Page 75 of Wicked Believer
Though neither of us is close to calling the scene yet.
Playtime has only just started.
With a few quick movements, he releases me, my bindings falling overtop the table and onto the floor just as one of the legs finally cracks and gives out beneath me.
Lucifer catches me, holding my limp body in place and lifting me into his arms before he seamlessly carries me and drops down into his devil’s chair.
I reach for him shortly thereafter, once I’ve regained strength in my limbs, sliding down his lap and snuggling my head onto his shoe and gazing up at where he sits above me.
“Was I good enough, sir?” I whisper, placing my hands on both of his muscled thighs as I lift myself with shaky limbs to rest my head there.
So close to where I want to be.
“So good, little dove,” he purrs.
I stare up at him. “Sir?” I pout, practically begging.
“All right, darling.” He chuckles, his head lolling back as I start to remove his unbuckled belt now that I have permission, working to get him hard once more. “Consider this your reward for taking my cock like a fucking dream.”
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.”
“Thisbeing 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.
