Chapter Seventeen
VIOLET
Four days into Operation Cracked Wide Open By The Devil (And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt and a Serious Case of Lady Blue-Balls), and we’re officially addicted.
Devlin to melty cheese and cheesy romance, exactly in that order.
Me to…
Well, I won’t say I’m hooked on him, exactly. But the way he makes me feel? Goddess. He’s just so damn magnetizing—that’s the only word for it. Not just because of the obvious reasons—hello, sex on a smoldering stick with a side of more sex, and more sticks, all of them sexy and smoldering, Smokey Bear would definitely not approve—but the subtle reasons, too.
Like the way he focuses on me so intently when we’re talking and remembers all the details I share with him—from the big stuff like the café’s profit-and-loss projections to the tiny stuff like which Charmed episodes are my favorite, and the names and magical focuses of all four of my sisters, even though he’s only met Olivy. And if a more cat-friendly male exists, I’ve never heard of him. I’ll be lucky if Grumpy and Sunshine don’t pack their bags and hitch a ride with Devlin when the spell finally breaks.
And the laughing? Forget it. I’m doubling over so much these days I’ve almost got abs now. Like, full on lady-six-pack, here we come.
Devlin is definitely a performer—easy to see why he’s so popular on social media. But the more time we spend together, the more I’m starting to realize that the public side of Devlin Pierce is mostly just for show.
It’s here in my home—in these often silly, always fun moments together—I get to see the other side. The side of a man with deep emotions and even deeper battle scars. A man with an immortal life marred by loneliness and regret. A man who’s just as funny and kind as he is naughty and sinful.
And a man I really wish I could get to know better. One who isn’t bound to leave me the moment we break the spell.
I know it can’t go beyond that, though—our magical bond, the arrangement. My brain gets it. My heart gets it too. Unfortunately, the vag is completely opposed to the idea that Devlin and I have an expiration date. Fully out of hibernation now, she’s serving up non-stop fantasies day in, day out.
And Devlin’s antics are not helping matters. Every touch and whispered innuendo may be a joke to him, but even when he doesn’t go full-on Ambrosia Divine, acting out passages with a passionate exuberance that leaves me wet and weak and wanting, he’s still riling me up.
Tonight, after reciting a particularly intense passage between Lennox and Savannah that leaves Devlin just as breathless and turned on as me, I’m so wound up I feel like I’m about to implode. If I don’t do something to take the edge off, I’m worried I’ll do something completely reckless.
Like… just spitballing here… Stripping bare, mounting him on the couch, and begging him for a onetime deposit?
Yeah. That kind of reckless.
So, after yet another reading session followed by not one but two cups of my Shut the Fuck Up and Calm the Fuck Down tea, which does nothing to calm the fuck down me, I realize there’s only one solution.
I haven’t booked a self-care session with Mr. Wiggles since Devlin’s arrival—feels kind of weird getting off when the object of your naughtiest fantasies is right outside the door—but if ever I needed the support of my emotional support vibrator, it’s now.
After triple-checking that Devlin is asleep on the couch, the television droning softly in the background, I close my door tight, light a few candles with the flick of my wrist, strip off my bottoms, and climb into bed.
The vibrator comes to life before I even touch the button, good ol’ Mr. Wiggles, the sound and feel of that familiar buzz triggering the clench of my thighs, the hardening of my nipples, everything in me so ready for this…
Closing my eyes, I slide one hand up my shirt, fingertips delicately circling my nipple, then pinching it just right, my other hand drifting lower, thighs parting, the tip of the vibrator buzzing a teasing path down my clit that sends tiny jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
“Devlin,” I whisper, his image dancing through my mind as I recall his every teasing touch, the warm honey of his voice, the light in his eyes when he laughs. I picture him stretched out on my living room couch now, less than fifteen feet from the door, and I wonder if he knows what I’m doing in here. Who I’m thinking about.
Maybe he’s not asleep. Maybe he’s out there tossing and turning, the desperate ache keeping him awake just as it keeps me awake, everything inside him wound as tight as a drum…
I slowly tease the vibrator inside, imagining it’s him filling me up instead, his mouth at my ear, whispering all the filthy things he thinks about when we read together. Then, blazing a trail of kisses down my belly, down one of my thighs, right back up again to settle in just where I need him…
The vibe pulses to a higher speed, higher still as I drag it back out, then push in again, out and in, imagining the scrape of Devlin’s sexy stubble on my skin, his tongue circling my clit, then dipping inside, deeper, deeper still…
Mr. Wiggles downshifts, throbbing against my G-spot in a way that’s got my hips bucking, back arching off the bed, oh goddess, right there, right there…
“Devlin!” I gasp, a dark thrill zipping through me and… holy hell, “Yes! Yes!”
