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“I’m okay,” I whispered, searching his gaze. “Because of you, Lucifer ... because of you, I’m—”
He released me, hooking an arm around my waist. He cradled my head with his free hand, and then he crushed me to his body, sweeping me off my feet. My arms slithered up between us until they twined around his neck, and my legs wrapped around his torso. Somehow, I’d managed to crack open the impenetrable vault surrounding Lucifer Flynn, and now we clung to each other, fitting as though we’d been created for this very purpose.
His heartbeat thundered against my body as I burrowed my face into his neck. A shiver rippled down my spine, and Lucifer moved us under the stream of hot water.
But I wasn’t cold. How could I be when pure fire was undulating through my veins?
We held one another, enveloped in a dreamy haze of steam, silently allowing our embrace to say what neither of us was ready to put into words.
Then Lucifer peeled the wet hair back from my shoulder, baring my skin. He dragged his nose along the curve of my neck, and when his breath caressed my ear, a throaty groan fell from his lips. It was so delicious and wicked that I felt it between my legs.
My clutch on Lucifer’s body tightened, arms banding, thighs clenching, my most sensitive parts seeking contact—friction. I was drunk on his intoxicating scent, high off the way his fingers curled into my flesh. I wondered for the first time in my life what it would be like to climax by a male touch and not by my own.
“Lucifer . . .”
His name came out like a whimper as his strong, callused hands scaled my legs, sliding my dress up and over my hips until the delicate fabric bunched around my waist. He pulled me flush against his abs, his hands kneading into my exposed cheeks that were divided by a lace thong, and I ground my slick pussy against the smooth planes of his core. I sobbed into his shoulder and shamelessly chased my orgasm under his erotic guidance.
All thoughts of our grim evening melted away when he pressed a searing kiss to my neck. My head rolled back, giving him access to devour me properly, but that’s all he gave me, one solitary kiss that I knew would forever be emblazoned on my heart.
It felt like an unspoken promise. A vow.
“Lucifer,” I moaned a second time because he was the only thing I could think about. The only thing I wanted. Craved. Desired.
He was all consuming, and I welcomed the oblivion that our mutual lust provided.
My forehead dropped to his shoulder, and all my inhibitions spiraled down the drain at our feet as I panted and squirmed.
Lucifer murmured into my ear, “I’ve got you, Willa. Take what you need.”
I squeezed my eyes tighter, imagining what it would be like to have actual sex with Lucifer. What would it feel like to kiss him? To feel his hot mouth all over my body, his cock deep inside me? Would he fuck me hard or make gentle love to me?
And then I was tumbling into ecstasy, the flutter in my lower belly expanding until it’d engulfed me entirely and I was shattering in Lucifer’s arms.
He held my languid form to him, only releasing me long enough to cut off the water after it’d turned cold. Then he stroked my hair and dipped his chin, his tone as soft as his touch. “Let’s get you out of here. This place isn’t for you.”
I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were full of rare emotion. In my experience, dicks usually came attached to sick bastards that I’d rather kill than suck, but I wasn’t about to deny the first man who’d ever given me pleasure because of that fact.
I uncurled myself from his body and found my feet on the shower floor again. I drew in a fortifying breath and lowered myself to my knees. His eyes narrowed. The familiar discomfort of my joints meeting a hard surface was a calling card for my past, pulling me into the darkest recesses of my mind. My hands shook as my fingers fumbled with the waistband of his shorts.
Lucifer bent over, took me by the elbows, and brought me back to standing.
“Come,” he ordered, but there was no force behind the word. “You need to dry off. I have something you can put on for now.”
I blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I’d willingly gotten to my knees for a man without the influence of liquor, barbiturates, or fear driving me.
And he’d turned me down.
I didn’t know if the hot-and-restless feelings I was experiencing were due to some sort of post-coital hangover or embarrassment.
I let out an exhale that spoke of my humiliation while avoiding Lucifer’s gaze as he handed me a towel and a long-sleeved Henley he’d dug out of a duffel bag. I turned my back to him, and without hesitation dragged the wet dress over my head, then stripped off my soaked bra and panties. He was the second man to see me undress tonight, but the vulnerable anxiety that always accompanied nudity—a precursor to my pain—wasn’t there.
I was naked and alone with the deadliest man in the city, and maybe he didn’t want me the way I wanted him—but that didn’t mean I didn’t trust him.
I dried off, slipped into the shirt, and then tossed my ruined clothes in the rubbish as I let that thought land like the monumental revelation that it was.
I’d just zipped up my boots when Lucifer’s voice cut through my ruminations.
“Ready?” he asked, tone neutral.
