Asmodeus thinks he has a heart disease.

The way it goes thump thump thump just thinking of you. The way it leaped out of his chest when you were kissing him. The way it pounded while he was pounding you—

He’s the demon of lust, for God’s sake! He created aphrodisiacs and yet he feels as if he’s on one whenever he thinks of those soft lips. Those soft, delectable lips.

He always likes to take little lambs that stray too far from home. In his opinion, you were no different. Just you managed to get home before he could sink his claws into you keep and you nice and put. Preferably in his bed down in Hell.

He’s gone absolutely mad looking for you. He’s flipped the world upside down, torn apart cities and homes, and has had countless restless nights just lying in bed, thinking of you.

He’s gonna find you. It’s inevitable. If not in this lifetime, when you’re in Hell— because you’ve slept with Asmodeus, meaning unless you become a nun for the rest of your short mortal life, you’re doomed to go to the Second Ring, where he’ll find you and put you in his bed, where you belong.

He’s gone crazy. And it’s all your fault.