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Lucifer Flynn was a scandalous temptation.
I’d already resigned myself to the idea that a deadly crescendo loomed and nothing we did or didn’t do before Raphael’s return from Providence would change that.
Call me a sinner—I could live with that. Especially if it meant I’d get to have sex with Lucifer. I was ready. I wanted it. Scratch that—I needed it.
Lucifer said I was his first kiss. He wasn’t mine, but when our lips collided, it felt like he was. Every experience with Lucifer was exciting and new. Raw. Like you’d expect the first time to be.
In a sense, I guess it was.
In Lucifer’s arms, I was Willa Callahan. Not Willa Brennan.
Electricity sparked across my skin at that thought.
He switched on the light, and a lavish bathroom double the size of mine came into view. It was masculine in design with a walk-in shower made of stone that could easily fit a half dozen adults, an oversize clawfoot soaking tub, and iron fixtures. A small chandelier illuminated the space, and gray hues that matched the bedroom added a cool finesse.
He took me by the hips and hoisted me onto the vanity right between two above-counter artisanal basins. The backs of my thighs hit the chilled marble, sending a shudder up my spine.
“You good, nymph?” His eyes were dark with lust, matching his well-past-five-o’clock shadow.
I’d never expected Lucifer to be the nickname-giving type. It brought out the girly parts of me that I didn’t know I had.
“Aye.” I brushed back a lock of his hair that had fallen forward. The movement revealed a fresh wound. “Do you have any butterfly strips?”
“It’s fine.” He leaned down and ghosted his lips over mine. “Your accent comes out when you’re emotional.”
I smiled on the inside and almost called him a pot. Instead, I replied, “Only good emotions right now.”
A heart-stopping grin spread across his face, and I prayed my little Catholic heart out that the devil never shared that particular smile with anyone else because I wanted it all for myself.
He kissed my forehead, and then left to turn on the shower. After he’d tested the temperature of the water, he returned and crouched before me. He eased down the zippers of my boots and slid them off my legs, dropping them on the floor.
A simmering sensation settled low in my belly as his callused hands grazed my calves, adding to my sensory overload in the most marvelous way possible. He handled my broken vessel with loving devotion. A vessel that harbored a damaged heart and a battered soul desperate for the humanizing connection manifesting between us.
His roaming lips started at my toes and made the gradual climb upward.
Wetness gathered in my pussy, my nipples tightened, and my belly clenched. The sexual energy between us sizzled like a live wire. It was thick. Palpable. But I knew that before Lucifer gave in to his carnal urges, he’d prove he was a man of his word.
Lucifer said he’d take care of me, but this felt like something more. Something I might not deserve but was absolutely selfish enough to accept if he gave it willingly.
His moral compass may have been severely flawed in the eyes of the law and those who opposed the Flynns, but from my point of view, he was far from a fallen angel.
His tongue praised the heated flesh of my inner thighs. I ran my fingers through his hair and stroked the back of his head. His jaw flexed against my leg, and every muscle in his back rippled under his thin cotton shirt.
With a groan of pleasure, he rose to full height. “You just might be the death of me.” His tone was teasing, but when you grow up in the Mob, you know there’s always a level of truth woven into a statement like that.
He guided his jacket off my shoulders and down my arms, then gripped the hem of his shirt that I still wore. His kind eyes asked a silent question, and I nodded my consent. The soft fabric lifted, billowing over my head. Lucifer’s scent hit my nose and I filled my lungs with it. If I could have infused his essence into my cells, I would have.
The shirt peeled away. I heard the faint sound it made as it collapsed behind me, stacking on top of the coat.
His fingertips dragged across my forehead and down my temple. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “So fucking perfect.”
My lids fluttered open; I hadn’t realized they’d been closed.
The wonderment in Lucifer’s expression echoed the restless stir of emotions in my chest.
I’d been called beautiful before, but never with so much reverence.
And perfect?
