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Chloe rides the elevator in silence, nervous anticipation thrumming through her body.
She had been anxious anyway, the weight of what had happened with the axe burning through her, but her nerves have been heightened after slipping past Kinley as she entered Lux.
His smug smile as they brushed shoulders told her all she needed to know.
Angry that she had refused to go through with his evil plan, he must have told Lucifer everything.
Now she knows why he never replied to her tentative ‘I’m sorry. Make-up date? :)’ text.
As the elevator takes her up and cold dread sinks to the pit of her stomach, she tries to imagine how he must be feeling.
She knows he’ll be angry. She thinks he’ll be hurt. Maybe he’ll say he hates her.
He probably won’t mean it, spat in the heat of an argument, but still—
It’ll stick.
Her throat feels thick with emotion, like there’s a heavy, dry stone resting there that she just can’t swallow past.
She needs a drink.
She knows he’ll give one to her.
Now, with the image of that axe pressing into his skin, she knows he’ll give her anything.
She feels so sad. So very guilty. But mostly, she feels cautiously excited, because she knows now that the secret feelings she’s been harbouring for so long are returned.
She knows he cares about her. She just hopes her fear, her betrayal, hasn’t burned it out of him. She hopes she isn’t too late.
When the elevator doors open, chiming her arrival, she’s surprised to see Lucifer just standing in the middle of the penthouse, shirt open and fingers tracing the axe’s indent on his sternum. He glances to her slowly with a raised brow, his hand falling back to his side.
He doesn’t speak.
Not as she steps into the penthouse.
Not as the elevator doors rasp shut behind her.
She doesn’t speak either. She just takes steady steps until she’s standing in-front of him, the height difference meaning she has to lift her chin and stretch her neck a little to look at him. He’s so tall, and strong, and he angles his face to look at her, but never down. She is his equal.
He’s the devil, she knows that now.
But not to her.
She needs to tell him.
Hesitantly, as though approaching an easily startled deer about to bolt, she brings her hand up to touch her fingertips to his chest. Just like she did earlier tonight. And just like before, she feels his sharp inhale of breath. She sees him clench the strong line of his jaw, calmly tipping his chin up, just watching her watch him. Moonlight streams in through the glass balcony doors, casting parts of his handsome face in shadow, and bathing others in soft, red light.
He’s so beautiful, otherworldly so, she wonders how she ever thought he was human.
There’s no blood under her fingertips. There’s not even a scar. Just a little hollow where she had pressed the blade in, testing his vulnerability, his willingness to be cut open and laid bare for her.
And she had been plotting to send him back to Hell in return…
She shakes her head, stopping the flood of shame before it can sweep her under. It does no good to wallow in it now.
It’s silent for a moment, as she takes him in and he lets her, before he asks very simply—
“Is it true?”
Her jaw trembles.
He reads her answer in the aching silence.
He stares at her for one single, heart-breaking beat, before his face turns frighteningly blank.
Pain clenches at her chest as he drags his eyes away from her and averts his gaze.
“You remember what I said… the night on the balcony when we kissed?” she asks quietly, fingers still drifting idly over his skin, the gap between his open, deep burgundy shirt.
He doesn’t answer.
"I am the Devil."
"No, you’re not," even if he doesn’t, she remembers, "not to me."
“I meant it,” she whispers, “I just got so lost.”
He still doesn’t reply, doesn’t answer, and there’s so much space between them. There’s so much more than physical distance stretching out, aching and painful. She needs to get to him again.
She tells herself to be brave. He gave so much of himself tonight, it’s only fair she repays the favour.
“I shouldn’t have listened to Kinley. For a minute, I was… I was plotting to send you back to Hell,” she admits and doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that sweeps over his face, “I let him manipulate me because I was afraid… not only of you, but the way you made me feel. Maze said Linda handled it better, but I don’t think that’s fair. Linda never felt for you the way I feel for you.”
This intense, fragile, amazing feeling… as terrifying as it is exciting. Having feelings for him, having fallen for him… it made it so much more complicated.
She’s only human, and it’s a lot—a lot—to deal with.
“But Lucifer, I’m sorry,” she whispers, fingers still pressed against his sternum, and she hates how her voice breaks, “I am so sorry… and I’m not afraid anymore. I know what we have is real, and that you would never hurt me. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I know that doesn’t mean—” that you forgive me, “—well, it doesn’t mean anything really… but I just thought that you should know.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks.