The orgasm rips through me like lightning, a white-hot explosion that spreads from my center outward, tingling heat racing up and down my legs, my whole body singing with it, and—
“Violet!” Devlin bangs on the door. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I’m… I’m good! Just—ohhhh fuck…” I haven’t even stopped twitching from the aftershocks of the last bomb when another ignites, set off by the sound of his voice, a hot wave of pleasure crashing right through me, and then—
“That’s it, mushroom. I’m coming in.”
“No, wait!” In a move so fast I nearly break my back, not in the fun way, I whip Mr. Wiggles out and toss him into the nightstand drawer, slam the drawer shut, and yank the covers up to my chin, bolting upright and plastering on a smile just as the bedroom door swings opens.
Devlin, disheveled and wild-eyed and sexy as sin, shirtless, black silk pajama pants hanging low on his hips, those v-muscles begging for a thorough tonguing…
“You’re panting,” he announces. “I thought perhaps you’d… hurt… something.”
“It was just…” I blink up at him, still smiling, dazed and—yes, brilliant observation—still panting.
It’s like when the Devil card showed up that first night between the sheets, only this is so much worse, because the candles are lit (an obvious sign) and I just came—twice—and I’ve got Self-Care Sex Hair (yes, it’s a thing), and the literal Devil is standing at the foot of my bed, taking in the whole scene with wide, all-knowing eyes that have seen it all before and can’t wait to see it all again.
And I can’t stop wishing he’d drop the pretense, climb in here, and bring me right back to the edge for round three with his hot, demanding, filthy mouth—
“Just a bad dream,” I say firmly. Then laugh. And snort. Oh, goddess, kill me now. “So, um, why are you here, exactly?”
“You called out for me. Twice. The first time I couldn’t be certain, but then… I thought something happened.”
Oh, shit. I said that out loud?
“Well, as you can see, all is well!” I pull the blankets even higher and snuggle in deep, faking a yawn. “So tired. Phew! Anyway, goodnight, and thanks for stopping, but I’m totally good. Great. Fab—”
Bzzz.
Devlin’s eyes narrow. “Do you hear that?”
Bzzzzzzz bzzzzz.
“Nothing!” I nearly shout. “I mean, no, I don’t hear a thing. Anyway, thanks again for—”
Bzzzzzzzzzzz.
“Shh.” Devlin cocks an ear. “There it is again. A buzzing of sorts. Sounds like it’s coming from the nightstand.”
“That? That’s my phone. Notifications just blowing up, as the kids say. Pow!” I make a starburst with my fingers. “Someone needs to learn how to leave a message and let it go, am I right?”
“This phone?” He picks up my actual phone from the dresser by the door—right where I left it—and glances at the screen. “No missed texts or calls. In fact, I think the battery has drained. You really should keep it charged.”
Bzzz bzzz bzzzz.
Devlin crosses the room. Right over to me. Leans directly over the buzzing nightstand for the outlet behind the lamp where my charger is currently plugged in, and hooks up my phone.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! says Mr. Wiggles, just going for the gold in there, and Devlin’s somehow keeping a straight face.
He starts to walk away—thank the universe for small favors—but does an about-face at the last second, then marches right back to me and sits. On the edge of my bed. Just outside the covers, beneath which I’m naked from the waist down—and very wet.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says softly, straight face intact but humor dancing in his eyes, bare chest gleaming in the candlelight like full-on romance-novel crack. Or porno crack. There’s a fine line, and I’m not sure which side this moment falls on, to be honest. “Lots of people enjoy sex alone. In fact—”
“I’m not ashamed, Devlin!” I pull the blankets up over my head and pray to whatever monsters may be listening, please just open up a pit in the ground and swallow me whole! “I’m just… not having this conversation with you right now. Or ever. Okay?”
“But you—”
Bzzzzz…
“Oh my goddess, go away! Both of you!”
“Fine. If you’ll just answer me one question—honestly and without hesitation—I’ll kindly leave you to it.”
I peek out from beneath the blanket, knowing I’m going to regret it but unable to stop myself. “What’s so important that you need the answer right this very instant?”
