Married To The Devil Bride

Luke You know the story, love. It’s a tale as old as time itself. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Girl meets devilishly charming bastard who tempts with her everything she’s ever dreamed of—and the Devil doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. You see, darling, that boy never deserved you to begin with. You, my treasure, you deserved the entire world laid out at your dainty little feet—and so much more. No ungrateful, simple-minded boy could ever give you that. But I could. I will. My Evie. My eternal love. Only creature on God’s green earth, Heaven above it or even Hell below, who could ever stir the flames of desire into my thick c**k and my cold, sinner’s heart. I stole you from that pathetic moron you were calling a fiancé again, it’s true. But after the way he f****d you over—frankly, this time, it was like he was asking for it. You were never really his, love. He might have put his ring on your finger, but he never owned your body. Your heart. Your mind. Your soul. No matter where you are, what you look like, the name you wear, or the color of that fire dancing in your eyes, you’re mine. Always mine. You’ve been mine before, more times than you’ll ever remember. You’ve been torn away from me more times than you’ll ever know. Now that you’re finally mine again, here’s a new promise for you: This time, it’s forever. I have an army of the damned at my beck and call, more gold to my name than even kings can fathom, the powers of a fallen angel at my fingertips and the command of the Inferno itself in the palm of my hand. Never fear, love. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. Whether you want it or not. And this time, if anyone dares to try and take you away from me again… This time, there’ll be hell to pay. Evie M y head pounded like a legion of demons was doing an Irish stepdance on my skull. When I finally pried my eyes open, the sunlight streaming in through the window burned like I was staring straight into the flames of Hades itself. Nope. Not today, Satan. I groaned and pulled the blankets up over my head. I didn’t care if every angel in heaven was blowing the trumpets to signal Judgment Day. Whatever I drank last night, I was way too hungover to get out of this bed without a couple of aspirin and some careful consideration of my eternal soul first. It helped that the pillows beneath me were seductively soft. The sheets and the blanket were even softer. They smelled like a wealthy prince’s cologne. Blood orange. Blond leather. White amber. Cinnamon bark. The mattress caressed my every curve like I’d fallen asleep on a dense, fluffy cloud. And my body… “What the…” I whimpered as I shifted against the sheets. Suddenly, my back was on fire. My shoulder blades felt like someone had just taken a cat o’ nine tails to it, searing claw marks deep into my skin. The scratches stung even more when I reached back and brushed my fingertips against them. As I ran my hands over the rest of my body to check for additional damages, I discovered that I was completely naked—not to mention slick between my thighs like I’d just awoken from a wet dream. Good God. What in the name of Hell did I get myself into last night? I threw the blankets back and forced my eyelids open again to search for clues. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I found myself in the fanciest bedroom I’d ever slept in. The room was beautiful. A vase of white roses in full bloom sat on the vanity. A box of what I guessed were expensive chocolates rested next to them, still tied up with a huge crimson bow. The rich black velvet drapes and sheer chiffon curtains on either side of those godforsaken floor-to-ceiling windows looked like they’d been stolen from a royal palace. The rest of the room had the same tasteful, elegant design as a luxury hotel—the kind I’d always been way too broke to ever dream of, let alone afford. I wracked my brain for how I’d gotten here and came up completely blank. I only knew one thing for sure. This was not my room. “Think, Evie.” I clenched my eyes shut again and drummed my fingertips against my temples just to keep myself from panicking. Waking up in a strange room with no memory of the night before? This wasn’t like me. At all. Normally, I played the good girl through and through. Ate my vegetables. Did my homework. In by eleven on weeknights, maybe midnight if I was letting loose a little for the weekend. I liked reading old books, eating delivery food straight from the container, and comfy nights spent wearing sweatpants and watching period dramas on Netflix. I liked keeping my head down and my little French-tipped toes in line. I did not get blackout drunk and wake up with a hangover that would make God Himself weep. I certainly didn’t wind up in unfamiliar beds with no memory of how I got there. I gritted my teeth as a thought occurred to me. Did I even drink last night? The answer to that question hit me like a nice, thick copy of Les Misérables straight to the forehead. Oh, f**k. One drink, I told Ava, Bea and Joan last night. Not two. Not lucky number seven. No bottle service, no going all Coyote Ugly on top of the bar—one drink. One. I hadn’t even wanted a bachelorette party in the first place, no matter how insistently my bridesmaids had begged for one. But then Adam had made the decision for me. We were eloping to Vegas, he’d told me. There was no point in missing out on the full experience. If his friends from the accounting firm were taking him out for a night on the town, it was only fair that the girls and I should do the same. The slow, aching wheels of my mind were turning now. I recalled being dragged out to some hot new bar on The Strip. I remembered ordering a single dirty martini, extra olives, while the girls called for a bottle of champagne. Vaguely, I remembered trying to read a little for my thesis to take my mind off of how nervous I was for the wedding the next morning…then, nothing. Except— Oh, f**k! My eyes shot open. This time, they met the sight of the sunshine out the window with a newfound panic. It was morning. My wedding was today. Suddenly, I couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. My fingers scrambled as I snatched layer after layer of pillows off the bed, desperately searching for my phone. I needed to call the girls—probably Ava, since she was the most likely to know what was going on—then, I needed to call Adam. Probably to make an apology. Or ten. Judging by how bright it was outside, I was almost certainly already late for our big day. No matter how deep I got into the pillows, my phone was nowhere to be found. I gave up on them and grabbed hold of the blanket instead. I wretched the whole thing from the bed with a ferocious snarl… then, I let the blanket slip from my fingers right onto the soft rug beneath my feet. “Oh my God,” I whispered. My breath entered my lungs with a shudder. I raised a hand to my mouth as my jaw dropped. A Goliath-sized fist wrapped around my ribs and squeezed until they ached. My heart pounded frantically. My knees buckled. As for the approximately three brain cells I had left, they all leapt up and started hauling ass to “Flight of the Bumblebee” around the inside of my skull until they all bumped into each other, knocking themselves out cold. Suffice to say, my phone wasn’t there in that bed. But something else was. No… Someone. I hadn’t been in bed alone. He was gorgeous. It was impossible to ignore. The man in my bed was actually so handsome that, for a second, it almost hurt to look at him straight on. He had dark, shining black hair that waved and curled like ink dropped in water. His skin glowed like it was bathed in eternal moonlight. He had the jawline of a 1980s action hero, complete with ruggedly dark, alluring stubble. And the way his body was shaped…as he shifted in his sleep, the marble of an ancient Greek sculpture might as well have turned to flesh there, right before my eyes. Except…well, there was just one significant difference between how the Greeks had shaped their statues and how this particular man was built. See, the Greeks had been of the opinion that a good, noble man possessed a dainty, flaccid…manhood. In other words, they preferred tiny c***s. Big d***s, on the other hand—according to the Greeks, only a barbaric, lustful, depraved savage would be so shameless as to possess a long, thick c**k standing stiffly at attention. By Greek standards, whoever this man was, he was as lustful and depraved as they came. Entranced, I watched every hard, chiseled muscle on his body ripple beneath almost luminescent skin as he rolled over onto his side to face me. As I stared, his eyes cracked open, pale and blue and glittering almost sinisterly. “You can call me God if you like, love. Bit sacrilegious, of course…though I’ve never had a problem with that.” His accent was British, but not posh. His voice was dark, low and smooth, like liquor being poured straight from the bottle onto bare skin. Then, he smiled at me. His full lips curled into a wolfish smirk, flashing the fang of a sharp incisor and straight, impossibly white teeth. My knees went even weaker. It was the kind of smile that would have melted my panties right off me—that was, if I’d been wearing any.