Gus and Jorge had departed to meet up with General Gavsot's men. Alone in my office, I sat importantly behind my desk.
I'd trapped Vilnius in a spell that pretty much made him my bitch. I'd taken on Azraal, gotten captured, pulled off a nearly impossible escape, and got him locked up. Now I was making important decisions and hand-picking my lieutenants. I was running things. I was powerful. I was the fuckin' Devil.
I sighed. I was in Hell, but if I didn't know any better, I might think that I was actually happy.
Then my office door opened and that happiness and feeling of control was gone. Like it had never been there at all.
"How's my favorite virginal devil?" Kivra said with such syrupy sarcasm that I felt myself blush shamefully.
She was, as always, naked. And she was, as always, smoking hot. And I suppose spending thousands of years walking around nude with that body had given her no shortage of confidence. She approached my desk, swinging her hips in a walk that was so sexual that I had a hard time believing she hadn't been practicing it over the centuries.
I tried not to stare at her firm, pleasantly round breasts. But if I wasn't doing that, I was staring at her bare crotch, which either didn't grow hair (considering she had a bunch of horns on her head instead of flowing locks) or she kept meticulously shaven. And when I was trying not to stare at that, I was staring at the slender curves of her strong thighs. And when I wasn't ogling those, I was admiring the smooth, athletic tone of her belly. And when I wasn't drooling over that, I was attempting to make eye contact.
Making eye contact with Kivra always felt like a mistake.
She effortlessly put me completely off my guard. All the control I thought I'd gained over my circumstances down here in Hell vanished. I felt helpless to her impressive feminine--and demonic--wiles.
And she knew it.