Wicked Devil Novels & Stories

The second text pops up right under the first one: **~ Sexy Devil: I can still taste you on my tongue, Rebel. That sweet little whimper you made when I finally took back control… Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it. You’ve had your fun wrecking the devil. Now it’s my turn. When next I see you, make sure to wear something easy to rip off. ~**

Devi crafted the easiest spell of seduction which was mainly an illusion. It was the common trick the demoness-ess used to play on their partners. Or well, lets say their sexual victims. Devi winked at him as he became jaw dropped while staring at the tempting woman in front of him. Zoravec had no clue what just happened and how should he even react. But one thing was certain that he was impressed by her bold, sassy and imposing nature. [Hehehe~] - Devi

He leans in closer, his hot breath fanning my face as he looked down at me. "I think you are mistaken about something, little one. You belong to me. You were mine from the moment you clung to me desperately begging for help. But you weren't saved by some hero, a knight in shining armor who would do your bidding and just accept it when you tell him no. No darling, I'm the devil and you are mine.” With this his lips crashed down against mine.

I yelled, knocking my fists on the table. He started to chuckle. Did I give a joke? I don't remember giving a joke. He's really starting to piss me off. This sick, sadistic bastard was laughing at me. "I have a proposition for you Scarlett," my name rolling off his tongue sent shivers down my back. He got up from his seat and made his way around to where I was standing. "The only way I will free you is if you can fight my sister and win." I was now eye to eye with this handsome devil. My chest was heaving. I had this perplex look on my face. I just knew it, I could feel the creases in my forehead coming together to give off that confuse look.

The Earl shrieked in wonder, "You call her a maiden! She is no maiden. She's a thief! A mercenary, unbelievable thief!" He continued barking while he walked backwards away from them, "She handed her drink to the Earl of Vetcom, said things too daring for any normal Scottish woman and stole food. You would not call such person a mai…" He found himself staggering suddenly, noticing he was just at the edge of a ditch, one he didn't notice because he was too busy shouting. While he found himself falling into it, a hand quickly gripped around his hard and tight. Gently, that same hand pulled him up, straight back to his balance. And it was the devil herself.

"She would make a very sexy She- Devil don't you think, varto? I can see her as The Mistress of Hell, lusty and irresistible, my liloco has such great potential, I just need to fuck it out of her." There we go! Ahh! It is always a pleasure to see Varto cringe like that. Of course, why would he want to know of the things I would do to his darling jellybean? But I would not be the Devil if I did not taunt him with my depravity. He is a Demon, he can stomach it without punching me in the face.

His eyes were dark and completely without expression. "My name is Alaric Virelli," he said, as though he expected that to mean something to me, as though his name was supposed to settle everything. "I don't care who you are," I said. "I am not going anywhere with you." Dorian grabbed my arm again and this time he yanked me toward him so hard that I stumbled. He got his face close to mine and his eyes were ugly with something I recognized after a moment as desperation. Not anger. Desperation. He needed this. Whatever this was, he needed it badly enough to drag me out of the house in the rain and hand me over to strangers.

Roman Thorne is the invincible team leader of college hockey. He is large, aggressive and a nightmare to the media. The press, however, does not know what makes the Briarwood Ice Devils so feared. They are not just players. They are ruthless, blood-swilling offspring of the most formidable crime business in the city. Trying to keep a small scandal which is about to blow up their small business, the Thorne family appeals to the service of Sloane Mercer. She is 24 years old and a brilliant ruthless PR fixer. Her task is easy: to improve the image of the team, to work with press, and not to put Roman in the prison. But Sloane has not come to save them. She is here to ruin them. Sloa

Subject line: “You Asked for the Devil” The file was massive. Raphael stood behind me, watching as I clicked open layer after layer. Lucian Damian Devlin. Born in Austria. Raised in Switzerland. Fluent in five languages. Educated in private institutions under aliases. Trained in weapons, finance, manipulation. Current occupation: CEO of Devlin Global Holdings. Unofficially: Heir and now head of the Devlin Cartel — a billion-dollar empire of drugs, trafficking, and global political influence. I scrolled, the blood draining from my face.