He’s not looking at her, eyes staring at a spot behind her.
But he’s not moving away either.
“Please say something,” she whispers, begs, tears stinging behind her eyes.
Finally, finally, his dark eyes flicker to hers.
And he says—
“It’s alright.”
She freezes.
“What?”
“It’s alright, Detective,” he murmurs again, gently covering her hand with his, “I forgive you.”
Warm fingers wrap around hers and he gives them a squeeze before he anchors their hands to his chest.
“What?” she breathes again, “but you… you can’t. It’s too much.”
The corner of his mouth twitches into a melancholy smile—a tiny glimpse of the old him, resurrected.
“Well, I do, and I’m afraid you’re just going to have to live with it.”
With that soft smile dancing on his lips, she knows he means live with him forgiving her… but she’ll need to live with what she’s done too.
She’ll need to forgive herself.
She swallows, the emotion swelling inside her finally breaking through. Tears begin to slip from her eyes, because this man would literally die for her, and how had she repaid him? Lifting the hand not holding hers to his chest, his thumb wipes the tears away from her flushed cheek.
“If I pushed this into your chest… it would kill you?”
“But I hurt you,” she whispers, ashamed.
“Yes.”
“Yes,” he confirms.
“Because I’m close to you.”
“I betrayed you.”
"Yes.”
“Yes.”
“But you jumped in-front of it anyway.”
“But you forgive me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Chloe sighs, a tremulous breath escaping her lips. She feels grateful, and overwhelmed, and so many other emotions she can’t even begin to decipher. Watching blood drip like rubies from his chest, she had apologised, and she apologises again now.
“I’m sorry.”
“I told you,” he murmurs, “I forgive you.”
“But why?”
His hand lets go of hers and her fingers ache from the loss. But then, with his index finger under her chin, he’s gently tipping her face up to look at him.
“I think you know why,” he says lowly.
Heat licks between her thighs.
She feels a little delirious, dizzy, when his eyes drop like an anchor to her lips.
She thinks it's like when you’ve wanted something for so long, you start to believe you’ll never get it, and now it doesn’t feel real. The mood in the room shifts, all the energy pulsing towards them. The air burns white hot with it.
As they both move closer, pulled in by gravity, she’s not sure who closes the gap.
All she knows is that someone does—and then they’re kissing.
His mouth is on hers, and hers is on his, and it’s nothing like the two chaste kisses they’ve shared in the past. This kiss is deep and sensual, his tongue wasting no time in licking into her mouth. With a shaky sigh, she meets it with her own, tangling hot and slippery slick.
He’s a good kisser, as she knew he would be. He knows exactly how much pressure to use, how much tongue, and with every hot glide, heat snaps more insistently at her heels.
His hands slide up to cup her face. Her own hands grip the shirt at his sides in tight fists. The action makes it gape open wider, revealing more of his chiselled chest, the skin nearly sliced open in a sacrifice he didn’t think twice to make.
He shivers, then his top lip curls, as her nails scrape over his chest.
He captures her bottom lip between his teeth and tugs it with a thick growl. The sound, and sensation, traces a shudder down her spine. She can tell her lips are red and kiss-swollen, but she doesn’t care.
It makes her feel alive.
He makes her feel alive.
Soft forgiveness turns to heated passion, and perhaps even a little anger. She feels it roll off him in waves, heady and powerful.
Urgent fingers bite at her waist as he walks her backwards. A hand on the back of her head absorbs the impact when he pushes her none too gently against the wall. She rips her mouth away from his with a gasp, pupils blown to black, flames licking between her legs.
“Tell me, Detective,” he purrs with a hand slinking its way to her throat, silken voice sinfully low, “what’s brought on this little change of heart?”
She swallows, eyelids fluttering as his mouth dips to her neck, and how is she supposed to answer when his tongue is doing that?
“The axe,” she gasps as his hips start to rock against her, “I saw… saw what you were willing to do for me. The moment forced me to see you as you again. Not the Devil. Just my partner.”
“What I saw…” guilt lashes at her along with the memory, “…was my partner.”
