Not Safe for Work

by Nisha J. Tuli

He’s Lucifer, wearing the disguise of a Ralph Lauren model.

Who am I kidding? I kind of want his nakedness contaminating my… everything.

“There’s nothing unmissable about you. That’s all I meant. That there isn’t anywhere you could go where everyone wouldn’t notice you.”

“Your ass is so fucking hot in that skirt, I want to fall to my knees and worship it.” My heart stops. Literally stops. I hold my own funeral on the floor of a hotel ballroom covered in threadbare carpet, hideously patterned to hide a decade of coffee stains.

“You’re strong,” he finally says, and I arch an eyebrow.

Jinu 👀?!!!

“Who were you planning to have sex with?” he asks, ripping open the box. “I don’t know, but it sure as hell wasn’t you,” I deadpan. “Then, call me the luckiest bastard in the universe.”

“It’s been like three hours,” I say. “You’re my addiction now, sweetheart. Get used to it.”