The Devil Named Deimos

Valerie

I can't get him out of my head. 

Since last night, it's been nearly impossible. Each word I spoke through my lips, I was reminded that Deimos had touched the same ones, with his. Each breath taken, I was reminded of his breath fanning my neck. Each thought processed was of him, and there didn't seem to be a way around it. 

Fuck.

Running my hand through my hair, I stepped into the elevator and slammed the button for the penthouse. I fidgeted on my feet, aching to throw myself onto my bed. The plastic handles of the handful of grocery bags on my arm dug into my skin, reminding me of the heavenly junk food I had bought. One thing I loved more than men. 

The elevator came to a stop with a soft sigh and I mimicked the sound as I exited it and started towards my door. I put the grocery bags down to scavenge my mini backpack for keys, muttering profanities at myself in frustration. Through the obnoxious sounds of my hands angrily tearing apart the insides of my backpack, I heard a door at the end of the hall open.

Fucking. Great. 

Pausing momentarily, I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply. My hands began to become clammy and my knees locked in place. I began to search for my keys even more rapidly, having more motivation to trap myself in my apartment for a lifetime. That was until I heard a voice. A woman's voice. 

What. The. Fuck. 

My fists clenched in my backpack, and I couldn't help my body's response to swivel my head in the direction of the voice, my sanity whining for me not to look. It could just be a business partner or his accountant or something...

The woman finally stepped out of the Devil's apartment, with a dangerously short, indigo dress. It wasn't the color nor the length of said dress that I was concerned with, it was the fact that she was struggling to zip it back up. It had been unzipped.

I felt something tugging my heart apart, as if it were too, being unzipped. 

She was a brunette with locks similar to my own, but hers were lighter compared to mine which were nearly black. And while her hair stopped at a little past her shoulders, mine stopped a few inches before my waist. I mentally slapped myself for comparing myself to her, but I seemed to be on automatic mode recently. 

Adjusting her hair, she turned to face the door of the apartment again, which was still open. From my angle I saw him. I saw him casually leaning against the door frame, shirtless, with grey sweatpants on. He hadn't seen me, at least not yet. 

She took a step closer to him, and if I was a cat my claws would have protruded. Her fingers wrapped around the drawstrings of his sweats and she pulled him closer, like a vulture. Hungry hands travel up his torso and around his neck. She didn't have to stand on her tippie toes to reach his face like I did, and I found myself frowning in envy. 

"Last night was nice, David," she cooed, tilting her head as she drew circles onto his chest with her fingers, "But next time maybe you'll be up for some actual fun." 

David? The fuck. Was his secret kink being called David in bed? 

He tipped his head closer to hers dangerously, his arms staying crossed against his chest. "Deimos. It's Deimos." The Devil's deep voice rumbled from his chest, and I recognized it from the day he had made me pancakes, it was his morning voice. 

"Right, Deims, how could I forget," she waved her hand dismissively and I was left to wonder if all of his fuck buddies called him Deims. "I wrote my number on a post it on your fridge so feel call me. I know some nightclubs we could hit up in the future, better than that lame bar we were at last night."