Page 51 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Forty-Two

Charlotte

My muscles have never been this sore, my brain never this fried, and I feel like I can hardly string two words together, let alone think.

I’m pretty sure that’s by design, of course.

I haven’t once considered pulling another stunt like I did with Azmodeus.

Or been able to dwell on the devastation the general population is experiencing.

I haven’t worried about my powers or my immortality, about being fated, or even the seemingly inevitable apocalypse that’s pending. I haven’t had a moment to think.

I’ll never admit it to Lucifer, but it’s been strangely nice getting to turn my brain off, today especially.

Not having to make my own decisions twenty-four seven.

These days I’m so used to girlbossing my way through everything that having someone else consider all the ways I need to take care of myself and then make all the plans for me feels indulgent, if I’m honest.

Even if I am barely able to keep myself upright.

When Lucifer enters the playroom, I know for a fact I’m in for more of this torture since the sight of me on my knees turns the look on his face from one that’s oddly grim to supreme satisfaction.

He’s enjoying this, the asshat.

Day one of my brat taming. Day one of the apocalypse.

I stiffen.

He must know about my ridiculous freefall experiment by now. He has to.

I’ve spent more than a few moments wondering if somehow my misguided attempt might have tempted God into letting this all happen, but no matter how I spin it, that seems a little self-obsessed, even by Lucifer’s standards.

I watch as he approaches me, fully expecting that to be the first thing out of his mouth, but he catches me off guard. “I hear you were supremely well behaved today.”

I blink at him, too stunned to speak.

Which means . . .

Azrael didn’t tell him about my skydive incident last night.

He kept my secret for me.

I don’t know exactly how I feel about that as I hold my head low, not looking toward Lucifer. I try to tell myself it’s because I’m too tired or because I haven’t been given permission to do so, but a small part of me feels ... guilty for hiding something so pivotal from him.

I frown at the thought.

No.

No, I will not blame myself for treating him the same way he treats me. I won’t give in so easily. No matter how stupid an error in judgment.

I don’t know what possessed me to take such an over-the-top gamble with my safety. Maybe some naive need to test the boundaries of my own immortality? Challenge God to finally be there for me?

Hell if I know.

But in truth, now that I’m a bit more distanced from it, I feel ashamed of how I risked myself.

Ashamed for not being stronger.

For not being able to handle the impossible implications of my own eternal existence. The apocalypse, our fate, Lucifer’s cruelty ...

All of it.

Not to mention I’m still furious with him for even agreeing to open the freaking seals for Michael in the first place.

I thought things would be so much better if I had more understanding of what he was doing, but now ...

Now I’m simply worried in a whole new way.

“You can look up now, little dove.”

I lift my head, trying to infuse the look I give him with all my confusion for why he’s keeping me at arm’s length, but then my gaze falls to the way his left leg drags slightly, to how he keeps his elbow tucked too close—like he’s trying to cradle a hidden wound in his ribs—and instead the emotion that lies beneath my uncertainty bubbles over, and my eyes begin to water unexpectedly.

The anxiety. The hurt. The worry. It’s all there.

I blink, trying to push my feelings away, but that only sends several tears cascading down my cheeks. “Are you all right?”

He’s hurt. I can feel it.

And our connection is weak, barely hanging on by a thread.

Lucifer goes still. He’s standing near the rack a few feet from me, his suit coat hanging from one of the pegs.

His tie is stripped off, and the first several buttons on his shirt are loosened, so that, even with his suspenders overtop, I can still see several of his tattoos peeking out from beneath.

Somehow, the thought of them, of all those tempting thoughts inside my head as I trained this morning with Azrael, only makes the tears come harder.

“Charlotte,” he breathes.

“Last night I saw the sky open. Azrael said you had—”

He curses under his breath. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” he says, his tone sharpening.

I flinch, my chin trembling like he’s slapped me. “Right. I almost forgot. I’m just your paid whore.”

Lucifer tenses, his whole body tight as a bowstring.

He hangs his head as he leans overtop the new bondage table, using his arms to support his weight.

“Give me a color,” he says, before we’ve started the scene. Before I’ve even changed into my actual play collar.

“Red,” I mumble.

My tears come hard and fast, though I stay silent, unmoving.

Lucifer crouches in front of me, tipping my chin up so that I’m forced to look at him. “Where do we go from here, darling?” he whispers.

