3. Lucifer
THREE
Lucifer
I ’ve been sitting in front of a computer screen, drink in hand for over three hours, unraveling the longer I wait. It’s been two days since Izzy crossed into my world. Forty-eight hours since I watched her fuck herself into a trembling, wanton mess, and I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything since.
I revoked access to Lucifer for everyone else but her after that, a gut reaction I didn’t see coming. I love toying with people. It’s my whole reason for being on ClickBait. I enjoy the chase more than the catch, and it intrigues me to watch all my mice scurry through my crafted mazes. I get off on seeing how frantic I can make them before they give up.
Most tap out within the first few paragraphs.
That’s why Lucifer belongs to me and only me.
I don’t bother with the weaker personas. They don’t interest me. Let one of the younger men with less complex proclivities titillate the mundane and inhibited. I prefer interacting with the ones who aren’t afraid to dance with the Devil.
Admittedly, those brave souls are few and far between, but when one challenges the dark, the conversations are delicious. Women get off on the fantasy of being dominated by the Devil, and I get entertained for a bit before getting bored and moving on.
Until her.
Until the sun finally shone on the damned and led Izzy to me. Her tepid courage drove a spike into my demented soul, and I became obsessed. The image of her submitting to my commands was worth every cold shower and late night spent hating myself for wanting it.
And the moment she came…
Groaning, I reach down and stroke my swollen cock. Its rage at still being confined behind my zipper is palpable, but I wanted to wait for my little sinner to let go of the inevitable shame that’s keeping her away and wander back into the dark.
I glance at my watch for what feels like the tenth time in ten minutes.
Where the hell is she?
I know she’s not at that vanilla dick ex-boyfriend’s house. I’ve already clocked that asshole’s whole routine. Fletcher Stanley has the awareness of a fucking traffic cone. I followed him around town, all but riding his bumper for an hour, and the idiot had no clue. It took all I had not to slam into the back of him and turn him and that assembly-line Audi of his into landfill.
He deserves worse for what he did to Izzy, and I’m not just talking about tossing her out like trash after sticking his limp dick in the help. Three years with that piece of shit gave her a case of distorted mirror syndrome. Believing all his lies and put-downs manifested in a serious lack of confidence and self-worth.
That shit ends today. That waste of space is about to get a lesson in crossing the Devil.
I smile as my phone ignites with a two-word text.
It’s done.
I suspect Fletcher Stanley is seriously regretting his life choices right about now.
My gaze flicks back to my idle computer screen, my patience thinning. Izzy is about to regret hers as well. She took my deal, which means I own her and that sweet cunt. If I want her spread eagle at a gas station at ten o’clock in the morning, she’d better fucking have that gas pump primed and ready.
Not really, but damn, does the mental image turn my cock to stone.
“Fuck it.” Tearing at the button on my pants, I slide my zipper down just as a message appears.
Lucifer? Are you there?
A slow smile peels across my face, my hands shifting to the keyboard.
What’s wrong, love? Did I scare you away?
The three dots start, then stop, then start again.
I was busy.
Liar. You’ve been hiding out in a gilded mansion, trying to convince yourself the big, bad Devil tricked you into debauchery instead of admitting you jumped in with your legs wide open.
You aren’t the only name on my dance card, love. I’m Lucifer. I don’t sit around waiting on timid mice to decide they have what it takes to satisfy me. There are plenty of others who’d happily surrender their last breath for the honor.
Every word was true a few days ago, but that’s all changed.
Fucking inconvenient obsession.
I’m sorry, I…
I don’t wait for her to offer some half-assed, bullshit excuse.
Our contract is written in blood, Izzy. This is your last warning. Ignore me again, and I’ll show you how fucking unhinged the Devil can be.
That may have taken it over the line but fuck it . This is what she signed up for. Women don’t role play with the Devil expecting to be woo’ed. They want the illusion of fear and domination.
Izzy Hawthorne is about to get her money’s worth.
Downing what’s left in my glass, I grab the crystal decanter on the edge of my desk and fill it to the rim with my favorite Double Eagle Rare. I get it halfway to my mouth when her message appears on the screen.
