THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN

Lara’s student loan app got rejected on a Tuesday. Again. The email was polite, clinical, the kind that makes you want to scream into a pillow until your throat bleeds. Rent was due in nine days. Her part-time barista gig barely covered instant noodles and the electricity to keep her ancient laptop alive. She sat on the floor of her one-room flat in Yaba, back against the peeling wall, staring at the stack of rejection letters like they might catch fire if she glared hard enough. They didn’t. She’d tried everything short of selling a kidney. Then she remembered the battered paperback her ex had left behind — some dog-eared grimoire he’d bought at a flea market for the aesthetic. “Real black magic,” he’d laughed, flipping through yellow pages that smelled like mildew and old incense. She’d rolled her eyes then. Now the book sat open on her rug, candle stubs already dripping wax onto the carpet. The summoning circle was drawn in cheap red lipstick because she didn’t own chalk. The sigils looked wonky, but f**k it. Desperation doesn’t care about aesthetics. She lit the last tea-light, whispered the Latin she’d practiced on YouTube (probably butchered it), and waited. Nothing. Then the bulb overhead flickered once, twice, and died. The room plunged into orange candle-glow. A draft she couldn’t explain lifted the edges of her oversized T-shirt. Her n*****s tightened against the cotton. “Really?” she muttered. “This is the part where you show up?” A voice answered from the shadow behind her left shoulder. Low. Smooth. Amused. “Patience, little scholar. Most people at least offer wine first.” She spun so fast her knee cracked. He was just… there. Leaning against the wall like he’d always belonged in her shitty apartment. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black button-down that looked too expensive for this zip code. Dark hair falling over one eye. Skin the color of strong tea. And eyes — f**k, the eyes were wrong. Pupils slit like a cat’s, glowing faint amber even in the dim light. Lara’s mouth went dry. “You’re… real?” “Disappointed?” He tilted his head, lips curling. “Expected horns? A pitchfork?” “I expected not to be broke enough to try this.” He laughed — soft, dark, the sound sliding down her spine like warm oil. “Honesty. I like that.” He pushed off the wall, circled her slowly. Not threatening. Not yet. Just… looking. “What do you want, Lara?” She swallowed. “Money. Enough to finish school, pay rent, stop eating f*****g Indomie every night.” “Simple.” He stopped in front of her, close enough she could smell smoke and something sweeter, like burnt sugar. “And what do you offer in return?” She hadn’t thought that far. “My soul?” He snorted. “Souls are overrated. Everyone offers them. Boring.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower. Her thighs clenched involuntarily. “I want something warmer. Something that tastes better.” Heat crawled up her neck. “You want sex.” “I want your pleasure.” He reached out, slow, giving her time to flinch away. She didn’t. His knuckles brushed the side of her throat, light as breath. “Every time you come — every shudder, every cry, every time your cunt clenches and floods — it feeds me. The more intense, the more I take. In exchange, money appears. Bills paid. Debts erased. A comfortable life. Until the contract ends… or you beg me to stop.” Her pulse hammered under his fingers. “And if I say no now?” “You blow out the candle. I vanish. You keep eating noodles.” He leaned closer, lips almost grazing her ear. “But you’ll think about this. Every night. Wondering how it would’ve felt.” She hated that he was right. “Terms,” she said, voice shaky but stubborn. “No permanent damage. No sharing me with other demons. And when it’s over, I walk away clean.” “Agreed.” His smile showed too many teeth for a second. “One more thing. You can’t fake it. I’ll know. And if you try to cheat me…” He traced one claw-tipped finger down the center of her chest, between her breasts, stopping just above her navel. “I get to collect the hard way.” A shiver ripped through her — fear and something darker twisting together. “Deal.” The air snapped. Something invisible wrapped around her left wrist like a warm cuff. Not painful. Just… there. A reminder. He stepped back. “Undress.” “Now?” “The first taste is free.” His voice dropped. “Show me what I just bought.” Her hands shook as she peeled the T-shirt over her head. No bra — she hadn’t bothered in weeks. Cool air hit her skin; her n*****s peaked instantly. She shoved yoga pants and panties down in one go, kicking them aside. Naked in candlelight, she felt exposed in every way that mattered. He didn’t move at first. Just looked. Hungry. Patient. “On the bed,” he said finally. “Legs open. Touch yourself. Let me see how wet thinking about this makes you.” She backed up until her calves hit the mattress, sat, then lay back. The sheets were cold against her spine. She spread her thighs, felt the humiliating slickness already coating her folds. Her fingers slid down, parting her lips. She was drenched. One circle over her c**t and her hips jerked. “Good girl,” he murmured, still fully dressed, still across the room. “Keep going. Slow. I want to hear it.” She obeyed. Two fingers slipping inside, curling, the wet schlick loud in the quiet room. Her breath hitched. Heat coiled low in her belly. “Look at me.” She forced her eyes open. He was closer now, kneeling at the foot of the bed, watching like a predator deciding where to bite first. “Faster,” he said. She sped up. The coil tightened. Her free hand grabbed her breast, pinching the n****e hard. A whimper escaped. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” “That—f**k—that I shouldn’t want this.” “But you do.” “Yes.” “Say it.” “I want you to f**k me.” The words tumbled out, raw. “I want your c**k inside me. I want to come so hard I forget my own name.” He growled — actual growl, low in his chest. Her fingers faltered. Close. So close. “Stop.” She froze, panting. “What?” “Not yet.” He crawled onto the bed, slow, predatory. Fabric brushed her inner thighs as he settled between her legs. “First one belongs to my mouth.” Before she could answer, his tongue was there — hot, rougher than any human’s, lapping a long stripe from her entrance to her c**t. She cried out, back arching off the mattress. He didn’t tease. He devoured. Sucking her c**t like he was starving, two thick fingers plunging deep, curling against that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. His other hand pinned her hip, keeping her from bucking away. It hit fast. Too fast. Her thighs clamped around his head, whole body seizing as pleasure ripped through her like lightning. She screamed — actually screamed — cunt pulsing, gushing over his tongue while he drank every drop. When the aftershocks faded she was shaking, chest heaving, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. He rose over her, lips shiny, eyes blazing. “That’s one.” Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced over — new notification from her bank app. Credit Alert: ₦2,800,000 She stared at the screen, then back at him. He licked his lips slow. “Seven days until the next feeding. Think of something creative. I get bored easily.” Then the candle snuffed out. He was gone. Lara lay there in the dark, thighs sticky, heart pounding, already aching for the next time.