Devil's Bitch [H.S]

It wouldn't make much of a difference if he was actually sitting there with two gnarled horns twisting from his skull or if he had the tail to go with it, the pointed arrowhead tip flicking deviously as he schemed and spread his legs.

Smoothing his hands down his suited thighs, he'd tell me just what he wanted, and I'd drop to my knees just for him, only for him.

He still possessed an awful persona that gave off the illusion that he really was the devil in disguise, his twisted personality making up his twisted way of life. He had the slender fingers with the metal rings wrapped regally around each one, he had the manipulation card tucked away in the breast pocket of every expensive suit jacket he dawned, and he had the dirtiest tongue I'd ever heard words roll off of.

But this story isn't about him. It's about me.

Who knew that all along, underneath all that ballsy bravado and superior god complex was a beating heart? A beating heart that had a chain wrapped around it and a manicured hand grasping that chain, giving it a teasing tug once in a while.

Because, at the end of the day, a way to a man's heart is through his woman... and me? I'm the Devil's bitch baby.