Chapter Seventy-Nine Lucifer
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Lucifer
When Azrael and I have finished working over my wife one at a time, as gently and carefully as possible for her and our child’s shared safety, I lead them back to the bedroom for aftercare.
Azrael kicks the bedroom door open, prowling inside like the absolute brute he is, before I can stop either of them from seeing what a disaster they’ve made me.
Charlotte’s eyes go wide in shock, since clearly the maids haven’t yet been in, and Azrael, the devious bastard, starts laughing so hard, I don’t think I’ve seen him this gleeful in all our days.
“I . . . might be working through some things.” I paw sheepishly at the back of my neck.
Various infant paraphernalia is scattered about our room: an assortment of bottles, varying sizes of designer baby clothing, and a half-assembled crib with instructions that are written in a language even I seem incapable of understanding.
“Oh, Lucifer.” Charlotte sighs, but she smiles up at me.
“Don’t.” I lift a hand, silencing them. “Do not say anything. Either one of you. Do you hear me?” Azrael is still chuckling like he doesn’t need to breathe, which he doesn’t.
I rake a rough hand through my hair. “I’m well aware this is the one area of our lives where I have no idea what I’m doing, and if I turn out to be anything like my own Father, I’m going to be awful at it, despite my enthusiasm. ”
Charlotte’s gaze softens. “You’re not going to be—”
I shoot her a warning look.
“Sorry, sir,” she mutters, suppressing a grin.
Azrael finally settles, shaking his head at me. “It’s all right, Lightbringer. You can tell us what you’re going through.”
I glance between them, tempted to stuff it down, to lie through my teeth like I always have, to make everyone believe there is nothing that ever terrifies me.
But I don’t have it in me to put up a front anymore.
I let out a frustrated snarl, my shadows whipping about the room as I start to pace. “How am I supposed to be a bloody father when I’ve barely begun to work through my issues with my own Father? This is torture, honestly.”
My wife and Azrael exchange a meaningful look.
“What?”
I don’t much appreciate the devilish gleam in their eyes.
Charlotte hesitates, but then Azrael gives her an encouraging nod, and she extends a hand to me. “I think I might have an idea of how you could work through some of those issues, sir.”
It’s two days later, and after much negotiating and a lot of grumbling on my part, the tables have turned considerably.
I sit on my devil’s chair inside the playroom, waiting for my wife to make an appearance.
Azrael stands at my side, already at the ready, stripped down to nothing but his jeans.
If I have my way, they won’t be staying on for long.
But my wife is the one who’s in charge today.
When Charlotte sweeps into the room, she’s wearing a gauzy black nightgown that covers her almost completely, but when she strips it off, depositing it onto one of the play benches, it reveals the fetish gear she has on beneath.
I growl appreciatively.
Azrael just snarls, “Quiet, cumslut.”
But he’s not talking to Charlotte.
He’s talking to me.
I crack my neck, a wide, devious grin on my lips, as I lean back in my chair. “Is that the best you’ve got, Reaper?” I sneer up at him. “Punish me like you mean it.”
“Oh, he’s going to,” my wife says, her Prada heels clicking against the playroom’s floor as she comes to stand in front of me.
She’s holding a riding crop, and my cock stiffens as she uses it to tip my chin toward her, the devilish hellfire in her eyes gleaming as she purrs, “Tonight, you will call me Lady Death.”