Page 30 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lucifer

Charlotte kneels on the floor beneath me, her playful ministrations quickly working to get me hard again. The thought of what we chased tonight, of her full and round and bred for me, is enough that my cock is soon as stiff as it’s ever been. But that’s all it is. A dream.

A fantasy.

Nothing more.

“I want to suck you,” she whispers from beneath me, nuzzling her head against the side of my thigh. “Please, sir?”

I chuckle, watching how she licks her lips eagerly. “I might die if you don’t, love.”

She smiles then, but there’s a hesitation I feel through our connection that stops me.

She moves to put me inside of her mouth, but I lift my hand. “Give me a color, Charlotte,” I order.

She swallows thickly like she’s embarrassed that I asked. “Yellow.”

Immediately, I ease back. “Explain.”

A dark blush fills her cheeks as she kneels before me. “It’s just that I ... love this, but I feel like I’m not very good at it.”

“ This being blowing me?” I quirk a brow, confused by what she could possibly mean.

“You ... I ...” The color blossoms down from her cheeks all the way to the curve of her breasts as she exhales.

“The first time we ever did this back in your office, you said what I ‘lacked in technique’ I made up for in ‘enthusiasm,’ but I”—she lowers her gaze—“guess I want to learn the technique now, sir.” She tacks on the address with a hint of panic.

Like she fears I might punish her again.

I growl in approval.

Though the reminder that such meaningless, trite words could affect her thusly, that she is still so inexperienced and will continue to be so for some time, humbles me.

And for a moment, I find I can’t help but feel ... remorse for how I’ve treated her, kept her at arm’s length. For her own safety. Her own protection.

I would never push her away for anything less.

Never allow her to think she’s anything but my immortal queen.

That’s what she’ll become. Once she’s confident enough to stand by my side.

Once she no longer needs the desperate reassurance of our scenes.

But perhaps I have to help her, guide her.

To be everything I know she can be.

I give a slow nod, tilting my head back and exhaling slowly. “All right, you win.” I am agreeable for her and her only. She’ll be the ruin of me.

She always has been. Right from the bloody start.

When I meet her eyes, my voice is gentler than I would ever dare use with anyone else, concerned even. I rub a hand over the back of my neck, making a signal to pause the scene. “Why didn’t you say something sooner, darling? I would never ask you to do anything that you—”

“I wanted to practice,” she says, her eagerness to please me, to show her love for me, only softening me further. “But I feel like I’m not really getting any better at it, so I think I’d like you to”—she bites her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth—“instruct me.”

“Instruct you?” I repeat, speaking low to not break the spell.

The charm she’s cast over me is a particularly brutal one, vicious and unrelenting.

She nods feverishly.

“And?” I prompt, sensing there’s more she isn’t readily sharing.

She blushes again, the color bleeding from her face down into her bare nipples. “And I ... want you to make me cry”—she swallows—“with your cock.”

I have to press my lips together to stifle my uninhibited crow of male pleasure.

Bloody fuck, woman.

Her eyes go wide, and she blinks up at me. Like she may now possibly be privy to my thoughts. “Did you ... did you say something?”

“Quiet,” I order, making our signal to resume the scene and shutting that mental door.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, lowering her eyes in submission.

My obedient good girl once again. Thanks to my punishment.

If she recognizes what she just heard, she doesn’t mention it as I rise from my throne. A devious smile quirks over my lips at how readily she scurries to make space for me.

Even as I squash the internal sense of panic I feel.

No one has ever been privy to my thoughts. Not even my Father, nor His most powerful Seers. But there will be a time and place for that later.

A time to guard myself against the vulnerability she’s created in me.

Right now, she needs my steady hand. My guidance.

I look toward her, unable to give voice to all that I’m feeling. Could you ever possibly know how thoroughly I’m wrapped around your finger, little dove? How I ache for you? The love, the unhinged obsession I feel for her, is overwhelming.

A small, still-intact part of me wants her to hear it, the things I would never allow myself to speak aloud. I curse under my breath, ever the coward that only she can make me.

I’m the fucking devil, for Christ’s sake.

And yet, I can’t ever seem to find the right words to truly tell her all that she means to me.

So I must show her.

Get ahold of yourself, Lucifer. She’s just a woman, I admonish myself.

But she’s not just a woman. Not any longer.

Not to me.

Not since the night she first put her faith in me, trusted me as no one else ever has.

She wasn’t the only one irrevocably changed when she fell in love with me.

She’s simply the only one of us who is still whole enough to admit it.

My tongue darts out to wet my lips, my expression hardening as I try and fail to suppress all the ways she makes me feel .

Things I thought I was no longer capable of, quite frankly.

“All right, Charlotte. Your play.” I use two fingers to beckon her forward, my expression betraying nothing. “Crawl to me.”

She does as she’s told, closing the small gap between us with slow, languid movements until she’s once again kneeling before me.

The sight of her knelt at my feet is one of my favorite things.

Her innocence undoes me. The way she submits to me practically makes me come alive.

I would do or give anything. Say or be anything.

Anything she needs me to be.

Even my Father’s faithful servant ...

If she asked it of me.