“Mmm,” there’s a mocking, almost cruel edge to his unimpressed hum, “I’ve heard that before.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I was wrong. I know that now.”
“Now you know that I would die for you?” the bluntness in his cool voice, coupled with the scrape of his teeth at her earlobe, has another shudder racing down her spine.
“Bleed for you,” he adds, biting his way down her neck.
Her fingers thread through his curls, freeing them from product, as he ventures further down.
“Kill for you,” he punctuates with a kiss over the hollow of her throat, pausing to suck a bloom into her skin. She doesn’t care about the marks. Something wild and possessive flaring to life inside her, she craves them.
His strong hands ghost over her breasts before he lowers himself to the floor.
“Kneel for you.”
He turns his face into her hand, laying a reverent kiss on her palm.
There’s so much admiration, so much awe and devotion, in that simple press of his lips to her skin that it makes her shiver. It makes her feel powerful… strong… seeing the devil on his knees for her.
“Detective, I would do anything for you,” he murmurs softly, dark eyes tilting up and finding hers, “don’t you know that by now?”
“Don’t you know that, Detective?”
Her eyes start to burn and a sob wells in her throat.
His gaze is dark and sinful, the tempter in the garden, but there’s also something pleading glimmering behind it. He looks like he wants her to get to a conclusion, a truth she should have known years ago.
He started working with her because he was lonely, despite never being alone.
He kept working with her because he enjoyed it, and he’s vulnerable around her because he wants to be more human.
For her.
She doesn’t know why she’s denied herself this for so long. And when his talented fingers dance at the button of her pants, she hates herself a little for making them wait even longer, but it has to be said.
“You’re so good, Lucifer,” she whispers, one hand resting on his broad shoulder and the fingers of the other carding softly through his hair.
His dark eyes flit up, his lips parting in surprise.
“You think you’re not worth it, because you’re not a good man and you don’t deserve to be loved,” she starts, her voice hitching on a tremble, “but you are a good man, and you do deserve to be loved.”
He exhales, turning his face into her thigh. Her palm slides from his shoulder to his cheek and he’s trembling too.
She tips his face to look at her. No more hiding, not anymore.
“Let me show you.”
He nods, his handsome face heartbreakingly open for her. He’s so desperate to please her, desperate for any scraps of her affection. She bends to bring him to her level, but apparently to him, her saying she wants to show him actually means he’s going to show her.
He stands only long enough to pull her shirt over her head and unclasp her bra with quick, nimble fingers. Only long enough to get his hot tongue on a nipple, grazing his teeth over it and sending electric shocks through her body that have her tipping her head against the wall with a gasp. Only long enough to get her top half naked, she realises, until he’s on his knees again.
His fingers are agile and sure as he flicks her pants open and draws the zipper down.
Where she shakes with nerves, he is steady. Calm. This is his domain.
He glides the material down until they pool at her ankles and she carelessly kicks them away. Then she’s standing before him in just a scrap of white cotton. They’re what Maze would call granny pants, and certainly nothing sexy, but Lucifer’s blown eyes take her in like she’s the apple from the garden itself.
He leans in and grazes his nose against her, inhaling. He must feel how wet she is, how positively dripping already, because he groans into the damp fabric at the apex of her thighs.
“Fuck, Chloe,” his use of her name is almost as affecting as his bitten off curse, “I’ve dreamt of you. That you would come to me. So many stupid crime scenes, wishing you’d turn up.”
She knows. Ella had told her. Told her how he’d carelessly lift the yellow tape up, inserting himself into their day in that obnoxiously charming way. Told her how he’d make some jokes, croon a few hellos and make a few girls blush, and then promptly leave as soon as he knew she wasn’t coming.
“I’m here now,” she whispers, because she is, and they are, finally.
The words seem to spur something inside him, perhaps a worry that she won’t be, that she’ll leave again. He doesn’t waste any more time waiting to find out. He just leans in and places a kiss over her covered clit.
“Lucifer,” she sighs, hips tilting urgently towards him.
He hums in response, strong hands gliding tantalisingly, teasingly, up her calves. The steel of his ring is a cool balm against her heated skin as he rasps his palms up to her thighs. He must feel the wetness gathered there, shimmering urgently in the moonlight, because he peppers the skin with kisses, and then nudges them apart.