There’s so much more loaded in his words than what he’s asking me, but I have no idea where to begin. It feels like there’s been so many cosmic fractures between us, we might as well be shouting at each other from opposite sides of the universe. Each of us fighting desperately to be heard.

But we have to start somewhere, to try to heal this, heal us.

No matter how angry I am with him, how much I may hate what he’s done, I still love him.

I will always love him.

That’s why I jumped off that ledge, I think.

With the ridiculous hope that somehow, he’d be there to catch me.

In all the ways he’s failed to catch me before.

Choose me over what he believes is his destiny.

My immortal body isn’t the only thing that needs his protection.

And my heart is the one thing he can’t keep under lock and key.

Due to all the ways he continues to try and guard himself from me.

The silent admission sends a fresh round of grief rolling through me, a sense of powerlessness that’s so similar to freefall, it makes my ribs ache.

Regardless of what he does, I think that’ll always be true, unfortunately.

That I love him.

I’m not sure there’s anything he could ever do that would make me push him away.

To make me abandon him like both our fathers did to us.

I shrug weakly, uncertain where to begin. “Mia,” I mumble, sniffling from where I’m now close to ugly crying.

God, why is that the first thing that pops out of my mouth?

It’s so insignificant, childish really.

Maybe because his reassurance is all you need to rebuild, a small voice inside me says.

All my nerves seem to fire at once.

I need to know that, amid the chaos, he’s the one rock that cannot be moved.

My mountain. My North Star. My constant.

Conquer me. Love me. Keep me safe. Even when I try to push you away, I need you to catch me, hold me. No matter how I’m falling apart, I send down the line between us.

But he doesn’t seem to hear me.

“Mia?” he asks, lifting a brow like he doesn’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about.

I stammer. “You ... her ... she ...” I can’t string the words together, so instead I let out an embarrassing sniffle.

Ugh, why do I have to wear my emotions on my sleeve?

But Lucifer doesn’t bat a lash at my ridiculous blubbering.

Instead, he scoops me into his arms—wincing a little in a way that makes me even more worried he’s injured and keeping it from me—and carries me to his devil’s chair. He unceremoniously flops down in it, settling me onto his lap like he’s a king and I’m his consort.

I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck eagerly as he strokes a hand through my hair like he does during aftercare.

“I’m worried about you. Last night. This morning.”

“I’m fine, Charlotte.” Though there’s something incredibly tense about the way he says it that doesn’t ease my worries.

“And you would tell me if you weren’t?”

He doesn’t answer. “I’m more concerned about you. Talk to me.” His words are a whisper, less of an order and more of a plea.

Like he needs our connection almost as much as I do.

He’s so much better at this than he could ever realize. When he wants to be.

“Mia said something that sort of implied or made me think that, before I was around, that maybe the two of you used to ...” My voice trails off.

“You think she and I were together?” he asks, his tone both amused and shocked, like even the idea is one of the most ridiculous things he’s ever heard.

“Yes?” I admit, sniffling. “Well, I did until you just responded like that, but it’s not like we’ve ever actually talked about what your life was like before we—”

“Charlotte.” Lucifer grips my chin again, silencing my nervous rambling with a single brush of his lips.

“There is no one for me other than you. There will never be anyone other than you. You’re my dove.

My light in the dark. My past, my present, my future.

I would give up anything for you. Do you understand? ”

His words feel charged like there’s a deeper meaning cloaked just beneath the surface, but I don’t bother to ask him what it is. He likely wouldn’t tell me anyway.

I nod before I snuggle into his chest, causing him to grimace slightly, like he’s somehow in pain, but my relief is so thorough, I feel lighter without the weight of it.

Maybe this is all we need. To connect. To hear one another.

To trust each other completely.

He kisses me then, and as his lips meet mine, his tongue parting and exploring me, something unexpected comes alive inside me.

Effervescent. Like stardust.

Like hope.

When Lucifer finally releases me, my lips are swollen pink and my position in his lap has changed so that I’m now straddling him, rocking my hips against his growing erection greedily.

He grips my ass with both hands, guiding me. “Shall we resume our roles, my love?”

“Yes.”

I open his fly, and we both let out a shared groan as he lifts me up and I slide down, fully seating myself on his length.

“Tonight, I want you to make me forget.”