined – long and undone pink hair (resembling his daughter’s only in color, Trish kept hers with much more care); smudged mascara under his eyes most likely from rubbing them out of stress; dark lipstick that refused to fade from his lips; his shirt unbuttoned and his tie undone yet still around his neck; and finally, his slacks that... were surprisingly snug in all the right places. Overall, he looked completely like a hot mess, while also moderately tired.
And yet, you couldn’t fool yourself and say that he wasn’t attractive.
...That's him... God, say something!!
“Afternoon sir! I’m Trish’s friend! Surely she mentioned I’d be spending the week here, since it was alright with you and all.” You prayed that he couldn’t tell you were internally shaking as you reached your hand out to greet him. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
His expression was hard to read, but at least he didn’t seem to be the least frightened. Maybe slightly annoyed. Maybe. But nevertheless, he softened as he took your hand to shake it.
“She has, you don’t need to worry. And please, call me Diavolo. Sir is far to formal.” His emerald eyes scanned your whole form quickly as he spoke before returning them to your eyes and letting go of your hand. “Did she leave you here by yourself?”
“Oh no, she said she had to call her mother for a minute... Even though it's been about seven of them.” You chuckled lightly, trying to brighten the conversation, but Diavolo only scowled at no one in particular, most likely at the memory of his ex-wife.
As much as you were curious about the whole situation, you figured it was better not to ask about it now.
“Of course, she spends years talking on that damned phone. The bill is as long as both my arms each week.”
You laughed at his remark, finding the concept funny in itself and also the fact that you’ve thought about that same scenario before during one of your calls.
The sound of your laughter somehow managed to bring a grin to Diavolo’s lips, but it vanished as soon as you caught a glimpse of it. He hated to admit it, but somehow, he felt something forming in his chest because of you. However, he wasn’t worried - he had a whole week to figure it out.
Suddenly, Trish walked into the room, almost not noticing her father was right next to you. “I’m sorry I took so long! I can get carried away when talking with my mom.”
You looked at Diavolo and then back at her, as a signal that you two weren’t alone anymore.
“Oh! Papa! You’re finally out of your cave.” She sneered.
Diavolo gave her a fake smile, feigning amusement. “Hello Trish. I saw your Bentley outside, so I figured you were home.”
“Pfft! How could you know that? You never open your curtains! Besides, I did call out for you when I got here.”
“You know this villa that I pay for is vast, Trish. Shouting just won't do.”
Watching the back and forth in front of you, you wondered if Trish was really still fifteen. As much as you loved her, she still had that bratty side that she somehow refused to outgrow.
Trish rolled her eyes, turning to you, “Hey do you wanna watch Chaotic ? I finally got my hands on the DVD and I thought we could binge watch it together. Think of it as a welcome party!” Her face was practically beaming with excitement, and you couldn’t exactly say no, not that you wanted to anyways.
“Yeah of course I will, Trish! Silly that you even had to ask!”
In a flash, Trish was squeezing you in her arms once again, babbling about how great the night ahead of you was going to be and things of the sort. Diavolo glanced towards you with a smirk on his lips, nodding his farewell as he retreated upstairs once again.
This was going to be a long night.
Much later that night, after eating unhealthy takeout and being a shoulder for Trish to cry on as she watched Mr. and now Mrs. Federline’s wedding, sleep was beginning to take over your bubblegum haired friend. She told you there was a spare room across from hers upstairs that belonged to you for as long as you stayed, you thanked her but refused her offer to make the bed for you, telling her she was too tired and that you could do it yourself. You bid each other goodnight as you both went into your respective bedrooms.
As you turned on the bedside light to illuminate the dark room, you noticed the bed had been made already. That was strange, both you and Trish had been with each other all day, it couldn’t have been her. Unless she already kept it that way but forgot? That was unlikely.
Unless...
You shook your thoughts out of your head as you changed and slipped under the covers, instantly comforted by the softness of the (most likely) expensive material.
But even though you were comfortable, and more or so tired from staying up late, and your eyes were closed, sleep wouldn’t come to you. You tried to switch positions and sides on the king-sized bed, but to no avail. Finally, you decided to reach for the bedside table to check the time on your phone, but all you felt was the wooden surface of said table.
