Page 17 of Hate Mates

That shit ends today. That waste of space is about to get a lesson in crossing the Devil.

I smile as my phone ignites with a two-word text.

It’s done.

I suspect Fletcher Stanley is seriously regretting his life choices right about now.

My gaze flicks back to my idle computer screen, my patience thinning. Izzy is about to regret hers as well. She took my deal, which means I own her and that sweet cunt. If I want her spread eagle at a gas station at ten o’clock in the morning, she’d better fucking have that gas pump primed and ready.

Not really, but damn, does the mental image turn my cock to stone.

“Fuck it.” Tearing at the button on my pants, I slide my zipper down just as a message appears.

Lucifer? Are you there?

A slow smile peels across my face, my hands shifting to the keyboard.

What’s wrong, love? Did I scare you away?

The three dots start, then stop, then start again.

I was busy.

Liar.You’ve been hiding out in a gilded mansion, trying to convince yourself the big, bad Devil tricked you into debauchery instead of admitting you jumped in with your legs wide open.

You aren’t the only name on my dance card, love. I’m Lucifer. I don’t sit around waiting on timid mice to decide they have what it takes to satisfy me. There are plenty of others who’d happily surrender their last breath for the honor.

Every word was true a few days ago, but that’s all changed.

Fucking inconvenient obsession.

I’m sorry, I…

I don’t wait for her to offer some half-assed, bullshit excuse.

Our contract is written in blood, Izzy. This is your last warning. Ignore me again, and I’ll show you how fucking unhinged the Devil can be.

That may have taken it over the line butfuck it. This is what she signed up for. Women don’t role play with the Devil expecting to be woo’ed. They want the illusion of fear and domination.

Izzy Hawthorne is about to get her money’s worth.

Downing what’s left in my glass, I grab the crystal decanter on the edge of my desk and fill it to the rim with my favorite Double Eagle Rare. I get it halfway to my mouth when her message appears on the screen.

Yes, sir.

I white-knuckle the glass.

Fuck me.

Seeing those two words is the equivalent of waving a red flag at a raging bull. They knock me into dangerous territory. I’ve wanted her too long to trust myself not to break her. I have to keep the darkest parts of me contained until I have her bound so tightly to me there’s no chance of escape.

I drain the glass in one, then slam it beside my laptop and get to work.

Good girl. Are you ready to please your master?

Yes, sir.

My cock strains against my boxers as I type the link along with an instruction into the message box and hit send.

---