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)
#03
If it felt like forever has passed before the Devil called me for the second time, his third call is the exact opposite.
Only mere hours have passed since I last heard from him, and I'm three-books-deep in my research at the library when an unregistered number has my phone vibrating in my pocket.
Hello, Sheena.
I can't believe I'm on another phone call with the Devil. That's twice on the same day, and if I didn't know any better, I'd have suspected him of being weirdly obsessed with me.
This is the part I expect you to say 'hello' back.
I can feel his reproach despite his voice still being disguised, and I hastily squeak out a hello.
That wasn't so bad, was it?
I make a sound that I'm hoping the Devil will interpret in any favorable way he wants, and I think it does just that when I hear him chuckle in response. Or at least I'm hoping that's a chuckle. It's kind of impossible to tell, when the noise he's just made sounds part animal and part alien.
We should talk about what you're going to call me.
Make these conversations of ours sound as natural as possible...
I don't know whether to take him seriously or not. That can't be the only reason he's calling me. Or can it?
You understand, don't you?
"I do." When it's the Devil asking the questions, the only acceptable answer is whatever you think he wants to hear.
Ah, Sheena.
I can't help wincing at how his robotic sigh brings to mind a dinosaur growling in hunger.
Every time you say those words, you make me feel like I've asked you to marry me.
I nearly fall out of my seat when his meaning sinks in, and I end up stammering incoherently in response.
"Wh-what? N-No. I...I..."
You sound like you don't think I'd make a good husband.
That almost sounds like the Devil's teasing me. But that can't be. Right?
Do you?
A good lover, the Devil will make, probably.
But as a husband?
He's the Devil, for God's sake. It goes without saying that he'd make the most terrible spouse. But since I'm neither stupid nor brave enough to say those words out loud—-
"Marriage hasn't really, um, crossed my mind?" I'm hoping that's enough to get me out of harm's way, but...nope.
But if you were given a choice...
It seems like the Devil's determined to nail me down for my opinion, and it's all up to me to figure out what's the best thing to say when he asks me—-
Would I be the kind of man you'd like to marry?
I almost end up choking.
No girl in her right mind would even consider marrying the Devil, so how do I even answer that?
If I say 'yes', will the Devil kill me for lying? But what if I say no, and the Devil kills me anyway for pissing him off?
That should've been an easy question to answer.
And the fact that you don't find it so speaks volumes.
Oh God, he's really going to kill me now, isn't he?
"I'm sorry," I blurt out. "It's not you or anything, but it's just, um...I'm only eighteen—-"
You make it sound like this is about your age, but we both know that isn't it.
My fingers tighten around my phone, and my heart starts to race like I'm about to fall off a cliff. Everything about this conversation feels frighteningly dangerous all of a sudden, and it feels like we're about to cross forbidden territory at any moment.
Would you like to know what I think?
No, I don't.
I think the reason you've never thought about marriage...is because you're looking for something in particular. And it's something that none of the men around you has.
No, no, no.
I realize all too late that this is why I'm feeling on edge. I should've remembered that the Devil has a silver tongue, and I just don't have enough experience to stand against the perfidiously sweet guile of his words.
So tell me, Sheena.
I bite my lip hard, but I know I'm just delaying the inevitable.
What exactly are you looking for in a man?
"I've never...I swear I've never thought of it—-"
Then think about it now.
Shameful heat coils between my legs at what he's asking of me, and I want to cry and cry out at the feel of it.
There's no need to be shy.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it's no use. The Devil has me under a spell, and I can all too easily imagine him crooning the words out even with the computerized tone of his voice.
It will be just like our little secret.
I squirm and turn this way and that. I cross and uncross my legs. But everything I do is just painfully futile—-
No one else will have to know.
And so the heat pulsing between my folds turns silken even when it's against my will.
Why do I have this feeling...that you've already figured things out?