And that kind of power in unexperienced hands?

Well, I can’t allow that now, can I?

“Grip my shaft,” I order.

“Yes, sir.” She places her hand around me, her fingers unable to fully circle me, following my instructions like a good little student.

That’s all she’s ever wanted to be, ever since we met, of course.

My pet. My creature. My whore.

And soon, my vicious queen.

She was made for this. Made for me.

“Use your hands on any part that your mouth cannot reach,” I instruct. “Focus your tongue on the underside of the shaft.”

She does as I order, taking me in and out past her lips several times until my head starts to loll back, but she’s stopping each time I reach the back of her throat. Like she’s too scared to push past her gag reflex for fear of choking.

But I know better than she does what she’s capable of.

Charlotte doesn’t just need rough. She craves it.

The feeling of being pushed past her current limit.

By me and me only.

“You’re not relaxing,” I growl. I grip her hair, pulling her up and off my cock so fast that her lips make an audible little pop from where she’d managed to get some decent suction on me.

She frowns, her mouth forming a sad pout, like I’ve deprived her. A greedy brat if there ever was one.

Fuck, she is perfect for me.

I give her a sly grin, my voice dropping low. “I’m going to fuck your face now, show you how to open for me.” The fat head of my cock brushes against her cheek. “Slap my thigh as your stop signal.”

But I know she won’t stop.

Not when I’m giving her what she needs.

Helping her break the shameful shackles her bloody excuse of a father created for her.

I’ll spend the rest of our immortal lives undoing the damage humanity’s bastardized teachings of my Father’s blasted Bible has wrought on my pussy.

And that’s exactly what she is.

Mine.

Wholly. Completely.

No matter the desperate prayers she still whispers to my Father when she thinks I’m not listening.

She gives a greedy, eager moan.

When I first shove past her gag reflex, she sputters, her eyes watering and her throat attempting to close as she coughs around me, but as I pull out and thrust back in again, my movements fast and punishing, she relaxes for me, submitting to me.

“That’s it, darling,” I coax. “You’re my nasty little slut, aren’t you? Open your throat.”

She lets out a muffled cry as I push farther in, until she’s deep-throating me, my balls slapping against her chin.

Fuck me.

“You take me so well.”

I thrust and thrust, my movements becoming more and more feverish as I hold her still by her hair until her eyes are leaking, practically weeping, exactly like she wanted, to the point that she’s soaking my thighs, her mascara running down her cheeks, until I can tell from the redness in her face that she’s forgotten to breathe.

“Breathe, Charlotte. You deserve this.”

She does as I instruct, inhaling through her nose so that her throat tightens around me, sending another delicious pulse up my cock to my spine.

But it isn’t until she grips my backside unexpectedly, her sharp manicured nails digging into me, that the muffled hum of her cries sends me careening over the edge.

“Fuck, how do you do this to me?” I snarl as I empty myself into her, only her throat at first as she tries to drink me clean, taking every last drop of the perverted Eucharist I offer, before I pull her off just in time to coat her chest and face.

As I finish, she beams up at me, a bit of cum and spit on the edge of her lip, which I brush away quickly.

Her lipstick and mascara are ruined, and she looks a right bloody mess, covered in my cum, but she’s my mess, and she’s never been more beautiful to me.

“How did I do, sir?” she whispers, those seemingly innocent doe eyes staring up at me in complete and total adoration.

I smirk, unable to suppress the euphoric high she creates in me. “You were excellent, love. Made for me. You want to be a good girl for me now, don’t you?”

She smiles and nods like my praise means the world to her, the pride she offers to me bringing a fresh round of tears, her long lashes gleaming.

It’s the relief that fills them, the love she gifts me that lets me know what’s truly happening.

Even if I couldn’t recognize it, I feel it through the connection between us, identifying this show of emotion for what it is.

This happens occasionally. Subdrop settles into her quickly.

“Hush, little dove. All’s forgiven,” I whisper, bending down and taking her into my arms.

She wraps herself around me, snuggling her head against my chest as I lift her and begin to carry her toward our bedroom with ease.

“Was I a good girl?” she sniffles, relaxing against my shoulder.

“So good,” I purr, eager to indulge her, lavish her with the praise she needs.

“And do you love me?” The desperate look she gives me then, her need for reassurance, makes my pulse race in a way that is ... uncharacteristic for me.

Until there’s nothing left but a feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach, a sense that she makes me feel something close to whole in a way no one else ever could.

My throat constricts.

“How could I not, Charlotte?”

I carry her to our bedroom, whispering reassurances to her over and over, long past when she lies beside me asleep, until I find that I’m too in awe of the gift of her submission, by her love, to continue to speak, to worship her in the way she deserves.

I want to give her the promise of a better life, a better future, everything I know she so desperately desires, but it’s the one thing that I cannot offer her.

Safety.

From me. From my family.

My chest tightens as I draw her into my arms.

I only hope that she stays with me after she learns all that she is, all that I’ve kept from her, all that I’ve done. Now that my Father’s redemption has made her the one and only key to reopening the pearly gates, and the only immortal weapon with the power to destroy me.