Cantarella

Hello my lovelies, I’ve a little flash fiction for you here inspired by my latest obsession: The Borgias! I found a book two weeks ago that I must have bought ages ago and it had two novels centered on this family I’d never heard of: the Borgias. After reading them I promptly watched the Showtime series and fell under it’s captivating spell and pretty much did nothing else this past weekend but binge watch this epic show. So with Borgias on the brain, I wrote this piece today, it doesn’t follow the show or anything, it’s just a random piece of something fluttered around in my mind the last few days. And no, the narrator is not Lucrezia, though I totally ship her and Cesare in the series. And if you know the family and know what I’m talking about, don’t judge, just watch the show, and if you have no idea what I’m talking about, watch the show anyway, it’s freaking amazing! 😀

Image From Google.

Image From Google.

Cantarella

His dark eyes glittered dangerously as his sensuous mouth curved into a hungry smile, the Borgia smile. My heart quickened painfully and I struggled to breathe. You fool. Nothing sated this man, nothing and no one was ever enough, this I knew. I was courting ruin and death but still I wanted those black eyes on me with all that hunger, passion, and blatant calculation asking the one question I was wondering myself: will I be the one he’s searched for? Or will I just be another passing stranger with whom he’ll spend a few hours lost in frenzied pleasure?

He stalked towards me, all feral wildness and brutal grace, his gaze never leaving mine. I trembled and shook, from fright as much as desire, and felt something yet unknown to me burst into shattering life. I swayed, gripping the polished wooden table to steady myself as he drew ever nearer, until he was at last before me.

“We’ve not been introduced,” he said, his voice a seductive growl that did strange things to my insides. “I’m Cesare Borgia.”

“I know,” I answered breathlessly, foolishly, and felt the flush of heat redden my skin. “I…I mean…”

But he was chuckling and I found myself mesmerized by the darkness of his masculine beauty. A lock of curling chestnut hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away, only to have it fall once again. Without thought, I reached out and tucked the strands behind his ear, my fingers trailing against his jaw for the briefest of moments.

It was enough and I was lost. Whether he merely desired my body or demanded my immortal soul, I was his and he knew it. His eyes widened, the hunger within them deepening and I remembered again the rumors that surrounded this enigmatic son of a Pope. This was a man with blood on his hands and poison in his veins. He was every bit as deadly as the Cantarella he favored.

I would never be enough for him. Nothing ever would be, I realized as his fingers enclosed mine in a solid, unbreakable grip, lifting my hand to his mouth for a promising kiss. My knees threatened to buckle, but I held his teasing gaze, unwilling to surrender just yet. No, I would never be enough for this man. But for tonight he was mine and already I felt myself sinking down into the bliss and the pain that was Cesare Borgia. He needed no other poison, he was Cantarella itself and I would die happily this night.

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One thought on “Cantarella

  1. Pingback: Weekly Photo Challenge: Early Bird | moonstonemaiden

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