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WICKED

The Devil had a wicked mouth and a voice as smooth as bourbon.

“What is your decision?”

he pressed as he trailed the tip of his index finger down one side of her throat, his lips mere centimeters from her racing pulse on the other.

“You tricked me,”

she whispered.

He laughed in response, his breath caressing her feverish skin.

He was so close that she could barely think.

Any coherent response to his question eluded her as another shot of adrenaline rushed through her veins, but the events leading up to this moment were burned into her mind with vivid clarity.