Bzzz…
“Were you fantasizing about Twenty Watt?” His stern face breaks into a smile, hand pressed to his heart. “Tell me the truth, mushroom. I can take it. I will be absolutely devastated and a good bit disgusted and wholly disappointed in you, but I can take it. Ugh. Go on, rip off the Band-Aid.”
“You think I was getting off to… to Brandt? Head rower on the Olympic douche canoe team ten years running?” I can barely say his name in this context without gagging. “Gross! No! I was just… relaxing. Alone. Now leave.”
Bzzzzzz bzzz bzzz.
“Wait, one more question. Why does your sex toy keep clamoring for your attention? Has it not finished the job?”
“That’s two more questions, and…” I sigh and sit up straight again, tucking the blanket tight around my waist. No way out of this but through it. “It’s haunted. Okay? Now go back to the couch and pretend this was all a dream.”
“Your vibrator is haunted?” Devlin stares at the buzzing drawer. Then at me. Tries desperately, desperately not to laugh again, which, okay, I give him at least ten points for trying.
“Objects get haunted,” I say defensively. “Sometimes.”
“I’ve seen a lot of possessed objects in my time, mushroom, but a haunted sex toy is a definite first. How is this even possible?”
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly, because yes, I do have a spreadsheet tracking all the research I’ve done on the subject, and the nerd in me can’t help but respond to the genuine curiosity pulsing through Devlin’s energy. “Haunted objects are typically the result of the previous owner having some sort of intense spiritual attachment to the thing—like if it was the bed where they gave birth to all their children, or the fire poker they got murdered with. But I bought this thing brand new, obviously, so I don’t know how it got possessed.”
Bzz bzz bzzzz.
Devlin taps the buzzing nightstand with an elegant finger. “Does it frighten you?”
“What? No way. Mr. Wiggles is the sweetest, most hard-working—”
“I’m sorry, did you say… Mr. Wiggles?”
Oh, fuck… I did say that. Batting a thousand tonight, girl. Truly.
“That’s his name,” I say defensively.
“The ghost, or the toy?”
“The toy. The haunted part isn’t a ghost, per se. That would be creepy.”
“Right. Of course. When discussing haunted vibrators, the last thing we want is for things to get creepy.” Devlin finally lets out that laugh, and even though I’m 150% sure I’ll wish I was dead come tomorrow morning, right now his laughter is so contagious, and the situation so ridiculous, I can’t help but respond in kind.
“No ghosts,” I clarify. “Just some kind of stuck spiritual energy.”
“Stuck energy. Stuck in a pink dildo. That gets stuck in your pink—”
“Devlin!”
“Just saying, it’s not a bad way to spend the afterlife. I might look into it myself as a potential option. One can never plan too far in advance for these things.”
“Thankfully, you’re immortal.”
“And this is one of the rare times I’m regretting it. In any case, just how hard-working is this Mr. Wiggles fellow? Perhaps he could use an assistant. Share the load, so to speak. Pun most definitely intended.”
“Share the load? Are you kidding me right now?”
“It’s a perfectly legitimate line of inquiry. Not to mention an excellent pun.”
Bzzzzzzz.
“We talked about this! Use sexy words, not gross ones! Goddess, you belong in the locker room with a bunch of frat boys.”
“I beg to differ. Load is a highly sexy, not-at-all-fratty word.”
“It’s literally the second worst word in the romance-novel dictionary after moist.”
“Ambrosia Divine would disagree. In fact, if I pulled one of her books off the shelf right now and flipped to a random page, I bet I could find a sexy scene with the words load and moist.” Devlin presses his hand to his heart again, voice softening to a breathy impersonation of Ambrosia. “Days after their tragic farewell, again, which he should’ve seen coming but never does because his brains are in his balls, Lennox lay alone in their very special hayloft, naked, hay poking his most tender orifices. Just beyond the scent of his own desperation, and a good bit of cow shit, he could still smell Savannah’s perfume, could still feel her warmth in all that soiled hay. He recalled the way her body glistened in the moonlight that first time, the soft curve of her breast against his mouth, the tight, silken feel as he slid into her hidden depths, his balls tightening, begging for release, and now he stroked himself harder, faster, right there, so fucking close, and then… mmmmfuuuuck! He spilled his moist, aching load all over the hay and—”
I smack him dead in the face with my pillow. “Get out. Right now.”
“But we’ve only just reached the good part!”
