Smoke rose like incense from the bed of writhing shadows that bloomed beneath her feet—fluid and shifting, coalescing into a surface softer than silk, hotter than sin.
Satan didn’t walk. He prowled.
His obsidian body gleamed with Hell’s breath, muscles carved from agony and worship. His claws flexed at his sides. The air itself bent around him, trembling as he reached for her throat with one massive hand.
She didn’t flinch.
She arched into it.
His grip tightened just enough to remind her who he was.
And who she now belonged to.
He lifted her effortlessly, her toes leaving the ground as a choked gasp tore from her lips—half fear, half lust. Her thighs quivered. Her eyes locked on his, and he smiled like original sin.
“I should hang you from the gates of Hell for making me wait so l
