“You have the most enchanting eyes, my lovely little pet...” Diogenes Pendergast’s voice trailed off, straining to see the color in her wide eyes. His hand was entangled with hers, running his long fingers over the thick rings on her hand. She could see the want in his eyes, and she felt the electricity rolling off him in waves. The air was still, as it is before a lightning storm, and with one look, she reassured his heavy heart.

When he looked away, she cast her eyes downward upon the table. Her filet was half-eaten, it was too rare for her tastes, but she had sat through the meal as Diogenes ate every morsel of juicy steak. The wine washed down her throat in slow, fermented trickles.

He pulled her hand close now, speaking to her, but delighting in the expensive manicure he had bought for her. To her, it was the same as always, but with every new dress, with every new manicure, with every new ring, it was the same boundless enthusiasm from dear Diogenes. After so many years, she understood so little about him.

It seemed from the moment they met, that he knew everything about her. They were meant for each other, he said. She had wanted so badly to believe him, but she could no longer pretend. For years, she searched for the flaw within their relationship. There was grace, compassion, sensuality, romance, interest, strength, longevity, and respect. She knew not what was missing, until she studied his countenance just long enough to know that what she would never know with Diogenes Pendergast was simple and unbridled love.

But she would be a fool to pass him up. His interest in her never seemed to fade, and, she realized, there was nothing wrong in their relationship. Just something missing. So she passed on true love for companionship and wealth. He was a skilled lover and a truly romantic soul, and she had never regretted staying with Diogenes.

She gazed absent-mindedly into the candles. The candle flames left a burning trail in her mind. Shutting her eyes and shaking her head, she cried out softly and turned her head away from the light. “Diogenes, may I wear my glasses?”

“Please, there’s barely any light at all. You’re far too sensitive.” He withdrew his hand, “I couldn’t bear to let some dark glasses cover up your divine eyes tonight. I can barely tear my gaze from you.”

She knew he wouldn’t acquiesce before she asked, and besides, she knew he was right. Since when had candles irritated her? She covered her eyes with her hand for a moment as she felt the dark, coolness fall back over her mind. She looked up, but Diogenes was distracted again.

“I have brought a present for you, my belov’d. Something different, something new.” He saw the flair in her eyes, and laughed. “No, no, child, it is not so different as it is unique.”

“Every gift you give me is different and unique, Diogenes.” Her voice was soft and dark, masking disinterest.

His voice floated, “Come now, lover, I spend buckets on you, and you won’t even lie to me properly.” She stopped cold, fearing the look that flashed across his face.

His lithe hands lifted a small box out of his lap. It was white. That in itself was unique, at least for Diogenes.

He noticed her excitement. “Yes, yes, pet, white. How thrilling, how nouveau!” He mocked her gently, holding the box out to her.

With a carefully polished finger, she tugged the silver bow apart, falling listlessly on the table. She lifted the lid, and nearly dropped the box.

“Do you like it?” he asked with a burning intensity that made her cheeks flush.

“Diogenes...” she couldn’t speak. She lifted it up into the light from its white velvet cushion. The light burned in her eyes, but it tattooed a most exquisite picture in her mind.

No less than seventeen red stones winked and flashed in a golden-red setting, ancient and ornate, it looked as though Hephaestus himself wrought the necklace from the eternal fires that burned atop Mount Olympus.

“Red diamonds cut from their loving mother, Lucifer’s Heart,” Diogenes’ voice was like nothing she had ever heard before. It was both a lustful hiss and jubilant cry and the most animalistic noise she had ever heard him make.

They gazed at each other, locked in a crossfire of passion. After a single, concentrated moment, he moaned loudly, throwing back his chair to stand. The temperature in the room was increasing markedly. Pulling himself close to her, he stroked her white hair with his hand. She saw that his eyes had become as red as hers. She stood also, suddenly irresistibly drawn to him. He took her face and thrust his lips to hers. Deep inside herself, she felt a welling up of pressure with an undeniable need for release. Inside their kiss, coils wound, sparks ignited.

In a voice even more foreign, in a voice she had never heard before, he spoke to her, “Put this on,” he lifted the necklace, “and take off everything else...” His words dissolved into actions as he ran his hand up her body, slowly and invasively. She had never so relished being taken advantage of.

She stripped herself bare and stood in front of the mirror, lifting the necklace over her head. She expected the stones to be cold against her skin, but they glowed with a sensual warmth that was unexpected. Diogenes’s watchful eyes delighted in the naked splendor that stood before him, waiting ever patiently to be exploited.

She turned to face him, and dropped to her knees, crawling. He laid his hand out towards her and she kissed each finger as many times as he would allow. She thanked him repeatedly, falling upon herself in gratitude.

He picked her up, and she laughed and cried as he lay her on the bed, the red in his eyes. She was riddled with joy and ran her hands through his ginger hair. He pulled her hands away and pinned them to the bed, kissing her, first on her lips, then, barely lifting his maw, kissed the soft, hollowed spot between her eye and the bridge of her nose. She lifted her head and licked his lips. He let her hands go, and she knew what to do. As he kissed her, she tugged his pants off his slender hips. After little more work, he was as stark and as free as she. He pulled at her white hair and with her lips she played with his thin beard. His hands drew themselves down to her little thighs and held on as he pulled himself to her, and he entered. She winced; they were only slightly mismatched for intercourse. She was delicate and demure, whereas her lover was rough and intense. Not just in bed, but in everything he did. He was like a lion and when he shook his beastly ginger mane, she dared not stray. He was a large man everywhere and she knew she was well lucky that she kept him pleased. She needed him.

He pounded again and again, and she felt the wave of pain break against the insurmountable pleasure. She clung to him and he held her, protecting her from the storm inside their loins, the storm he well knew he caused night after night.

He needed her. She was the voice inside his head, he knew. As meticulous and exact as he could get, she nagged him to look again, to make sure, to be absolutely, unconditionally perfect.

As he raged through her tiny body, he caught the gleam of the diamonds in his eye. With a renewed fervor, he thrust deeper and stronger, until he felt the familiar, satisfied quake throughout his beloved’s body. He was in another world, but in the distance, he heard her moan. Her voice, her deep, guttural instincts and raw sexuality made him seize up, an expression of ecstasy painted on his red face. He glimpsed the glimmering children of Lucifer’s Heart draped around her bare breasts, and it was too much. He came deep inside her in one last ripping shudder and collapsed on her body; and she was nearly passed out on her own.

He rolled over and she cradled his head on her tender left breast. Watching the diamonds rumble around to fit the contour of her chest, he grinned into the creamy whiteness of her breast.

Love is overrated, he thought.

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