Page 72 of A Match Made in Hell
Lust.
Him.
25
Although we agreed to speed up the tasks, we seem to have come to a mutual understanding that I am not stable enough to deal with lust straight away. As much as I want this done, I need to be in a position where I’m not salivating over him the second we’re together. Unfortunately, despite a lack of bell-ringing, I am basically one of Pavlov’s dogs whenever he’s around.
I also don’t have the self-control to stay away.
We spend the next few weeks in an awkward stasis, where I try to remain a metre’s distance at all times while keeping my drool in check. Or maybe he’s keeping a metre away from me. Either way, we’re spending most evenings attempting to play board games sat halfway across the room from each other, and it’s not going well.
It’s almost a relief when a note is slipped under my door.Tonight.
Oh, God. My breaths can’t come fast enough. My whole body is on fire at the thought of what he’s going to ask me to do, and the fact I badly want to do it. I don’t know what to wear. Do I go sultry and keep in theme, or do I wear a sack in the hope it kills the mood? Maybe several sacks. So many sacks it takes him all night to remove them.
Although, with his magic, he can probably click his fingers and remove everything at once. Or maybe he’ll grow talons andshred my underwear himself, or –
Oh, God. I have got to stop thinking like this. I have got to stop thinking at all.
It’s one night. I just have to say no. I can do this.
I settle for a dress. Similar to the one I wore during gluttony, pure black with spaghetti straps and a slit up the side, only this one is shorter, finishing mid-thigh. Probably a mistake, but . . . I want him towantto tempt me. I don’t want tonight to be just about a task.
I want him to suffer as much as I will.
I match it with a pair of heels and totter out of my room, wishing he’d had the courtesy to offer me a portal. Humans gawp at me in the lift, like they’ve never seen a girl dressed to resist the Devil before.
I should have gone with the sack.
The remaining journey is a blur, my feet moving on autopilot towards his quarters. I suck in a deep breath outside his door, but my hand still trembles when I knock.
Sath swings it open and scans me up and down, his gaze trailing over my bare legs, my hips, the swell of my breasts. His hand curls around the door frame, and when our eyes meet, he visibly swallows. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ My heart is in my throat. There is a strong possibility I may collapse. Maybe I’ll win the challenge by fainting before it begins.
Sath steps aside. ‘You didn’t have to knock.’
I brush past him, my steps slow and unsteady. Of course I knocked. I was trying to delay the inevitable. Besides, what was I supposed to do, breeze on in and sayI’m ready to be seduced now.
God. I have got to get a grip. I completed the last five tasks; I can’t let a teeny-tiny crush ruin everything now. He might be temptation itself, but at this point, I am the epitome ofresistance. The saint to his sinner.
Iwilldo this.
‘So.’ I fold my arms, attempting to seem unbothered. ‘How does this work, exactly? Are you going to stand there and throw your best lines at me?’
‘Not quite.’ He gestures towards the bedroom door. Although his expression is stoic, the tightness in his jaw suggests he’s about as unbothered as I am. ‘After you.’
I lead him wordlessly into the bedroom. The walls are cream, contrasting with the black silk sheets adorning a large bed that occupies the majority of the space. Mahogany nightstands flank its sides, both covered in burning candles that fill the room with the scent of jasmine.
Sath closes the door behind us, and it’s like time stops. We’re in a vacuum, empty of sound except for our own breaths – both a little too loud, a little too quick – and every movement he makes sets me on edge. I prickle with anticipation. An ornate mirror covers the left-hand wall, and a quick glance into it tells me my cheeks are flushed, my eyes wide, like a deer in headlights.
I have to kill this mood.
‘Lust must be easy for a lot of people,’ I say, moving to his dresser and examining a display of seven clocks. None are working. ‘You can’t be everyone’s type.’
‘Some are taken to the surface,’ Sath says. ‘But not you.’
I emit what I hope is a mocking laugh. I suspect it sounds slightly hysterical. ‘Because you think you’re my type?’
