Page 16 of Hate Mates

I don’t care about what’s right or wrong or who’d think it’s disgusting or immoral. All I can think about is pleasing him and quelling this growing ache. My other hand dives back betweenmy legs until another sharp orgasm collapses me onto the keyboard.

What the hell has he done to me?

As I sit there in a daze, those three dots reappear.

Bad girl, Izzy.

I reach for the keys, my heart in my throat.

What do you mean?

His response is immediate.

While I do love a good hedonistic thrill, I have rules. Accept my offer, and you won’t come without my permission again, and certainly, not before begging for it.

Those words feel like a fist punching through my chest. I stare at the screen, unsure how I let this go so far that I’m sitting bare-assed in my best friend’s house, having cyber-sex so darkly addictive I’m contemplating selling my soul to the Devil.

Tick-tock, love. What’s the verdict?

My conscience is waving handfuls of red flags, trying to get my attention. But all I can focus on is how Fletcher Stanley hasn’t entered my mind since Lucifer took command of it. It’s freeing… It’s liberating…

It’s a no-brainer.

I type my response and hit send before I can back out.

Where do I sign?

THREE

Lucifer

I’ve been sitting in front of a computer screen, drink in hand for over three hours, unraveling the longer I wait. It’s been two days since Izzy crossed into my world. Forty-eight hours since I watched her fuck herself into a trembling, wanton mess, and I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything since.

I revoked access to Lucifer for everyone else but her after that, a gut reaction I didn’t see coming. I love toying with people. It’s my whole reason for being on ClickBait. I enjoy the chase more than the catch, and it intrigues me to watch all my mice scurry through my crafted mazes. I get off on seeing how frantic I can make them before they give up.

Most tap out within the first few paragraphs.

That’s why Lucifer belongs to me and only me.

I don’t bother with the weaker personas. They don’t interest me. Let one of the younger men with less complex proclivities titillate the mundane and inhibited. I prefer interacting with the ones who aren’t afraid to dance with the Devil.

Admittedly, those brave souls are few and far between, but when one challenges the dark, the conversations are delicious. Women get off on the fantasy of being dominated by the Devil,and I get entertained for a bit before getting bored and moving on.

Until her.

Until the sun finally shone on the damned and led Izzy to me. Her tepid courage drove a spike into my demented soul, and I became obsessed. The image of her submitting to my commands was worth every cold shower and late night spent hating myself for wanting it.

And the moment she came…

Groaning, I reach down and stroke my swollen cock. Its rage at still being confined behind my zipper is palpable, but I wanted to wait for my little sinner to let go of the inevitable shame that’s keeping her away and wander back into the dark.

I glance at my watch for what feels like the tenth time in ten minutes.

Where the hell is she?

I know she’s not at that vanilla dick ex-boyfriend’s house. I’ve already clocked that asshole’s whole routine. Fletcher Stanley has the awareness of a fucking traffic cone. I followed him around town, all but riding his bumper for an hour, and the idiot had no clue. It took all I had not to slam into the back of him and turn him and that assembly-line Audi of his into landfill.

He deserves worse for what he did to Izzy, and I’m not just talking about tossing her out like trash after sticking his limp dick in the help. Three years with that piece of shit gave her a case of distorted mirror syndrome. Believing all his lies and put-downs manifested in a serious lack of confidence and self-worth.

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