Groaning to yourself, you figured you forgot it downstairs in the living room. You were reluctant to getting up and retrieving it, but being unable to sleep gave you another reason to get out of bed.
As you slowly crept downstairs, determined to not make a sound, you noticed a warm yet dim light coming from the kitchen area. You figured it could only be one person.
Turning around the corner, you saw the same shade of pink hair that had startled you earlier that afternoon digging through the top cabinets that contained different cups and glasses. Your assumption was correct.
“Did I wake you?” It was fascinating how his voice alone made you feel things , and how he didn’t even need to turn his head to know that you were there and that it was you.
“No, I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep.” Christ, did you need to sound so flustered? If the room wasn’t so dim, he could’ve seen how crimson you were because of him.
Diavolo gestured his hand towards the coffee table, never taking his eyes off the cabinet, “If you’re looking for your phone, it’s somewhere over there. I heard it vibrate not too long ago.”
It took you a moment to register his words before you thanked him and walked over to the area he gestured to. You searched around, eventually finding your phone on the floor – it probably ended up there due to you shifting around while you lounged on the sofa.
Coincidently, it had completely slipped your mind that you were wearing nothing but a crop top and your underwear as you bent over to pick up your phone. It didn’t cross your mind he had a perfect view of your ass, until you turned around and caught him leaning against the kitchen island, admiring your choice of nightwear.
The foreign feeling of being simultaneously mortified and aroused became prominent in your gut, not going unnoticed by Diavolo - who seemed to share your emotions. He quickly turned back around, fetching the bottle of Jack he had been looking for the past two minutes and setting it on the kitchen island.
“Feel free to grab anything you might need. Water or whatever you want.”
“I’m okay, thanks.” You murmured, watching him reach for the icetray in the freezer.
You felt it was your cue to leave, but something didn’t seem right. He looked... tense. There was something in your mind telling you to keep him company, but at the same time you remembered what Trish had said about his paranoia and the fact that he avoided talking to anyone. And why the hell was a man in his mid-thirties opening up a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the night?
Fuck it.
“Hey... I know it’s weird for me to say this since you’re her father and we only just met but, I just want you to know that I get it.” Diavolo raised an eyebrow at you as if he was puzzled, so you continued.
“She can be a handful but I know she means well.”
Amused by your attempt to comfort him, Diavolo smirked, letting the ice cubes fall from his hand to the glass and pouring in the whiskey. “I know she does, she’s just like her mother. Trish makes me look bad in front of her friends because she likes to feel like she’s in control of something. That something being me. But I’m a thirty-seven-year-old divorcee, I can't afford to be bothered by such things.” He snickered, now holding the glass in his hand. “Do you want a glass?”
“Oh, no, I’m not a fan of whiskey.” You actually were really surprised he even asked, but you were already pretty intoxicated on something – or rather someone - else.
He nodded, taking a sip of the honey-colored drink, “I can tell you’re curious about her, so I’ll spill. You are Trish’s best friend after all.” He gestured for you to sit on the same sofa you lounged on when you two first met. When you complied, he sat beside you.
“Me and Donatella – Trish's mother – met when we were very young, just breaking into adulthood. She got pregnant even though what he had was nothing but a fling, and since her family and my father at the time were strictly catholic, we resorted to getting married before she started showing.” Diavolo’s gaze was fixed on his drink, almost as if he was picturing his early days in his reflection.
Your attention to his words never faltered, and your eyes never left his.
“Eventually, we moved away from our hometown when Trish was old enough. And since we couldn't find a reason to remain together, we got divorced.” He started chuckling, that bitter sound formed out of sour memories. “I'm ashamed to admit but... it wasn’t until later that I found out she had been seeing some other Sicilian guy that happened to work for me.”
Your lips curled up in sympathy towards him, “Did you fire him?”
He looked at you smugly, laughing at your boldness, “No. I demoted him. So now I get to pay him less while knowing he hates his job.”
A short silence fell upon both of you – you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt while Diavolo continued to ponder in his mind. His sight wandered to you many times, and even though he didn’t make it obvious, you still caught him staring. Not that you minded, you actually felt flattered.
