The lower part of his face was covered in red wine, but most of it went to his chest, slowly pouring down over his upper body.
"I'm so sorry" I blurred out but his cut-throat eyes didn't seem like he wanted to just have a laugh about it and go on.
"Clean it up." he ordered deeply, and I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"What do you..." before I could've finished the sentence, I felt a hand grabbing onto my hair and he pushed my face impossible close to his exposed neck, where the fabric of his shirt began.
"Clean it... up" a special edge in his voice, somehow made my body act on its own, as if there was no way I could disobey him. It wasn't fear, but something strong and magnetic for sure.
A sweet, fresh and masculine scent lingered around him, best to be described as the perfect perfum
