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I just need to find the perfect place to hunt first, and I’ll be off to the races. Most of the souls I’ve tortured in the past have been happy accidents. I’d run into them at concerts, parks, even on the street. I have no idea how the top performers do it, and I’ve been too embarrassed to ask for help. But the stakes are too high to play it fast and loose. This time, I need a plan.
“But, uh, just to refresh my memory… where do the biggest, baddest souls hang out, anyway? Prisons, right?” I ask shyly. Sondra rolls her eyes.
“No, you dummy. The top floors of companies. The billionaires,” she says in a voice that suggests I am as dim as a botfly. “Try a tech company or something.” Then she rolls her eyes again. “You’re acting like you’re new to this.”
“Billionaires. Riiiiight,” I say, my voice a silken purr, and purse my lips. Okay, that might be a tall order. But I can probably make it work. I need to nab myself the meanest, most evil CEO I can find and bring his ass down here. This is going to be so easy, an imp could do it. All I need to do is create a trap so tempting it can’t fail. After all, how does that human saying go? You attract more flies with a jar of honey than vinegar? And I know just the thing that will attract all the flies. Humans are simple creatures, after all.
3
BYRON
The next morning, after my beautiful guest has left my apartment showered and sated, it’s my turn to wash up. Technically, I have work, but there’s not a lot for me to do this week outside of meetings since we just finished the quarter. The next meeting isn’t until noon, so I have some time before I have to be in. Heading out of my apartment fresh and smelling good in a crisp white T-shirt and jeans, I don’t look like I work for a financial firm. But I hate wearing the suit all the damn time, so sometimes I like to bring it in with me to change in the employee bathrooms.
Heading down the street, I can’t help but notice every woman between the ages of twenty and seventy-five crane their necks to gawk at me. Yeah, I know I look good, especially after a shower when my hair is still damp and behaving. But after making that receptionist come three times last night, I’m exhausted and not interested in hunting for another hook up just yet. I could eat, though. When I turn the corner to head up the street where Fletcher & Sons is, I stop dead in my tracks.
Something is different.
When I look toward the firm, its grand architecture reaching up to the sky, I take in the impressive green awning and narrowmy eyes. No. That’s still the same. Maybe the department store next door got a new window display or something? But when I check the enormous glass windows for anything out of the ordinary, I shake my head. It’s still the same Valentine’s Day display they’ve had up for the past two weeks. Nothing is out of place about the department store, but something on this street isn’t right. Pedestrians run past me to catch a bus that rolls up to the curb, and I look to the other side of the street and squint.
A bright pink-and-purple awning demands my attention, drawing my eyes to the words emblazoned across the cheap plastic: No Sugar Coating It. Baked goods and candy. My feet are already headed in the bakery’s direction, and before I realize it, I’m peering through the large glass windows into the shop.
Huh. When did this move in? Considering how little attention I pay to the stores in the area, they could have either moved in yesterday or three years ago. I watch with lifted brows as a mother and her child walk through the front doors and a little tinkle from a bell rings from inside. It’s almost cute. But I don’t like kids. And I rarely eat sugar because my nutritionist would have an aneurysm if I strayed too far from my meal plans.
Which is great, fitness wise. I’m at the peak of my health and have around 6-7% body fat. Let’s just say my personal trainer loves me because I make him look good. Despite feeling nauseous by the smell of cupcakes baking within, I push open the door and step inside. My heart immediately flies into my throat as all the blood rushes straight into my pants.
Behind the Pepto-Bismol pink bakery case is the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen in my life. A buxom woman in a tight-fitting pink dress and a cute, frilly white apron that stretches across her chest. The company’s logo is embroidered across her chest, and her dark black hair is pulled up into a sleek ponytail. She’s got a smoky eye going on, which I am ravenousfor, and her sensual, pouty lips made me wonder what they’d look like wrapped around my dick.
Holy shit, I’ve finally found an emo chick older than twenty-five. An emo chick working in a cutesy bakery full of pink unicorns, cupcakes, and candy. Where the fuck has she been hiding my whole life? When her bright violet eyes flit from the mother and child to mine, my throat tightens. It’s not every day I’m stunned by a beauty like her, because… well, let’s be real. I never encounter beauties like her. All the women I fuck are gorgeous, of course. But none of them look quite so… unique. Even this woman’s face isn’t quite symmetrical, with her cute, upturned nose and crooked smile that shows just a touch too much teeth. I’m about to go feral.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment, sir,” she says in a husky, deep voice I wasn’t expecting. Oh my God. That settles it. I might’ve just gotten laid this morning, but I need this woman. And I need her right.Now. My pants tighten, and I turn around to face the many plastic tubs filled to the brim with candy in an effort to hide my erection. A new sensation courses through my body at lightning speed: shame. I’m never ashamed of my desires or my erections, because most of the time, women flock to me. They want to see my cock. They like to know what they’re getting into.
But when this woman’s eyes found me, there was a faint glimmer of something in them I couldn’t quite place. A warning. This is her domain, and I’m simply a guest within it. That terrifies me, yes, but I’m also intrigued.
“Thank you again,” I hear the mother say, and she walks past me briskly with her son in tow. Then the tinkle of the bell sounds again, and it’s just me and the emo woman in the shop. Alone. My heart hammers in my chest as I slowly turn around and shove my hands into my front pockets in an attempt to look as casual as possible. There’s something about her that’s throwingoff my usual confidence. I’m just going to chalk it up to her makeup.
“Nice place,” I say, rousing my assertiveness once more. “Been here long?”
The woman smiles at me from behind the counter, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. A strong desire to see her smile for real overrides all rational thought, and I take another step forward.
“No,” she says. “We just opened, in fact. I’m giving away free samples today. Would you like to try one?” The way she leans across the counter, giving me a wonderful flash of cleavage in the process, is almost too much for me to handle.
Biting my bottom lip, I take a few more steps towards the counter. My erection is so intense it feels like it’s going to rip a hole in my pants, but I don’t care. “That depends on what the free sample is,” I say, trying to sound flirtatious. The woman’s lashes flutter.
“We have cupcakes, Red Vines, gummies, cinnamon blasts, caramels…” she rattles off. None of them sound appealing to me, of course, and my heart begins to lower into my stomach as I realize she didn’t pick up on my obvious attempts to flirt. I’ve never had to use more than one line on a woman, but for her, I’m willing to give it another shot.
“No, thanks. I’m not a big sweets person,” I say.
Her eyes find mine again, and the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk. “Then… what are you doing in here?”
She’s been lured into my trap, and now all I have to do is snare her. Easy.
“I saw you through the window and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to come in and say hello to you,” I say, flashing her my most winsome smile. The same smile that melts panties and lowers inhibitions. “I work across the street at Fletcher and Sons.”
Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I swear I see her push her arms together, mashing her breasts together briefly. I’m going to go insane if I don’t get inside of her soon.
“Oh?” Her gaze skirts over my frame, up and down, appraising me. “And what is it that you do over there, then? Work at the reception desk?” The playful lilt in her voice tells me she’s joking, and I force myself to chuckle for her benefit before combing my fingers through my damp hair.
“Nah, sweetheart. I’m on the top floors. I’m the Chief Analytics Officer.”