“Trish knows about all this, but doesn’t make it known to anybody she meets. I guess for the same reasons that I don’t as well.”
Whether it was the alcohol or not, Diavolo had finally relaxed. The tension he showed before was no longer visible on his features, making you intuitively move closer to him.
This did not go unnoticed.
In what felt like a split second, Diavolo’s hand was on top of your thigh, threatening to continue its way upwards. A gasp caught itself in your throat, making your best friend’s father dart his eye to your own, as if he was wordlessly asking permission. You nodded slowly, your heart thumping in your chest as his hand reached further up your trembling thigh.
Diavolo only stopped when he reached the hem of your underwear. He pondered for a moment, deciding that it was too early to open that gift, and opted to slide his hand up your shirt.
If you weren’t before, you really were flushed now. The warm ambient contrasting with his cold hand sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and made you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“I didn’t think you’d get so comfortable on the first night, but you proved me wrong.” He swayed in that dark voice of his as his thumb circled around your nipple, finally stroking it once he felt it harden under his digit, “To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised. You were the first one of Trish’s friends that dared to look at me twice, god knows what she told them. Probably the same shit she told you. Yet, you haven’t faltered.”
As he talked, you noticed his other hand was still holding on to his whiskey – the condensation on the glass slowly dripping down onto his fingers. Without moving around too much (you’re sure that if he stopped what he was doing, you’d die then and there), you took the glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table, gently holding his wrist and placing his hand near the hem of your shirt. “I haven’t heard a single word about you that would turn me off.”
Something in your body was telling you to let him explore further, to see where his curiosity would take you. However, your mind was telling you that it would be wrong to fornicate Trish’s hot dad – it would leave you guilty once your high wore off and it would be like taking advantage of your friend’s trust, letting her invite you to her abode only to screw her father.
But like in most situations such as this, the mind’s reasoning was always drowned out by arousal and its stimulation. It is a curse, yet a blessing to feel this way.
Diavolo took this as his cue to help you undress, his voice just above a whisper as he cursed something in Italian when he saw your bare chest. He hadn’t touched anything as mesmerizing as them in ages.
His hands found your waist, helping you when you started climbing onto his lap. In his mind, he felt as if this was a dream, that it was just a figment of his bitter imagination, punishing him for being the devil incarnate. But once he felt your hands delicately unbuttoning his shirt, and your nails grazing against his pecks, he knew it had to be real – his own conscience would never reward him with a stunning wench such as yourself grinding lustfully on top of him.
Tossing his shirt into the darkness of the living room, exposing his arms in the process, Diavolo’s ego inflated as you caressed his biceps in admiration. The belt that sat inches away from his crotch was the next thing on your mind, but before you could begin to undo it, you felt his breath next to your ear.
“Better to take this upstairs, no?” His voice was laced with that smugness he had previously displayed.
A breathy ‘yes’ escaped your lips as he carried you effortlessly with your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms around his neck. His strength was impressive for his age, to say the least.
You wondered how his stamina would compare.
The motion of your nails clinging to his back only made his pants feel tighter and his pace upstairs to quicken, yet he remained mindful that Trish was asleep not far from his bedroom – that thought alone making this all this riskier for the both of you. He decided in no more than a second that he’d want to take you in his own bedroom – suspecting he’ll want your scent on his bedsheets after you eventually leave.
Anticipation spread through you like wildfire the second Diavolo set you on the king-sized bed with his chest pressing down on your own; his hands tugged your underwear down as his lips left dark lipstick marks all over your neck. There wasn’t much you could do other than to moan and whine as he had his way with you. His kisses descended slowly to your chest, navel, and finally your hips, leaving a trail of black smudges behind .
“ Turn th at lamp on.” He gestured towards the bedside table beside you.
You arched your eyebrow , “ Why ?”
Diavolo ceased his peck ing to look you in the eyes , not shifting his position , “ Donatella was very ... reserved when we were together. E verything had to be done with the lights off, and...” he moved closer to yo ur already flushed face once again , “I’d much prefer to see every single inch of you clearly . That is, if you allow me to.”
