From the studio a grunt came in reply. It was a positive grunt asking for a few more minutes of work before he could be totally and completely hers. Whatever he was doing seemed elaborately complicated. He was bent on his table, the eyes so close to the surface that one could barely see a space in between them and the object of his focus, on which he had been carefully working since morning. Only once he was interrupted, when the phone rang. For an instant, his eyes moved to her and returned to the ringing box. There was something in his look that changed as he moved away, something beast-like, demonic, as a twitch of raging cruelty surging from the depths of his unbeaten soul.
The phone call had been unpleasant. It started cold, unnecessarily cold, and as the feeling of his power grew clearer, his voice had turned sharp, cutting, carelessly cutting, drinking in blood and foulness, he seemed to draw pleasure in breaking whoever was at the other end of the receiver. "Call me again later, I want to know the details of this" he concluded, like a monster who cannot just bury his victims, but must inflict on them eternal torment.
Finally he moved from his desk. It had taken him only a minute, and she was still there by the door, a pleasant angel from the heavens to nourish him.
"Yes, I am here and I am ready." he cheered, gently. He was kind to her, in measures that surpassed how kind she had been to him. It was not something which he could call love, but desire rather, desire to give her all that he denied to the rest of the world. Perhaps, unknown to him, it truly was love.
"Could you help me to the table?" he asked.