Chapter 17 #3
My hands are shaking as I gather the black fabric and drag it slowly up my legs, bunching it around my waist. The air hits my bare thighs, and goosebumps erupt across my skin.
“Now take your panties off.”
“Lucifer—”
“Do it, Jess.”
His voice drops an octave lower, and every rational thought flees my mind. I lift my hips and hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my thighs, past my knees, over my ankles. The fabric is soaked, and I’m mortified by how obvious it is.
Lucifer drops to one knee and plucks the panties from the floor. He holds them for a moment, his thumb pressing against the damp center, and something flashes in his eyes. Then he shoves them into the inside pocket of his cut.
He stays on his knee, and his hands come to my calves. His palms are rough, calloused, and they slide up my legs with agonizing slowness, tracing every ridge and valley of scarred skin. He doesn’t flinch.
When he reaches my knees, his fingers curl around them, and he pushes them apart. I let them fall open, and the cool air hits my pussy, making me shiver.
“Look at this gorgeous cunt,” he breathes, and the word sends a shockwave through me. His eyes are fixed between my thighs, and I’ve never felt more seen, more exposed, more completely undone. “It would look so pretty full of my cock.”
He leans forward, and I hold my breath, waiting for the contact I’ve been craving for weeks. But he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he drags his nose up the inside of my thigh, the stubble of his jaw grazing my skin, his breath hot against me. He stops just short of where I need him most, and I whimper.
Then he rises to his feet. His gaze cuts to the window for a moment, and when he looks back at me, his expression is feral.
“I want you to fuck yourself with your fingers,” he says gruffly. “And I want you to imagine they can all see you.”
My chest heaves. My thighs are trembling. I glance at the window, at the blur of bodies and movement just beyond it, and something hot and forbidden rolls in my belly.
“Do it,” he growls.
I bring my hand between my legs, and the first touch of my fingers against my clit draws a shaky gasp from my throat. I’m so wet that my fingers slide easily, and I circle the swollen bud, my hips lifting off the table involuntarily.
Lucifer watches, his arms crossed against his chest. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Look at the window while you do it.”
I turn my head, and through the glass, I can see Nightmare finishing with the blonde, pulling out and adjusting his jeans. I can see Dread laughing at something the redhead says. I can see Homeboy leaning against the bar, scanning the room like he’s looking for someone.
They’re clueless.
The thought sends a bolt of electricity straight through me, and I slide two fingers inside myself, my back arching off the table as a moan escapes my lips.
Lucifer’s hand shoots out and grips my thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. “Louder,” he demands. “I want to hear you.”
I gasp as I curl my fingers, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur. The sound I make this time is obscene, and it bounces off the chapel walls.
“That’s it, baby. I want that pussy dripping all over my table.” His thumb traces a slow circle on my inner thigh.
I pump my fingers faster, my other hand gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turn white.
“Look at me,” Lucifer says, and I drag my gaze away from the window to find him staring at me with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs. “When you come, you look at me. Not them. Me.”
I nod, unable to form words as the pressure builds, coiling tighter at the base of my spine. My fingers are slick, the sound of them moving inside me filling the chapel, and Lucifer’s grip on my thigh tightens, his breathing ragged.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers.
His praise sends me over the edge. I cry out, my back bowing off the table as my orgasm hits me, and through it all, I keep my eyes locked on his. He watches me with those dark eyes while I fall apart on the oak table in his chapel.
When the last tremor passes, I collapse back onto the oak, my chest heaving, my fingers still buried inside me.
The room spins slowly, and I’m vaguely aware of the music still thumping beyond the chapel walls.
I force myself to sit up just as Lucifer reaches between my legs and wraps his hand around my wrist, pulling my fingers free.
He brings them to his mouth, and without breaking eye contact, he slides my fingers between his lips and sucks them clean.
A low, guttural groan rips past his lips, and it’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“A man can get addicted to this cunt, baby,” he says against my fingertips, and then he releases my hand and steps back, adjusting himself through his jeans.
“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll take you home.”
I blink. “What? No.”
“It’s been a long day, Jess. And this party ain’t ending anytime soon. They can serve their own drinks.”
“It’s not like I sleep anyway.”
Concern flits across his face. “Are you still having nightmares?”
I shrug, because I don’t want to have this conversation, not with my body still humming from what he just did to me. “I actually don’t know. I just—I’m afraid I’m going to have one and Poppy will wake up. So, I try to sleep when they’re not home.”
His expression grows serious, that hard set to his jaw that means he’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. “You can’t go on like that. You need sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“Jess.” His voice drops. “It’s been months.”
“I know.” I cross my arms. “I’m used to it.”
His jaw ticks. “You’re sleeping in my room tonight. You don’t have to worry about waking anyone.”
I open my mouth to protest, but adrenaline from the orgasm is already draining out of me, leaving me exhausted.
So I relent and let him take my hand. He escorts me out of the chapel, down the hallway, past the noise and the laughter.
He pushes the door open to his room and immediately moves to the bed.
I watch as he pulls back the comforter, then steps aside.
“Do you want something to sleep in?”
I shake my head. “I normally just sleep in a tank top and a pair of panties.” I cock my head, looking at him. “Speaking of which—are you going to give those back?”
“Not a chance.”
He reaches for the waistband of my skirt and pulls it down over my hips, his knuckles brushing my bare skin. “You don’t need panties. Get in bed.”
I roll my eyes, but I climb in anyway. The sheets are cool and clean, and I sink into the mattress. My gaze moves back to him, and he’s just standing beside the bed.
“Well? Aren’t you going to join me?
He hesitates, looking down at me with that unreadable expression. Then he shrugs out of his cut and hangs it on the bedpost. He sits on the edge of the mattress and works his boots off, one at a time, dropping them to the floor. Then he climbs in beside me.
I can feel the heat radiating off him, the solid weight of him settling into the mattress.
“Do you always sleep with your clothes on?”
“No.”
“Why tonight?”
“Go to bed, Jess.”
He turns into me, and his arm slides around my stomach—firm, possessive, warm. He pulls me flush against him, my back to his chest, and I feel his breath stir my hair. His body is a wall of heat at my back, and for the first time in months, I close my eyes and let sleep claim me.