He didn’t need to say it twice . Within a second , he was back to teasing your south while you stretched your arm to turn on the warm light. If anything , it only helped to set the mood .
You gasped when you felt something wet and warm slide up your sex. When you looked towards the culprit, all you could see was his forehead, hidden by stray strands of his pink hair, and his half-lidded eyes between your thighs. Your back arched involuntarily as your hand clawed at the bedsheets beneath you, his own held on firmly to your thighs to keep you in place. The way that his tongue was so precise shouldn’t have been a surprise to you – he definitely had experience – but it didn’t stop you from thinking you were still caught up in a wet dream and still sleeping in the guest bedroom. His hair felt marvelous in between your fingers when you dug them into his scalp – he growled in appreciation at your occasional tugging whenever his nose brushed against your clit.
You could feel the pressure in your guts starting to build up rather quickly , and so could he.
“Oh god, Diavolo, yes—“ another gasp left your lungs when two of his thick fingers dug into your slit and his thumb found your clit, stroking it patiently.
“That’s it, topolina . Come on...” His lip could’ve easily split from the way he was biting it out of pure delight to see his fingers pumping in and out of you.
The moment his fingers curled and hit you g-spot, the pressure in your gut was released, making you clench around his fingers in an irregular flutter. It felt as if everything was set ablaze and your sight became a blur, lazily rocking against his fingers as if asking for more, leaving you breathless by the sight of him tasting his fingers. Tasting you .
Oh, but you were far from being done.
As soon as you saw Diavolo reach for his belt, your hands were on it instead, tugging on his hips and making him fall on top of you. The look on confusion on his face when you shoved him to the side and straddled his thighs was priceless. Only when you grinned and started do undo his belt yourself did he understand what you had in mind.
“Don’t look at me like you don’t want this.”
The way in which you groped him after feverishly pulling his pants down interrupted any snarky remark he was thinking of whispering out. Instead, he groaned when he felt air brushing his cock, your wide eyes and crimson cheeks only stroking his ego.
Just like how you were stroking him .
Your thumb took its time in caressing the underside of the head while you were still trying to process how attractive his fucking dick looked – not too large nor too small (but definitely more than enough); the pink head complimenting his complexion; the perfectly trimmed hair that led to a pleasing happy trail which stopped at just the right length. Needless to say, you were more than glad to return his favor.
You were broken out of your thoughts when you heard the man himself whine while bucking into your hand, making no effort to mask his impatience. You didn’t want to submit to his wordless demands, but it seemed rather unfair since he had already made you cum without making a fuss. Not to mention the precum that had been begun to gather on the tip was begging for your attention.
The whining quickly turned into low moans as your lips began their way down his thick shaft, making your partner throw his head back in lustful fulfilment. You came to find that the head of his prick and the vein that ran along his shaft were his most sensitive areas – a discovery made by your tongue as it swirled around each of them. The hand that wasn’t caressing his thigh kept a hold of the base of his shaft, making up for the amount that you couldn’t comfortably fit in your throat.
Oh, and did he love your throat. It wasn’t long before his own hand found your hair and tugged, taking the reins once again by fucking your throat at his own pace, your head bobbing up and down as if you were his personal toy. The hand that previously aided you had gone since, your nose replacing it as it brushed against his pubic hair.
Violently, you pulled away for breath, but that sexually intoxicated smile remained on you. “You sadistic fuck.”
“Don’t test me, you brat. We’re just warming up.” He shared the same smile you had on your face, however his looked far more malicious . It only served for you to want him inside even more; and even more so when he brushed his thumb against your chin to wipe the drool off your bottom lip.
“Now let’s see... Front or back?” Was he really asking you? Or was he thinking out loud?
“I guess I can let you decide this time. But hurry, I'm not getting any warmer.”
He was right – you really were a brat.
Diavolo wasted no time in pushing your back to the bed, knocking the air out of you, and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder after he took off his pants, letting them fall off the bed. His animalistic nature beginning to seep through his demeanor.
“Amusing that you’d think you have a choice, whore .”
The nickname only made you whimper in response. Although, it was nothing compared to the gasp you let out when you felt the head of his cock rubbing up against your cunt. He felt the way you trembled, almost as if you were afraid he might break you. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to do just that, as so did you. The look in your glistening and dazed eyes gave him all the permission he needed as you looked at him, practically begging for him to wreck you. And who was he to deny you your wish?
