Page 23

Chapter 22

Distracted by Other Parts

SJ

W as it too late to change the plan for tonight? To change the task? Maybe get her drunk and test out her stretchiness instead?

My mind was going to a thousand absolutely filthy places all at once, thanks to that book …

A flash of something hot and angry passed through my chest. What those Shifters were doing to the female in that book … was that what she wanted? Multiple men having their wicked way with her?

I snorted. She would not cope with one of me. Let alone three.

But there would be no finding out if she could, in fact, cope with just one increasingly sexually frustrated Prince of Hell. That was not in the plan.

As the portal set us out inside the private dining room at Stella, she stumbled slightly. I wrapped an arm around her waist, righting her. She was warm, and the thin, gossamer-like fabric of her dress hid nothing of the curves underneath from my palms.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “That was … what do you call those things, anyway?” She turned back to watch the portal shrink away to nothingness, her eyes bright and curious. Her lips, so shiny and pouty and … for badness’ sake, I wanted to do sordid things to that mouth of hers.

I stuck my hand into my pocket, turning the Soul Token over and over and over in my fingers. The gentle warmth of it both comforted and chastised me.

She’s here. She’s happy.

But you must make her miserable before the night is through. That’s the plan.

The plan was decidedly not foregoing dinner to feast at the altar between her legs. And I just knew she would taste divine there. I imagined it often enough while in my hot spring.

What was wrong with me?

I knew exactly what was wrong with me. ‘Inquisitiveness killed the imp’, as the saying went. I shouldn’t have picked up that book, curious about the words on the spine that echoed her mumblings at the markets on Friday night. Now all I could think about was the fact that this little, pink-haired female in front of me enjoyed reading books where the women were so thoroughly fucked that?—

“SJ?” She pulled out of my hold, facing me and cocking her head. “What’s it called?”

“A portal,” I grunted.

“Yes! I guessed it!” She skipped on the spot and did an odd little pump of her fist, her grin splitting her face. I found my own lips curling. It was impossible to be unhappy in the face of her unbridled joy.

Until I reminded myself that this was not, in fact, a standard human dinner date. And I was about to ruin whatever truce we had developed since the last task. No woman would want to date a male who deliberately made her gassy in order to harvest her misery.

But my goal was not to date her. It was to entrap her soul for all eternity.

I really was terrible.

“Let’s have some wine.” I put my hand on the small of her back, barely bothering to glance at my surroundings as I lead her towards the candlelit table.

She looked utterly delectable in that dress. It was such a pale pink as to almost appear translucent. Tiny silver chains snaked across her chest, keeping the fabric that barely covered her breasts in place. Her vibrantly pink hair was pinned up, revealing another chain that wound around the back of her neck, holding the entire thing up. It was so delicate … it would be the work of a mere second to break it, to have the whole thing fall to the floor.

Her back was bare to the waist, her skin flawless and creamy, and I wanted to put my mouth on every inch of it.

But I couldn’t … Could I?

No. I most certainly could not. She did not want that sort of attention from me. And giving it to her would only make my own task all the more difficult.

I wanted to groan out my frustration, but instead, I guided her into her chair and took a seat opposite her. Wide-eyed, she took in the floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, which gave an almost panoramic view of the city lights.

“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured wistfully. “I never stop to appreciate how lovely the city is at night.”

You’re so beautiful, you put the city to shame. I wondered what would happen if I said those words out loud to her. I had blurted out to her earlier that she was beautiful, but I’d punctuated it with bashing my leg on her furniture, and the moment had been broken.

But I couldn’t tell her. It had been a mistake to let those words out earlier. I’d been … overcome by the image of her in that dress as it clung to every curve.

Her gaze roved towards the interior, and more specifically, the art adorning the whitewashed brick walls.

“Does the décor meet your expectations?” I asked, reaching for the wine, already set out, as ordered by Alessio, the chef who’d happily handed over the eternal rights to his soul for that silly little star.

“It’s even better than I imagined,” she breathed, and as I poured, she was up again, her hips swaying far too enticingly as she walked over to a painting. She examined it, then gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“This is … this is a Dante Bruno piece! From his Fiamme Spazzatura series!” Her cheeks went pinker than her hair, her eyes wide as she gaped at me. “I didn’t know there were pieces of this series outside of national galleries!”

I stood, scrounging up a smirk from somewhere deep within the bubbling turmoil of my abdomen, and scooped up our wines, approaching her.