She’s close to begging by the time he hooks a finger around the crotch of her panties and puts his mouth to her cunt. She keens, half a moan, half a choked grunt falling from her lips as she tips her head back. Her hand flies to his hair again, tugging the loosened curls with such force it makes him growl. She feels it reverberate against her, something hot and primal.
And oh, he’s good at this too. Of course he is. His tongue traces circles and patterns that have stars exploding behind her eyes. Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she risks a glance down and she shivers. There’s just something about him being mostly clothed in his trousers and open shirt, while she’s completely bare.
Spurred on by perhaps her moans, perhaps her taste, he suddenly growls and hooks his thumb around her panties. He yanks the fabric harder to the side, his fingers digging urgently around her thigh and into her ass. He mouths at her harder, tongue licking up and down her slit. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as sharp teeth graze her throbbing clit.
He eventually grows impatient and rips the fabric off her altogether.
Chloe gasps as the torn shreds flutter to the floor.
Her chest is tight as the lewd sounds of licking and sucking fill the penthouse. It’s still a bit difficult for her mind to comprehend, standing here with Lucifer Morningstar’s head moving between her legs. So many years of built up sexual tension wind like tight coils inside her.
He latches his lips to her clit and gives it a hard suck. She whines, hips arching into his face, riding him, no longer shy about taking her pleasure. He groans into it too, almost whining, like it's all he's wanted for so very long.
As he licks at her, one hand snakes up her flushed body. His ring scrapes against the soft skin of her belly, up her sternum, to her chin as two fingers tap against her lips. She gets the hint and lets them part, eagerly accepting his fingers. He glides them into her mouth, presses down on her tongue, and once sufficiently wet, he brings them down again and wastes no time in pushing them inside her.
She moans, clenching around the digits. Her toes curl into the floor as her peak builds, thighs starting to tremble.
Even with his mouth full, he’s not a quiet lover.
The utterly obscene sounds he makes, all thick growls and desperate groans, stoke her desire to unbelievable heights. She revels in being able to affect him like this.
“Please,” she moans, “Lucifer, please.”
“Come for me,” he demands in reply, voice thick and low.
She obeys, body bowing before it snaps. Her orgasm rushes over her with a force that shakes her whole body, thighs trembling around his head as he coaxes her through it. When she finally comes back down to earth, he’s waiting patiently, lips and chin glistening in the pale moonlight.
He stands.
His eyes are black and wild.
She swallows.
“I hope you realise…” he starts in a low husk, throat thick with her, “now I’ve tasted you, I’m not letting you go.”
She shivers.
“Promise?”
His wet mouth tips into a lewd grin.
“Oh Detective,” he purrs, winding an arm around her waist and pulling her into him, “there are a great many things I could promise you, if only you'd let me.”
“Yes,” she whispers, because he has her wholehearted consent, “yes, I’ll let you.”
He arches a brow and loosely pinches her chin with his thumb and index finger. He tips her face up and turns it slightly, dark eyes drifting over her as though he’s merely surveying.
When he speaks, his voice is a rumbling purr.
“Because…?”
She fights the urge to cower under his unyielding gaze, to buckle under the test.
She knows what he wants and she wants to give it to him.
She wants to give him everything.
“Because I’m yours.”
His top lip curls, a low snarl rumbling from his chest. He brings her in tighter, drawing a gasp from her, as the power of universes flow through his hands.
“Mine,” he growls, and captures her mouth in a fierce kiss again.
She gasps into it, hands scrambling across his shoulders as he effortlessly lifts her with one arm. His other arm remains anchored by his side as he spins them and walks them over to the tan leather couch. He must consider the bed too far.
He sits down with her in his lap. In this position, she can feel just how much he wants her, his desire for her, pushing insistently against where she needs it most. She’s still entirely naked, and he’s still mostly dressed, and she’s seeping wetness onto his tailored slacks. Heat bursts across her cheeks.
He glances down at his crotch, eyes flaring dark and wild when he notices. His hands go to her ass and he rocks her back and forth.
She bites out a curse, pressing her lips to his again and pushing the shirt off his shoulders in the process. With a growl of her own, she wraps her fingers in his dark hair and tugs. He hisses through his teeth, granting her a flash of pearly white, as his head falls back against the couch.
