He—Satan Junior—was smirking from one of my bar stools, looking for all the world as if he popped in for a Sunday afternoon chat every week. He wasn’t in the monster form he’d shown me earlier. No, it was the hot, muscular Draco Malfoy impersonator smirking at me, his eyes an odd, almost reflective shade of slate grey. He was dressed in that same dark button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The dusting of pale gold hair on those arms glimmered in the afternoon light.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, thoughtlessly rubbing at my poor abused boob. His eyes dropped to follow the movement, his mouth going slack. The grey in his eyes darkened to charcoal.

Shag your way out of it, Jem.

I wasn’t sure the silly idea I’d had earlier would work … but there was no harm in testing the waters to see if maybe I could distract him from my soul … with my body.

Biting my lip, I let my boob rub turn into more of a caress. I cupped the weight of it in my palm. What a fortunate oversight I’d made that morning when I shoved my T-shirt on without bothering with a bra. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, a stain of pink blooming over his cheeks.

Yes! It was working!

I squeezed myself, watching him from under my lashes. His eyes were glued to my chest. I let my thumb graze over my nipple. It puckered under my touch, sending tingles down through my belly and between my legs.

A tiny, involuntary groan slipped past his lips. He tried to cover it up with a cough, shifting on the bar stool, but he was fooling literally no one.

Okay, I could work with this.

I dropped my hand to my hip and glared at him. He was, after all, still my enemy. An enemy who seemed to have a particular fondness for my human body. And if I wanted this plan to work, I’d need to make him crazy for me, with teeny, tiny tastes, and then BANG! Denying him any further gratification.

“Did you come here to extract a repayment from me? Or did you just want to ogle my boobs?” I asked sharply. I almost giggled when he flinched, his eyes snapping away from my chest with the guilty wince of a man caught in the act.

Except he wasn’t a man. He was the Devil. Well, the son of the Devil.

“If you’re here on FiendPay business, can we please hurry up and get the torture over so you can scurry back to the Hellhole you crawled out of?”

He leaned back, his jaw tight. His eyes fixed somewhere over my head. I smirked. Had I really thrown him that off balance with nothing more than a teeny little boob squeeze?