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They were all far too full of themselves to believe that a mere lilim could ever get the upper hand anyway.
A gentle hand took her chin and lifted her head. Soraya kept her eyes down and Asmodeus leaned forward, getting into her face. “Look at me.”
No, that was a bad idea. She couldn’t afford to risk it.
“Look at me.” The sheer dominance in that growl forced her gaze to his eyes and she held her breath, terrified by the possession she could see in them.
He owned her.
“Do you think you can handle me?” he demanded.
Yes, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to say it out loud, especially when he kept surprising her.
“Do you still think you can win somehow? You think you can fuck me until I fall asleep and then run away again?”
Obviously.
But it was annoying how easily he could read her after so little time together.
“I am nothing more than your prince,” Asmodeus told her, his deep voice suddenly gentle. “And you belong to me now, Soraya. Don’t you?”
She nodded, because even if she did manage to fuck him senseless, she knew a piece of her would always belong to him. It didn’t matter if her stupid brain couldn’t always discern the difference between lust and love.
This asshole had made her fall a little bit in love with him tonight, even if she didn’t understand how or why.
Asmodeus pulled her closer, searching her eyes like he could see every single thought in her head. “There is no escape from this, Soraya. This is your life now.”
Strange how it was almost word for word what his brother had said to her, and yet, it managed to sound completely different. Almost like…
Almost like he was relieved he didn’t have to let her go, like he didn’t want her to.
Not for Lilith.
For him.
“Of course, my prince.” She dropped her gaze to his bare chest and folded her wings away. “This is my life now.”
And she would take everything she could from just like she had the other prince.
It was a shame she actually liked this one.
Winning against Asmodeus just so she could run away…
This time it was going to hurt and Soraya had to escape before it was too late.
Before she fell completely and totally in love with him.
SOUTHERN BELLE
BY ELLIE WADE
I know right from wrong. I could distinguish between the two since my earliest memories—back when bouncy pigtails, a poufy dress, ruffled socks, and black Mary Janes were my daily uniform. My hard-working father and perfectly put-together mother made sure of it. I was raised to be a lady, a class act, and someone my parents could be proud of.
I’m the quintessential Southern belle.
I’m from a small town located just outside of Charleston, South Carolina, and every resident here knows me, my father, and every person who holds a branch of the Sullivan family tree. My father is a banker, accountant, and the mayor. It isn’t often that I can pass someone without hearing, “Savannah, you be sure to tell your daddy that I said hello.”
My mother has organized every bake sale and fundraiser our church or school has had for years. She’s president of more ladies’ groups than I care to remember. Half of the women in this town think she’s their best friend. I couldn’t sneeze in school without my mother hearing about it.
