Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
"I'm not that heavy," Paola says huffily.
"I know." I swiftly shove all thoughts of last night out of my mind and paste a smile on my lips. "I just wanted you off me."
Paola looks at me closely. "I gotta say...you look amazingly unbothered even with Tara painting a huge target on your back, and everyone convinced you've got a sugar daddy bankrolling you."
Crap.
I've been so caught up fantasizing fretting about sex with the Devil that I actually forgot how certain circumstances have made me go from nonexistent to notorious in less than 24 hours.
"Are you sure you're alright?" my friend asks in a sober tone.
"I'm sure this will all blow over in a day or two," I answer determinedly, "and everyone will forget about me by then."
Paola looks relieved to hear this, and I'm glad one of us is buying the lie since no, I'm not actually alright.
At all.
Aside from my newfound notoriety and Tara likely plotting my demise this very minute, I'm also worried about how close I am to emptying my savings account since I still haven't found a job the Devil considers "safe", and then there's my parents asking me to visit them again, and me needing to come up with an excuse to say 'no' because I don't want to risk being around them until my mess is all sorted out.
Phew.
To say I have a lot on my plate is an exaggeration, but as horrible as this is to admit, last night is what bothers me the most.
How can you let that happen, Sheena?
I still can't believe I was so out of my mind with need that the Devil was able to make me cum.
Devil!
Me!
Cum!
The words pop repeatedly in my mind like gunshots while Paola and I head to class, and my friend looks at me in amused surprise when I start slamming my head against my desk as soon as I'm seated.
"Uh...what are you doing?"
I straighten up with a glum sigh. "Just trying to knock some sense into me—-"
Paola chokes back a laugh.
"But I don't think it's effective."
Our Lit professor enters the room just as my phone starts ringing, and all eyes are on me as I hurriedly go through my dress's pockets for my ear buds. I can't even remember if I brought them with me—-
"Feel free to leave the class and answer your phone," Professor Chant says politely.
"I'm so sorry, Professor, I just—-"
The older woman points to the door. "I insist."
Crap, crap, crap.
I hear other students snicker as I leave the room, and I want to kick myself in the head when I actually do find my ear buds when it's already too late.
Why am I so unlucky?
I plug my ears and walk to the other end of the hallway before answering the Devil's call. "You had me kicked out of class—-"
I had.
"You knew I'd still be—-" I break off when the implication of his answer really sinks in. "What do you mean you had?"
I asked your professor for a favor, and he was kind enough to grant it.
Now I'm not sure whether to feel impressed or terrified. How is it that my own Lit professor owes him a favor as well?
Where are you right now?
"Uh, next to the restroom—-"
Perfect.
Go in, please.
I'm dying to say no, but the word still hasn't crossed my lips even as the restroom door swings shut behind me.
You're so spineless pragmatic, Sheena.
The Devil tells me to get to the last cubicle, and paranoia has me making sure the other stalls are empty before doing as he's asked. I just have this feeling that whatever reason he has for wanting me to be here, it's likely going to get me in trouble—-
Now...tell me what you're wearing.
And I'm right.
"I don't think I can—-"
Can't or won't?
"What if someone comes in and hears me—-"
Then would you rather show me instead?
Aaaargh.
"No, that's not—-"
It's alright, Sheena.
Anything to make you comfortable.
Why is the Devil so good at getting the last word?
Accept the invitation, please.
Polite as always, the Devil is, but...he has to know that manners won't change the fact he's forcing me to do things against my will. Right? I mean, I can say 'defecate' instead of 'shit', but it will still be the same poopy synonym, you know?
Is there a reason for the delay?
Crap.
I hurriedly click 'Yes', and my phone's front camera gets to work.
You look incredibly beautiful in that dress.
Don't you dare take pleasure in that compliment, Sheena!
Don't you dare!
But now I'm thinking I might have made the wrong choice in buying it.
My brows furrow, and I ask uncertainly, "What's wrong with it?"
That dress follows every curve of your body.
Every fucking curve, Sheena.
Oh God.
Hearing him drop the F-bomb flips some invisible switch inside of my body, and my mood swings from confused to aroused in a heartbeat.
Have I always been this perverted or has the Devil corrupted me for good?