Fallen Werewolf
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She had curves. And breasts. A derriere man could grab onto. And dunes of ruby red hair botched around her shoulders, lowered to her love handles. She moved into view, away from the French doors as he leaned back calmly into his chair. The look on her face told him that she knew oh so very well what was going to happen - that this was no ordinary business gathering...
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Lord of the demons. Henchman to lucifer himself.
Daughter of an angel. Symbol of light and perfection.
He doesn't want to do it. It's too much, even for the devil. But what ever lucifer wants.....
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