“His use of recycled materials, paint, and flame to create these … these nightmarish landscapes, is truly inspired. It speaks of the ruination of nature through the consumerism of humankind.” She turned to me, her smile wide, excited, two spots of colour high on her pretty cheeks. I handed her a glass, letting my fingers linger on hers for longer than was necessary.

She was so passionate, it was intoxicating.

“I’ll admit I’ve not heard of him,” I murmured, turning to the piece. It was large and angry-looking, with bubbling paint in red and black, like blisters across the surface. I swallowed. “It reminds me a bit of home.”

“Why do you sound so sad when you say that?”

I took a sip of my wine, thinking furiously. How to answer? Was there really any point in baring parts of myself to her? When she would only hate me once this was over. And resent me until her death, and then curse me for all eternity.

But I wanted to give her honesty. I craved that with her. Why? That was a conundrum for another time. But for now, I would bare a little of me to her.

“I never knew anything but the caverns of Hell, until I … until I came to the Human Realm to seek a … what did you call yourself?” I chuckled mirthlessly. “An ‘infernal guinea pig’?”

I took another drink, eyeing her surreptitiously over the top of my glass. She hadn’t touched her wine. She was watching me intently, expectantly. She wanted to know more. She was … interested in me.

“It’s a case of not knowing what one is missing,” I explained, “until one sees the world outside of one’s four walls, I suppose.”

I took another sip as she regarded me. The corners of her lips softened. My stomach tingled.

“Don’t get me wrong … I’m seriously pissed at you for tricking me into this whole FiendPay thing.” Her finger toyed with the rim of her wine glass. “But I can’t blame you for feeling … stifled … down there, wherever it is. My God, it was so hot, SJ! I think I produced a gallon of sweat in five minutes!”

And suddenly I was thinking of her … naked, sheened in sweat … her head thrown back in pleasure as I …

I drained my wine, gesturing to her glass. “You must drink. This is a ‘date’ after all.”

She smirked into her glass, taking a sip. Her eyes found mine, and her lashes fluttered. My stomach fluttered in response.

“You are not wearing your spectacles!”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, shrugging. “I always wear contacts when I …” she darted her eyes to mine, then away again.

“When you what, Mouse?”

Her smirk widened. “When I want to impress a man on a date.”

My brain short-circuited, as I studied her face, so familiar, and yet, almost a stranger’s without those big glasses she usually wore.

“You only just noticed that they were missing?” she asked coyly, sidling closer, sipping at her wine. “I would have picked the Son of Satan to have better observational skills than that.”

I cleared my throat, my eyes falling to the soft curves of her breasts, far too enticing beneath those little swinging chains. My fingers twitched, aching to touch her there.

“I was … distracted … by other parts,” I admitted ruefully, scrubbing a hand over my face.

She giggled and patted me on the arm. “You might be the Prince of Hell, but you’re still just a man, aren’t you?” Her grin was that of a bat who had just gotten its teeth into the forbidden fruit.

My suspicion was roused. “Why do you seem so … smug … tonight?”

She waltzed past me, the dress skimming her mid-thigh, hugging that round arse. I bit the inside of my cheek until she turned and took her seat, still smirking.

“No reason. I suppose I’m just … very grateful, to have this opportunity to be here. To see this art. To share a meal with you.” She sipped again at her wine, her eyes darting across the tabletop. “Speaking of sharing a meal … where are the menus?”

I stifled a wince. I wasn’t ready for the big reveal yet. I was honestly quite shocked she hadn’t yet demanded to know what the catch was in her task this evening.

“Drinks first,” I managed, seating myself and pouring more for both of us.

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Satan Junior?”

My hand twitched on the bottle, almost spilling on the white tablecloth. “You needn’t drink at the same speed as I. But it’s … customary, where I am from, to share a libation while seated, before we progress to eating.”

Such a lie. If she ever shared a meal with Father and Hellen and me, she would see that there was no civilized chitchat over drinks. There was tearing into food while Hellen and I insulted one another, and Father continued to place unfair expectations on me while simultaneously reminding Hellen that she was the useless spare.

Not that I would ever, in a million lifetimes, let either Hellen or Father anywhere near Jemma Bliss.

Until her soul came to Hell upon her death … and then I would have no control over what was done to her … or by whom.

I downed my second glass.

“Well, I wouldn’t want the denizens of Hell to think I had bad manners,” Jemma said with a large helping of sarcasm as she took a gulp of her wine. “How did you know that Riesling is my favourite?”

I cocked an eyebrow and managed to curl my lips slightly.

