Marcus Augustine Bennent
Once his advisor had left, Marcus allowed a sigh of relief to pass through his lips, carrying the smoke of his last puff of cigar smoke with it. Slowly, he leaned forward and snuffed the cigar out against an ornate cigar tray, leaving the butt in there for a maid to clean up. It took him a second or two before he adverted his gaze toward Isobel and the sight he saw brought a smile back to his face. To compare this woman and his wife was nearly impossible; both of them held a mysterious, seductive air about them that he found absolutely impossible to ignore.
Mark watched her saunter over, praying she'd remove her skimpy dressing gown to let him see what was beneath. He knew by now, of course, no such thing was going to happen. His mistress was a tease, she loved to show him what he couldn't have, putting on shows for him just to build up his anticipation. Any other man would have swiftly become irate and annoyed, but not Marcus. No, he had learned to wait and let her have her fun "teasing him". It wasn't long before he'd be able to have his way with her. Subconsciously, he squirmed ever so slightly in his seat just imagining it.
Mark slowly leaned back in his chair as she sat herself up on his desk. As Isobel's delicate hand rubbed against his slightly unshaven chin, he smirked and winked slightly at her, obviously in a much better mood than he had been in before.
"You seem so angry this morning, Marcus," she cooed in a flirtatious tone. He watched her pout and furrow her forehead playfully. Mark chortled softly and shook his head slowly as if he were casually dismissing her comment. Oh yes, his blood still boiled, but how could he possibly stay angry with a woman like this before him. "I hope you're not going to be angry with me, Marcus. Not when I've dressed up especially for you..." Slowly, he stood up in front of her and bent down slightly, placing his face mere inches from hers as he smiled again in a mischievous way that clearly conveyed the thoughts racing through his head.
"Angry with you?" he whispered, raising a thin, brown eyebrow as he furrowed his own forehead in feigned worry. Mark's breath smelled strongly of tobacco but it was a scent one was forced to get used to when they spent so much time in his presence. "Why would I be angry with you, love? It was just another street rat pretending he to be stronger than me, nothing more." He placed the back of his left hand against her cheek, caressing it softly as he met her eyes. He laughed softly again in a breathy way. "I have to say, I'm a fan of this night gown, it flatters you..." Mark leaned in close to her ear, even though there was no one in the office to eavesdrop. Whispering always had a way of building up the anticipation. "...but I'd rather see what's beneath that pretty little dressing gown."