Downsides of Devilry

You set the pen down with a soft click, the final signature drying on crisp paper as Morgana smoothed a tendril of her hair over one shoulder, watching with quiet satisfaction. It was done. The house was yours.

You leaned back, the leather chair creaking as you let out a long breath. “That’s… one hell of a relief.”

Abby gave a warm laugh as she stood from behind her desk, hips shifting smoothly in her high-waisted slacks. Her blouse hugged her curves, open just enough to draw the eye. “You deserve it, baby.”

She walked around to your side, heels tapping softly. Her movements had always been graceful, but now there was something else—more in the sway of her hips, in the little tilt of her smile. Something subconscious. Want. You felt it before she even got close.

And that was the problem. You could feel everything.

She pulled up the layout of the house on her tablet and tapped the screen. “Let me show you your new home. I know the girls have pretty much seen it, but you haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“Main floor: open concept. Kitchen, living room, dining room. Hardwood floors that I had sanded and resealed for…easier cleanups. Massive windows for natural light. I made sure the backyard has privacy fencing too—you’ll probably need it.”

You nodded absently, trying not to dwell on the faint heat in her touch as she gestured or her thoughts that lingered on activities taking place in each space. It seemed like her main focus was how functional it would be for your…lifestyle.

“Upstairs, the master suite’s practically its own wing,” she continued. “Vaulted ceilings, private balcony, fireplace. Walk-in closets—one for you, one for the girls. And the bed?” She smirked. “Custom-built. California king… with extensions.”

“All that space, and I bet I still get cramped,” you murmured.

She gave a teasing shrug. “You are a man of appetite, and the girls insisted they would not accept separate rooms.”

Morgana chuckled, brushing a hand across your back. “You’re stuck with us, darling. We’ll try to figure out something we can all agree to so you sleep better though.”

Abby’s eyes briefly flicked to Morgana before returning to you. She paused, letting her hand settle on your chest. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame them. If I had you under my roof every night, I wouldn’t want to be in a separate space either.”

Your heart thumped. Her tone was smooth, almost playful—but the heat under her skin was real.

“Did she realize what she just said?” You thought to yourself in a panic.

You caught the glance she gave herself in the window reflection—subtle adjustment to her neckline, a smoothing of her blouse. Her lips looked fuller with that faint sheen of gloss. Her body language radiated comfort and warmth… but threaded into it, lust.

Morgana answered your thought using your telepathic connection, “She’s the old James’s mother. Asmodeus only knows desire. You're not the same as you used to be. Remember, she’s only human.”

You nodded slightly. You could feel it now—how her thoughts weren’t just warm and maternal. She was proud of you. Amazed. But also… aroused.

Abby stood up straight after finishing the virtual house tour, arms open. “Come here,” she said softly. “I’m sure you all have a lot to do moving in and need to get going. Say goodbye properly.”

You moved into the hug out of habit, comforted by her familiar scent—vanilla, soft florals, the tiniest trace of her old perfume from childhood memories. She held you tightly. Her body pressed fully to yours, her warmth clinging.

But then, she pulled back just a few inches, her hand brushing your cheek.

“One more thing,” she said. “Just a little kiss goodbye.”

“S-sure.” You said nervously, lowering your head to her level and leaning in.

You expected her lips on your cheek. Maybe your forehead.

Instead, her mouth met yours.

It was soft, tentative… but unmistakably on the lips.

And for a heartbeat, your body responded.

A pull in your core, primal and eager, your devil blood reacting before your mind caught up. Heat surged. Your hand twitched on her lower back.

Her mouth lingered too long, and you felt her start to be swayed. Her tongue tried to probe at your lips, startling you.

Then you blinked, pulled away—carefully, not harshly. Just enough space to breathe.

You stepped back, pretending to glance at your phone. “Uh… traffic’ll be bad soon. We should probably head out.”

Abby said nothing right away. She smoothed a hand through her pixie-cut hair and gave a practiced, graceful smile. But her eyes still shimmered with something deeper.

And you felt it.

Just for an instant—she wanted you. Not abstractly. Not theoretically.

She wanted to fuck you.

The thought made your stomach turn in knots. Not from disgust—your body didn’t even register that emotion in a sexual context anymore—but from conflict. Confusion. Because you had felt it, and your body had answered.

Morgana’s hand slipped into yours. Her voice was calm. “Let’s go home, pet.”

You didn’t say a word on the way to the elevator. You didn’t look back.

But you felt your mother’s hungry eyes on you until the doors closed.