Playing for Soles

By Ellay Branton

Tryka knows better than to speak her longing aloud. For immortals, words carrying emotion have power. The Rules said so. She should have kept her mouth shut, but a gorgeous pair of shoes in a Madison Avenue display window are her downfall.

Literally.

Her next breath forms six words that send her straight to Hell.

Facing off with a lust demon in a high-stakes game of strip poker is enough to make any Scribe's thighs twitch. Losing has steep consequences: a hundred years of unabated sexual tension at the hands of Asmodeus, the father of all lust demons. Sure it sounds manageable, but everyone knows his power conjures the images and experiences you most desire. It doesn't help that he's so damn delicious, either. Someone really needs to take him down a notch.

Tryka has to win. Not only will she get the drool-worthy shoes, but Asmodeus and his power will be hers – for an entire day! Then, she can be on her merry way, in fabulous shoes, sated and victorious. All she has to do is keep her head in the game, and her heart's desires can be hers for the taking.

It's not like she wants more than sex and shoes, right?

**This book has snark, swearing, strong sexual imagery, and BDSM. For readers 18+**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellay Branton
• Release date: Apr 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370702664

Ellay Branton

Ellay Branton is a tiny little useful human who bears a slight resemblance to a shaved hobbit - except her feet and ankles are dainty. She has an inappropriate sense of humor that has often landed her in trouble. She believes that life is meant to be fun and isn't afraid to be silly - no matter who is watching. Bonus points if you join in! Ellay lives in Northern California with her husband, her children and more animals than humans. She can often be found on Facebook fangirling over her favorite authors, artists, and of course, Star Wars. She loves to hear from readers! Email: [e-mail] Friend me: https://www.facebook.com/ellaybranton Like me: https://www.facebook.com/ellaybrantonauthor Follow me: https://twitter.com/ellaybranton

Book preview

Playing For

Soles

by

Ellay Branton

Playing for Soles

Copyright © 2017 by Ellay Branton

All rights reserved

No part of the work herein may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without express written consent by the author.

This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental

Adult themes, strong language and sexual situations are a primary part of this work.

Reader discretion is advised.

Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Author’s Note

About the Author

Dedication

This one's for you, Kimberlie and Ro. You are the keepers of my secrets, the sanity on my hair-pulling days, and the fire under my ass. I love you both.

Acknowledgments

No author can survive without backup. Mine comes in the form of a crowd of people so large, I cannot list them all here. However, there are a few standouts.

To the Goddesses of the Sex, Gods & Rock n' Roll fan group: You are all the most wonderful people an author could ever hope to find in her corner. Your support and encouragement makes every word worth the effort. Thank you!

To the massive group of authors, editors, proofreaders, swag makers, narrators, cover artists, and formatters I've met since beginning this crazy trip: Thank you for making the writing community such a warm and fuzzy place to be. I love being among you.

To Tori and Liz: You make long, fluorescent-lit days more than bearable. I look forward to your wit and attitude on the daily.

To my unfathomably awesome and supportive kids and husband: Once again, you've given me the time and courage to write. Without you, our home would be empty and miserable. (And smelly, and empty of food.) I love you so much it's kind of disgusting.

Chapter 1

Tryka wasn't an ignorant fool like most of humanity, but one glance at a pair of gorgeous shoes and her IQ dropped significantly. Which is why the second thing that left her mouth after spying the pumps in the window on Fifth Avenue was, Oh, shit.

The first was a simple, deadly string of words. From anyone else, it would be a wistful expression of shoe lust. But she wasn't just anyone. She was a Scribe. One of the neutral immortals forever wandering the world, recording everything happening in the battle between Heaven and Hell. So, those wispy words - What I wouldn't do for those... floated from her throat into the ever-present fumes of coffee, garbage, exhaust, steel and concrete. They didn't waft upward with the rest of the city's spring air. They sunk like her stomach, as soon as the last sibilant consonant was uttered. A face-palm was definitely in order.

The pull of gravity intensified beneath her. Tryka stood straight and still, knowing from past experience that bowing to the feeling would make the pain of her descent exponentially worse. Like a leap from a high dive, the smaller the point of entry into the surface, the least amount of disruption and agony.

Her heart beat faster in an attempt to continue the blood flow to her upper extremities. Uncomfortable tingles spread from her delicate feet and hands, through the slender bow of her body, to pierce her scalp. The feeling tightened the tender skin, lifting her sable pixie cut just enough to sensitize each follicle the way ambient electricity did just before a lightning strike. She went light-headed, but knew she'd be conscious for the entire ride.

A human required oxygen, and for all their gooey insides to stay relatively three dimensional. Immortals had organs for two reasons: to blend in while among humans, and experience all the facets of pleasure or torture. Things like lungs and a spleen were not necessary for conscious existence.

Since the mortal population had exploded, skirmishes among the angels and demons were occasionally witnessed. It was easier for an immortal to allow some do-gooder human their moment of glory by lying in misery, pretending to need medical assistance. Stitches or surgery might not be needed, but pain was definitely felt. As soon as an immortal was alone, however, they flashed out of there, mending their flesh in quick time.

Immortals were truly without death. One would think that was a good thing, but living for eons without cease made some insane. Without the desperation of time, boredom became sadism, and pleasure dulled with repetition. Torture was the new black.

Tryka's verbal slip meant a black hole in just her size was going to vacuum-tube her straight into Hell. If she was lucky, it would land her at the feet of a noob demon that got off employing tickle torture. If not, she would be at the nonexistent mercy of a demon as old as time, with boredom to match.

Exhaling until her chest was concave, Tryka allowed herself to be pulled and stretched into a straight, taut line and felt the earth swallow her. Darkness surrounded her as she sped downward.