She takes advantage, leaning down to bite at his neck. She plants hot, open mouthed kisses down the length of his skin, pausing to suck a bloom into the hollow of this throat. A thrill of triumph races through her when she feels him shudder and hears his breath hitch.
When she sits back on his thighs, there’s an obvious red mark on his neck, one that will blossom into a bruise come morning.
She runs a thumb over it, surprisingly tender.
His eyes are black, and his chest rises and falls with rapid, panting breaths, and he looks utterly wrecked for her.
“So determined to name me yours,” she croons, “but it appears you’re mine.”
Because he knows, and now she knows, that if anyone else were on top of him, his neck would remain flawless and unblemished. It’s his desire to be vulnerable around her that has blood rushing to the surface of his skin, vessels broken by her violent kiss.
“Yours…” he mutters back as she grinds her burning clit into the cool steel of his belt buckle, “I want to be.”
Her chest aches at his honesty. She wants that too. She wants them to be an us.
“You can have it,” she whispers, lifting her hips high enough to give herself space to get his belt out of the loops and his trousers unbuttoned. The sound of the zipper is loud in the hot silence, and he lifts himself too so she can get them off.
And then he’s naked, and she’s naked, and they’re finally at the point of no return.
She swallows at the sight of his cock, fully erect and jumping proud against his stomach. His grin is annoyingly cocky as he arches a brow and repeats her words back to her—
“You can have it, darling.”
She rolls her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching. He lounges like a cat in the sun, totally shameless, totally unabashed. He’s a man who knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it.
She kisses him again, licking inside his mouth, tasting herself on his lips and beard. He wraps his fingers around her hair and pulls her back with a gentle tug.
“One day,” he murmurs, thumb running over her plump bottom lip, “I want to see these pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”
She shudders at the words, and one day he will, but right now, she needs to feel him inside her.
She lifts her hips and takes his length in her hand. A low hiss whistles through his teeth as she gives it a few pumps, and teases the head at her dripping entrance.
“Fuck me, Detective,” he demands, but then adds, “please.”
She sinks down onto him with a moan.
He bites out a curse of his own into her hair as he stays still beneath her, letting her adjust to his size. She can’t take him all at once, instead easing herself down inch by inch until her hips are finally flush with his.
They stay still for a moment, wrapped up in each other, taking in the gravity of the moment.
She’s the first to move.
She slides up and then down again, eyelids fluttering at the sensation. She feels full, and vulnerable, and so right, like he was just made to fit and surround her like this.
“Detective,” he breathes heavily, so much emotion in her title, fingers biting into her waist.
She cups his face in her hands.
“Wanted this—” he pants between thrusts, “—”wanted you… for so long.”
She nods, emotion welling in her throat. She kisses him, mouth slanting over his, tongue mimicking the movement of their hips below.
“I know. Me too,” she whispers against his lips, “I have too.”
He lurches forward to mouth at her neck, to trail his lips down to her chest. He sucks on a dusty nipple, a large, warm hand coming up to cover her other breast. She gasps and anchors him to her chest, hips stuttering on top of him.
“Please don’t be afraid of me,” he mutters into her sweat-slicked skin, “please don’t leave me again.”
Her heart feels too big for her chest.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she promises, “and I’m never leaving you. I’m here, Lucifer. I’m right here.”
He sighs, kissing his way back to her lips. A few more steady thrusts and she’s almost there.
“I’m gonna come,” she whispers, touching her forehead to his.
“Oh yes, Detective,” he groans wickedly, “please do.”
It takes some stimulation on her clit, her own fingers rubbing as his dark eyes remain locked between her thighs, just watching. The heat in his gaze, the way he pants, helps her over the edge.
She comes with fire in her veins and tears in her eyes, and she holds him to her breast as his hips stutter and he follows her into oblivion.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers once more, pressing a tired kiss to his brow, “I’m so sorry… and I hope one day, you’ll trust me enough to show me again.”
She’s talking about his face, his devil face, and he nods with a gentle smile.
“One day,” he says simply and kisses her again, “we’ve got time.”
And when she thinks back to the reasons she gave when she told Kinley she wasn't going through with the plan, she knows it's not really because she doesn’t believe he’s the devil from the books (though she doesn’t; not anymore).
It’s because she’s totally, completely, hopelessly in love with him.