“We've been through this, Adriana. If you are sick, you tell me. What is wrong?”
I shake my head, and he grips my arm.
“Tell me, baby.”
“Please, I...”
My lip trembles and my eyes flood with tears as my panic deepens. Enzo could want this. He could use this against me. He might be angry—and it’s far too dangerous to tell him.
“Tell me, or I'll spank it out of you.”
I swallow.
“Now.”
“I'm not...” I look away. “I'm not on the pill. Or any contraception. And we didn't...”
His eyebrow arches.
“I don't want to take the risk. I don't want a baby.”
Enzo laughs and his features soften. He drops his head and kisses my forehead so gently it's almost nice.
“I can't get you pregnant, baby. Although the thought of breeding you is fucking arousing.”
I blush and shake my head, refusing to believe him.
“I'm not lying, Adriana. Demons aren't born, they're made. Unless you're a celestial and you're not. You don't need to worry about an unplanned pregnancy.”
I nod and his lips meet mine, gently taking another kiss from me.
“Be honest with me and you'll be more likely to get what you want,” he says, stroking my hair. “You may go into the garden. I'll keep an eye on you while you're figuring it out.”
I nod and open the door, stopping as I cross the threshold.
“Figure what out?” I ask, looking back over my shoulder.
Enzo laughs and his head rolls back as his easy, confident demeanor floods the space around him. He's undeniably handsome like this, a god among men who rules his domain. He might not have been born, but he was made this way, to tempt mortals with the promise of everything they desire while he lures them to their doom.
“How you feel about my cock, Adriana. You hate that you love it and loathe how you crave more. Don't worry, baby, I'll be fucking you regularly now your pussy belongs to me.”
7
THE DEMON WEARS PRADA
ENZO
“Baby, it's time.”
Adriana looks pissed and if she pushes this much further, I'll fuck the foul temper out of her. She spins around, seething as she storms past me toward the front door, putting on her shoes like a petulant teenager.
She's testing her boundaries and railing against her situation. The blue of her eyes is striking as her rage flows through her pretty irises and into the world. They're still innocent and I doubt she'll lose that pure look, despite all the things I plan to do as I corrupt her.
I open the door and she ignores me as she makes her way into the garden, only stopping so I can open the exterior entrance.
“Your hand, baby.”
“Fuck you,” she spits back, crossing her hands.