You both sighed as he thrusted in slowly, bottoming out and filling you to the brim. Not wanting to be a complete asshole, Diavolo let you adjust to this newfound fullness before he began to slide out, only to plunge back in.
It didn’t take long before you became a moaning mess, sweat dripping down your necks as he grunted curses whenever you clenched around him. The way in which he moved was the perfect mixture of roughness and passion, and it made you see stars. You didn’t even consider the possibility of Trish being awake in the next room as her dad pounded you into his mattress; it took every ounce of strength you had to not just scream out in pure delight – but as vast as the villa was, it wasn’t soundproof. A dark chuckle left his lungs when your hand found one of his pecks and squeezed it tightly, your nails digging into his skin.
“I’m... ah-again!” He knew this, of course, it was obvious by the way you were gripping his tit and his cock. With each of his thrusts, you were getting dangerously closer to the edge - you could almost feel your body shatter to pieces. But, in a swift motion, Diavolo flipped you over so that you were on all fours, and shoved back into you roughly with a lusty growl - he didn’t even give you enough time to protest.
The change in positions triggered something primal in him – he became merciless and more vocal as he took you from behind, calling you all sorts of filth in his native tongue and gripping your hair. His punishing pace persisted, his prick pressing even deeper inside of you. With that pressure in your south building up rapidly again, you knew you couldn’t hold out for much longer. With your head thrown back and your back arched, you rocked into him, his hips in sync with yours as you desperately began to chant his name.
“Ah, cuore mio ... Yes, just like that...” he panted in your ear as he bent over you, his chest flat against your back, as he gripped your waist tightly, certainly leaving a bruise.
Feeling his breath on your cheek pushed you over the edge, and your orgasm enveloped you completely - you cried his name as your cunt tightened around him, so tight that his cock felt trapped inside you. Diavolo kept pounding into you, making you hiss due to the overstimulation, but you knew he’d meet you at the finish line soon enough when you felt his cock twitch. You huffed when he abruptly pulled out, grunting as he jerked himself off and came all over your ass with a drawn-out groan.
Looking over your shoulder you could see the expression he wore on his face – blissful and satisfied - while strands of his magenta hair stuck to his temples and his chest heaved with labored breath. Your limbs gave out from exhaustion, your face landing on the bedsheets that were mildly damp from your sweat.
Oh and what a sight you were before him, truly worthy of a king – absolutely spent, breathing heavily and gazing at him, content with having him as your lover for the night.
“You're an absolute mess, bambolina .” his voice, husky and low, still managed to send a chill down your spine even in the state you were in.
“This is your doing, so you can’t complain.”
He chuckled at your remark, a foreign softness replacing his usual smugness. Carefully he turned you on your back, not caring about the mess he had made, and connected his lips to yours. Even though it was for a short moment, that kiss was the sincerest thing he had done all night.
Given you were too tired to even move, Diavolo laid down next to you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he brought you up to his chest. You could feel his breath on your neck as he planted soft kisses along your shoulder, making you relax into him.
The next morning, you woke up in the guest bedroom, with a mild headache and all alone. Part of you was disappointed that you couldn’t feel his warm or his scent when you rolled over to the other side of the bed, but you figured it was for the best. You noticed you were wearing your shirt and underwear from the previous night, even though you don’t recall getting dressed.
The aroma of breakfast suddenly filled the air as you turned the corner to the living room and saw Trish eating her share in the kitchen island. The squeal she let out at the sight of you made you wince, but nevertheless, you were always happy to see her.
“Trish, please, it’s too early for this.”
Ah, the man himself. You turned towards the sound of his voice, and your eyes widened at the sight. Diavolo looked put together, his long pink hair in a ponytail, and his face ridden of any smudged makeup. You quickly averted your eyes, not wanting to gawk like an idiot while his daughter was sat right next to you.
His shirt had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he put a plate down in front of you. He threw a wink your way while Trish flipped through am edition of VOGUE , clearly oblivious to the way you blushed and bit your lip at her father.
It was going to be a long week.