Satan's Affair by Carlton, D. (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📗

can feel it. I’m as sure of it as I am about the existence of gravity. Eerily, it feels a lot like the day of my book signing, when the man with mismatched eyes pinned me to the chair.

Chills run down my spine, accompanied by a burst of adrenaline. It’s the same feeling I get when I watch a scary movie. It begins with the beat of my heart, then a heavy weight settles deep in my stomach, eventually sinking to my core. I shift, not entirely comfortable with the feeling right now.

Huffing, I rush back into the house, and up the steps. Greyson trails behind me. I don’t notice he’s in the middle of undressing as he walks down the hallway until he steps into my room after me. When I turn, he’s stark naked.

“Seriously?” I bite out. What a fucking idiot. Someone just banged on my door like the wood personally put a splinter in their ass, and he’s immediately ready to pick up where he left off. Slurping on my neck like one would slurp jello out of a container.

“What?” he asks incredulously, splaying his arms out to his sides.

“Did you not just hear what I heard? Someone was banging on my door, and it was kind of scary. I’m not in the mood to have sex right now.”

What happened to chivalry? I would think a normal man would ask if I’m okay. Feel out how I’m feeling. Maybe try to make sure I’m nice and relaxed before sticking their dick inside me.

You know, read the fucking room.

“You serious?” he questions, anger sparking in his brown eyes. They’re a shitty color, just like his shitty personality and even shittier stroke game. The dude gives fish a run for their money, the way he flops when he fucks. Might as well lay out naked in the fish market—he’d have a better chance of finding someone to take him home. That person is not going to be me.

“Yes, I’m serious,” I say with exasperation.

“God dammit, Addie,” he snaps, angrily swiping up a sock and putting it on. He looks like an idiot—completely naked save for a single sock because the rest of his clothes are still thrown haphazardly in my hallway.

He storms out of my room, snatching up articles of clothing as he goes. When he gets about halfway down the long hallway, he stops and turns to me.

“You’re such a bitch, Addie. All you do is give me blue balls and I’m sick of it. I’m done with you and this creepy fucking house,” he seethes, pointing a finger at me.

“And you’re an asshole. Get the fuck out of my house, Greyson.” His eyes widen with shock first, and then narrow into thin slits, brimming with fury. He turns, cocks his arm back and sends his fist flying into the drywall.

A gasp is ripped from my throat when half of his arm disappears, my mouth parting in both shock and disbelief.

“Since I’m not getting yours, thought I’d create my own hole to get into tonight. Fix that bitch,” he spits. Still sporting only one sock and an arm full of clothes, he storms off.

“You dick!” I rage, stomping towards the large hole in my wall he just created.

The front door slams a minute later from below.

I hope the mysterious person is still out there. Let the asshole get murdered wearing a single sock.

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Acknowledgments

First and foremost, as always, I thank you. My readers. I would be nothing without any of you, and I love and appreciate every single one of you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you bring me every day.

Secondly, thank you so much to my family for being the best support system I could ever ask for. I don’t think I would be where I am today without any of you.

My alpha readers, May and Amanda, I love you both dearly. You two are my rocks. And thank you for being so supportive and loving.

My beta readers, you guys kick ass. Seriously. This book definitely wouldn’t be what it is without any of you. Your eagle eyes helped make Satan’s Affair perfect.

Sarah, you have become some an important person to me! Thank you times a million for editing my books and making them crispy clean. You are an amazing person to lean on and I’m forever thankful for you.

About The Author

H. D. Carlton grew up in a small town in Ohio, and suffered for years by the hands of Mother Nature cursing the area with all four seasons in the span of a week. By day, she does boring adult stuff, by night, she’s putting her imagination into words as her cat climbs all over her. She published a few poems back in her days, but now she is devoted to turning poetry into a story. A story that preferably features wicked worlds with the worst kind of villains that don’t talk about themselves in third person.

Learn more about H. D. Carlton on hdcarlton.com. Join her newsletter to receive updates, teasers, giveaways, and special deals here.

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