“Don’t open your eyes, or it will sting like a motherfucker,” Devon said, as she gently dabbed at the black and green greasepaint with her soapy cloth. Steam rose off the hot water in the enormous tub, the heat sending the candle flames flickering across the tiled walls of the bathroom.
Rob did as he was told, nary saying a word as Devon cradled him in her arms, his head relaxed against the fingers pulling stray hairs away from his forehead. He reclined loosely against her body, his hand caressing her thigh, while the other he dragged through the water.
The face paint left green and black streaks across the cream-coloured facecloth - the stuff was designed for longevity on the battlefield so Devon expected it to take some effort to remove. But they had all night and she was happy to have Rob so close to her for so long.
Around the eyes she carefully pulled away the last bits of black paint, dragging the last of the green off the bridge of his nose. Still he calmly laid there, eyes closed, breathing evenly. She dabbed even more gently at the bits of paint on his cheeks, covering the puckered scars that ran from the corners of his lips to the hinge of his jawbone. As her cloth-covered finger moved in between each bump, he twitched ever so slightly, not from pain - the scars were at least a decade old, depending on what story he told you on what day - but from the foreignness of the feeling.
Devon dipped the cloth in the bath water, squeezing until it filled before releasing it in a warm, gentle stream over his forehead. The last of the soap washed away, leaving pale skin, unmarked save for the two hideous scars on his mouth. She leaned forward and kissed his bottom lip, sucking it gently between her own. She slid around and straddled him, her face to his. “Okay, you can open them.”
His dark, brown eyes opened to see Devon’s pale blue ones staring back. A look of intensity on her small features, a shadow of concern, or fear, in her eyes. Devon was nervous - she didn’t know how Rob would react to being utterly and completely naked before her.
They’d been together for months, drawn to one another by their mutual love of money and violence. Rob came back from his last special forces mission only to see himself dishonorably discharged from the military. With no job prospects and linger scars - physical and psychological - from combat, he turned to the only work he knew. He and his crew of other disgraced officers ransacked the city, robbing and plundering at will to amass a fortune in offshore accounts to ensure all of them could retire in luxury in a warm and sunny location.
Truth was, though, they had the money a long time ago. But with nothing to do except sit in the sun and watch the ocean roll ashore, it left too much time for Rob to consider his past and what he did. His super-intelligence - something psychologists mistook for madness - caused sleeplessness, anxiety, irritability and anger toward those who didn’t understand the constant and unending thought patterns that churned through his head every minute of every day. His goal was to bring the same chaos he felt to the rest of the world.
Devon never thought she would find someone who shared her problem.
Since childhood, the blonde pixie would be kept awake by ideas and stories rampaging through her mind. She read several grade levels ahead of her classmates and breezed through math and sciences. Her boredom often expressed itself in her lack of attention to the teacher, setting off chemical reactions in the science lab just for something to do.
To try and ease this excess energy, Devon’s mother - for her father split when she was just little - enrolled her daughter in gymnastics. The tiny, slender girl was a natural, tumbling and flying through the air. But being raised by a single mom meant Devon couldn’t continue gymnastics lessons much past her early teen years.
But because of her intelligence, Devon won multiple scholarships and earned a free ride to the best university in the country, where she studied psychology - not out of a will to help people but out of a need to manipulate others and at the same time understand herself a little more. She slept with a university professor to earn a recommendation for residency at a forensic mental institution - which is where she met Rob, institutionalized after the one time he failed to make the perfect escape.
What she didn’t count on was finding a kindred spirit, someone she could relate to and who understood the turmoil broiling within her head.
She learned - the hard way - over the last few months, however, that Rob didn’t fit any regular psychological pattern. He was unpredictable, violence and psychopathic one moment and caring and attentive the next. He never physically hurt her, but she remained on edge nonetheless.
Devon straddled his narrow hips, his stomach muscles clearly defined from decades of work, exercise and food deprivation. His chest and arms were a collection of tattoos marking military campaigns and cultures throughout the world. His body was taut, rigid and on edge from a constant state of heightened awareness, despite their last heist completed.
This stripping away the last vestiges of a mask, leaving Rob completely exposed, could go any way - and she’d seen him violent enough on other occasions to know what was in store for her if her gamble proved drastically wrong.
Devon didn’t speak but she lowered her eyes to his facial scars, the fingertips of her right hand gently grazing the edges. Suddenly, he lashed out, one hand grabbing her wrist, his fingernails biting into her flesh, while the other tangled in her hair, grabbing a handful and holding tight.
Devon sucked in her breath, barely breathing. He could easily snap her neck, but she knew if he was going to kill her, he would drag her head under the hot, fragrant water and watch the light leave her eyes.
His eyebrows knitted together in anger as he pulled her head toward him, kissing her violently as he twisted her arm behind her back. He pulled her head sharply away, his chest heaving, anger still clouding his features. With her free hand, she snaked it around his neck, wrapping her sinewy legs around his waist as well as she pushed forward for another deep kiss. As her tongue slipped past his teeth, she felt him relax, his grip on her arm releasing to cradle her ass.
Without breaking the kiss, Rob set Devon on the edge of the vast bathtub, his hand sliding between her legs as he pressed two fingers inside. Devon gasped, and clutched the hair at the nape of his neck. She turned her face away and Rob kissed and licked her cheek as his fingers pulled and stroked inside her body. His other hand clutched and squeezed her breast.
Her breathing quickened and her nails dug into his skin. She bit at his lip as she kissed him. Listening to her moans and feeling her body quiver made him hard and unable to resist, he slid his cock into her. His hand gripped her thigh, his other arm wrapped around her waist as she perched on the edge of the tub. She came, her body gripping his cock like a vice and her limbs enveloped him. She tipped her head back, her blonde hair falling away from her face, and he kissed the underside of her chin as he drove his cock into her body until that shudder took him as well.
As their shared orgasm subsided, Rob felt some of the tension leave his body and he pulled Devon into the water with him. Under the surface they went, still entwined. He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her as air bubbles headed to the surface. They came up from under the water, Devon giggling and Rob smiling his grotesque, pinched smile. He scooped her up and placed her feet-first onto the cool tile. She handed him a towel and took one herself as they dried off before heading to the adjoining bedroom.
Devon slid her naked body between the soft sheets, admiring the view from the floor to ceiling windows in the penthouse suite. “Whose penthouse is this?” she asked Rob as he climbed into bed next to her.
“The mayor lives here when he’s in town and doesn’t want to head back to the suburbs,” he said.