She rolled her eyes. “The box I drank on the night of the drunken donuts. How long had you been stalking me before then?”

“I wasn’t stalking you,” I protested, but the words sounded weak even to my ears. “I was … researching.”

She giggled and took another sip. I watched, mesmerised, as a droplet of wine trembled on her bottom lip before her tongue darted out to lick it up. I barely stifled my groan. What if I just leaned across the table and licked her where her tongue had just been. Tasted the wine in her mouth. It would be so much sweeter, sampled from her lips.

“Uh, I might be a little tipsy,” she remarked, setting down her glass. “I really do think it’s time to order some food.”

That jerked me right out of my indulgent fantasies.

“Why did you never finish your art degree?” I blurted, desperate to delay the inevitable.

She coughed, snatching up her wine and taking another big drink. “I … I told you, the other day in the bathroom. The professor who kicked me out of his class told me I was never welcome back again. His subject is compulsory.”

“Compulsory, as in …”

“As in, I have to pass his class to receive my degree. And I’m not welcome back because I’m a ‘cheating plagiarist, who should be ashamed of myself’…” She looked down at the table, her hands falling into her lap.

My chest thrummed in time with the Token in my pocket.

“Is there not another teacher of this subject?” I asked softly. She shook her head, eyes still downcast. “Or another university you could …” My words cut off when the Token heated suddenly.

“I lost all my confidence, after that. I haven’t painted since. Except, you know, when I’m with the girls … which doesn’t count.”

“Why does it not count?”

She sighed. “That’s just for fun. And I don’t make money out of it, so … there’s no pressure.” Her eyes finally found mine, and they were so despondent that my chest squeezed.

“It’s funny. While at uni, I never once thought about art therapy as a career. In my head, I was going to be discovered, become a renowned artist, travel the world.” She glanced over at the hellish piece on the wall. “But even stealing my ideas to finish his degree, Chad still hasn’t amounted to anything much.”

A growl rumbled low in my throat at the mention of pathetic Ratty-Man. “His lack has nothing to do with you,” I told her firmly.

She shrugged. “Well, it’s a moot point, anyway. It’s a reality check, too. Art is almost impossible to make a living from. And …” she gave a sad little half smile that struck me right in the centre of my chest. “It’s funny, you know? I enjoy making my costumes and selling them at the markets. I love the people I meet. I love seeing the happiness my silly little ferret outfits bring them. But … it’s working with the girls that really brings me joy. And I can’t turn that into a paid gig … because I can’t finish my damned art degree!”

I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and cupped her face in my palm. Her eyes darted to mine, wide and sapphire and so beautiful.

“What you do for those girls … it is admirable. And it’s ridiculous that you are not able to be paid for it!”

Her lips parted, her eyes searching mine. “You seem very passionate about this. You know, considering I’m just a potential energy source for your demon minions.”

I released her face, leaning back. Her cheeks had gone pale, and she shivered. I clenched my jaw, glancing away.

“I’m … intrigued by the workings of the human world. And you are the first human I have come to … know.”

Such lies I was telling. Well, not full lies. I was intrigued. But if she were any other human, would I be this invested?

I was doubtful.

“Well,” she said, her fingers tapping on the tabletop. “I need to be a qualified art therapist to get paid to do it. And I need a completed degree, and then additional certification, to become qualified.”

“Oh.”

A very strange sensation overtook me. Something akin to how I’d felt when I realised that I would be taking over Hell, possibly sooner than I had ever anticipated. When I realised that I had not the first clue about how to manage the kingdom, and I had no one to go to who could help me. When I had realised that it was not … it wasn’t the future I had seen for myself, and yet, it was the future that had been fated for me.

It was the same, stomach-dropping feeling of … powerlessness.

But I had no further time to ponder this feeling because the door to the private dining room opened, and Alessio entered with a flourish.

“Ah, my, che bella coppia ! What a beautiful pair you are.” he crooned in a thick accent that I was certain was all show. “Please, enjoy this first of five courses, prepared, as requested, to your specific requirements, Signor.”

“But—” Jemma spoke, then snapped her mouth shut at the sharp look Alessio threw in her direction. As if daring her to complain or argue in any way and find out the consequences.

My stomach churned. It was time for this to turn from ‘this is a real, proper date’ to ‘Welcome to FiendPay. This is your second repayment. You are going to hate it, as is the point of the process’.

Alessio gestured, and his staff rolled in the trolley.

“And there it is,” Jemma muttered and drained her wine, her eyes gone icy. “The catch.”