“No! This is not a good part! Mr. Wiggles is silent, which means you’ve offended him so grievously he’ll probably never work again.”
“Perhaps Mr. Wiggles is just jealous of Lennox’s moist—”
“Do not finish that sentence. You are hereby banned from ad-libbing any new romance scenes. As well as reading the existing ones.”
“You wound me, Violet.” Devlin pulls a frown. “Reading together is one of our most cherished pastimes.”
“Not anymore. Now it’s going into cold storage, where it will never be spoken of again.”
“Lennox Steele will find a way back into your heart. His war-hardened love and/or manly appendages will not be thwarted so easily. Not by Savannah’s questionable loyalty or the sound of mating bovines in the barn below, and certainly not by a stubborn little tea witch trying to face off with the Devil in a battle of wills she’s destined to lose, if for no other reason than she’s naked on the lower half while I have retained my pants throughout the entirety of this conversation, so who’s in a better battle stance now, hmm?”
He’s got me cracking up so hard there’s no room left for embarrassment—barely even room for air—which is so freaking Devlin of him I shouldn’t be surprised.
Yet somehow, I am surprised. Every day, it’s something new. Another layer peeled back. Another ridiculously fun moment. Another glimpse at an immortal man longing for understanding and connection, just like the rest of us mere mortals.
“Thanks,” I say, finally catching my breath. “For the laughs and the gallant rescue attempt, even though it wasn’t needed.”
“Yes, I very nearly saved you from another orgasm. What a gent, happy to oblige, I’ll be sure to send you a bill.” He salutes, then gestures for me to lean forward, replacing the pillow I smacked him with behind my head. “But Violet, really. If you insist on screaming my name during your evening rituals, perhaps—”
“Oh my goddess, get out!”
“I’m just saying, perhaps you might wait until I’m well out of earshot? In the shower, or focused on some other task, preferably while wearing Violet-orgasm-canceling headphones? Just so we avoid another miscommunication? On the other hand…” He reaches under the bottom of the blanket and finds my foot, pressing his thumb into the arch in that oh-so-perfect way of his. “There may be another solution to this. One that doesn’t require batteries.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”
His fingers draw delicate patterns over my heel, then my ankle, slowly trailing up my calf, sending shockwaves of pleasure racing up my leg. “We don’t have access to a hayloft, but—”
“So magnanimous!” I kick him away and yank my foot back under the blanket, out of reach from his too-hot touch. “So chivalrous! I’ll call Mayor Singh tomorrow, see if I might get you the key to the city!”
“Mock if you must, but the offer stands.” He finally rises from the bed, then double checks my phone charger and blows out my candles—safety first. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me. Literally right there—I’ll just go ahead and move the couch a bit closer so I can shorten the distance. Get here faster in your time of need, should such a need arise again, which I’m sure it will, what with Mr. Wiggles’ naughty temperament.”
“For the last time, go away.” Laughing, I slink down into the blankets and burrow in. “I need sleep. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
“I thought we were closed tomorrow. Your one day off for the month.”
“Kettle’s closed. But I’ve got knitting circle with the aunts on the last Sunday of the month.”
His eyebrows jump—both of them at the same time—possibly a first. “You knit?”
“Don’t look so shocked! I’m a witch of many talents.”
“I’m well aware. I just didn’t realize knitting was one of them.”
“I didn’t say I was any good at it. But the aunts let me and Emmie participate because I make the tea and Emmie brings the treats and they love trying to teach us so-called ‘kids’ their magical, mysterious, old-lady ways, and—no. Devlin, just no.”
“No, what? I haven’t even said anything!”
“You’re saying it with your eyes, and I’m responding with my lips: no freaking way are you coming to knitting circle.”
“You’ve kept me in the closet long enough, Violet. Any longer, and I’ll start to think you’re ashamed of our affair.”
“It’s not an affair! It’s an arrangement.”
“Potato, po-tah-to.”
“Devlin!”
“I’m serious. I will not be locked in a drawer like your haunted battery-operated boyfriends. I have feelings, Violet. Real feelings. Also, we’re stuck together. Remember? Where you go, I go.”
I sigh. Shit, I forgot about that part.
One more flash of that devilish grin, and then he’s finally—finally!—stepping back through the doorway. “See you in the morning, darling. I’ll be sure to bring my own balls.”
“Devlin!”
He laughs. Then, eyebrows wriggling, “Balls of yarn, you brazen harlot!”