Yes, sir.
I white-knuckle the glass.
Fuck me.
Seeing those two words is the equivalent of waving a red flag at a raging bull. They knock me into dangerous territory. I’ve wanted her too long to trust myself not to break her. I have to keep the darkest parts of me contained until I have her bound so tightly to me there’s no chance of escape.
I drain the glass in one, then slam it beside my laptop and get to work.
Good girl. Are you ready to please your master?
Yes, sir.
My cock strains against my boxers as I type the link along with an instruction into the message box and hit send.
Turn on your camera.
There’s no response. No argument, no dots, just stone cold silence. I’m disappointed. If she thinks I’m going to let her continue to think she’s getting off to my commands without an audience, she didn’t read the fine print.
You want to watch me?
Yes.
Is that your kink?
I chuckle. She’s too much of a flight risk to know my kink.
No.
I wait out another morality crisis.
Doesn’t that violate ClickBait rules?
Fuck the rules.
The only ones that matter are mine.
How do I know you’ll keep it to yourself?
Because I’d burn the world before letting it see an inch of her porcelain skin.
You don’t. Trust goes both ways, love.
The silence on her end is doing dangerous things to my head, when a reply appears.
I don’t know.
Time for some tough love.
You have twenty seconds to click that link, or I find a new plaything.
I’ve barely hit send before those dots bounce.
No! I’ll do it. Just give me a second to figure it out.
I pour another drink while I wait, my tongue sliding across my teeth in rapt anticipation. At the twenty-second mark, I’m too impatient and reach for the keyboard, when a square screen pops up.
All the air rushes out of my lungs.
Izzy is sitting cross-legged on a pristine white comforter in the mansion she feels she doesn’t belong. It’s a ridiculous notion. She owns every room she walks into and claims every eye.
Especially mine.
She has her long dark brown hair pulled back in another one of those damn ponytails. However, I’m pleased to see she’s traded her usual T-shirt and jeans for a simple, white cotton dress. I groan, the ache between my legs intensifying.
Holy hell, if I don’t get on with this, my balls might explode.
Good girl. Take off your dress.
Her eyes widen, her hands hesitating before reaching for the keyboard.
All the way?
Yes. Don’t question me again.
Her hands shake as she grips the hem of her dress, swallowing hard before pulling it up and over her head. Mother of Christ… I tilt my head back and close my eyes for a moment, imprinting the image into memory.
She’s bare underneath. It’s my breaking point. I can’t hold back anymore.
Sinking my hand into my boxers, I fist my heavy cock and pull it free from its confines. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to watch tears spill from those beautiful brown eyes as I shoved it down Izzy’s throat.
Soon.
Pinch your nipple and tease your clit.
I watch with bated breath as she drags one hand up to a full breast and tugs on her nipple while her other hand slides down to her pussy, her finger dipping inside to draw tight circles. At her first little whimper, I’m done. My hand drops back to my cock, and I take a punishing hold and pump like it wronged me.
I’m close to coming and nowhere near ready for it. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to let go, the loss and ache causing me to slam my fist onto the wood before reaching for the keyboard.
That’s when I see the empty tequila bottle next to her bed and smile.
God, I’m a sick, demented fuck.
Take that bottle next to the bed and prove you can take me.
It’s a fucked-up request, even for me. I fully expect her to flip off the camera, then turn it off. Instead, she bites her lip and glances over her shoulder, staring at it for a moment before slowly sliding it off the nightstand.
Shit…
The moment the neck slips inside, I almost blow. The deeper it sinks, the darker my thoughts become, the sweet sounds of my puppet dancing filling my ears.
I drive my hand back to my cock, stroking like my life depends on it. The moment Izzy’s cry breaks free, I lose all hold on my sanity. My jaw clenches, and I throw my head back and groan as cum spills onto my hand, leg, desk, and fuck knows what else.
When oxygen finally re-enters my brain, I see Izzy collapse onto her back, eyes glazed. But unlike last time, there’s a dirty, little smile on her face.
That’s when I decide I’m done hiding behind a screen.
It’s time for the Devil to show his cards.