Even though Chloe did her best to ditch him beforehand, of course somehow Lucifer showed up at the sex toy store five minutes after she got there. He romped around while she tried to ask the owners questions, gleefully poking into every display and making sure she couldn’t escape his thoughtful comments on the merits of the various excitingly obscene items. She finally got so irritated—after he’d picked up her own personal favorite vibrator, a perfectly nice bullet vibe that had plenty of power by any reasonable standards, thanks, and called it the “amateur hour model”—that she picked up the ridiculously overendowed strap-on and dangled it out to him.
“Maybe you should get Maze a present,” she said sweetly.
“Hm? Oh, she’s got one, darling,” Lucifer said, without batting an eye. “Three, actually. Do you like that particular model?” He took it out of her frozen hand and looked it over like he was considering a—a—cucumber at the store, no, wait, not a cucumber, ugh, what was wrong with her—
“It’s nothing really remarkable, is it,” he said critically. “The size is respectable, but hard rubber is so nineteenth century. Silicone is truly a miraculous invention.”
He offered it back to her, but she couldn’t make herself take it: she stared at it and blurted helplessly, “You let Maze—” because no way, he hadn’t, he just happened to know—
“Yes, of course,” he said, vaguely puzzled, and then he went horribly bright-eyed and alert. “Darling!”
“No!” she said immediately.
“You want to fuck me!” he said gleefully.
“No, and also we’re not even having this conversation,” she said in desperation, while her treacherous brain went right on vividly imagining every single minute of banging that smirk off his face so hard—
The rest of the day, Lucifer didn’t let more than ten minutes pass without making clear yet again that his ass was one hundred percent on offer, making it even more attractive every time he opened his stupid mouth, not to mention that he’d bought the thing and was carrying it around with them and occasionally taking it out to cheerfully offer her advice on how to use it. On him.
“What do you think is going to happen? I’m going to change my mind somewhere between Hollywood and Encino and do you in the back seat?” she said through her teeth.
“Why, Detective, I didn’t know you had an exhibitionist streak,” he said. “There is a parking spot two blocks ahead. Sure you don’t want to?”
“Very sure,” she hissed.
“Well, it never hurts to be prepared,” and swear to God, if ever any man had deserved to be pounded flat.
Thanks to Lucifer having one of his little chats with the truck driver—he’d been bribed to let the thieves take his shipment—they tracked down the crates with the missing sex toy boxes, all now full of neatly packed heroin, along with four suspects. A fifth, the supervisor, ran out of the warehouse, but after Chloe and her backup secured the rest of them, she went outside and found Lucifer in the back parking lot standing over the guy, who was cringing against the Dumpster and sobbing and howling, “Don’t touch me, please don’t touch me,” so it was basically just another day at the office. She heaved a sigh and shoved the suspect into the squad car halfway through the confession he was desperately gabbling out to her and anyone else who would listen.
Lucifer beamed to her as he came out onto the sidewalk behind her, dusting his hands against one another. “Well, Detective, it seems we’ve made the streets of Los Angeles a little more safe for all responsible sex toy users. Speaking of which…” and he was actually about to pull it out, in front of the beat cops, and oh that was it.
“Stop it!” she snapped. “Fine, okay? Yes. You want it? You got it. Let’s go.”
He blinked, like he hadn’t actually expected that to work, and then he lit up. “Darling! Lead the way,” and practically bounced along behind her all the way back to the car like Pinkie Pie—what, Trixie loved My Little Pony—and spent the entire drive to Lux just blazing away at her with that infuriating smirk, like he couldn’t wait. It made every muscle around her neck go tight and hard and clenched up, she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help thinking about him lying underneath her, gasping, his face straining and dazed, and she’d never even imagined—not in a million years could she even have joked about it to Dan, Dan would’ve looked at her like she was out of her mind and sick, he would’ve acted like she’d insulted him—
“You will let me go down on you first, won’t you?” Lucifer said thoughtfully, interrupting her thoughts. “I promise you’ll enjoy it more if you’re warmed up, as it were,” and she didn’t need warming up, but she did let him. She turned to him blindly as they went into the elevator and she let him pick her up, lifting her like she didn’t weigh a thing, and she let him carry her to the bedroom kissing, and she let him toss her onto the ridiculously massive bed and let him rip away her underwear and bury his mouth between her thighs. And oh God his tongue, and she’d always felt vaguely guilty and twitchy about getting head as long as she liked to, but he didn’t do it like it was an obligation he was trying to get over with, he luxuriated in it, teasing her, nuzzling at her belly and her hips and her thighs, making little nips to the flesh before moving back in, taking his time.
And all right, she was human, she’d thought about him and what it might be like, a little, but he was such a selfish asshole all the time except when he wasn’t, and oh God he wasn’t, or maybe he was, except it was so clear that what he wanted was to be doing this, what he wanted was to make her—“Oh, oh,” she choked out, and came, clenching up helplessly around the finger he’d slid into her at just the right time, his tongue gently flicking at her, his thumb rubbing slow devastating circles—
“Yes, just like that,” he said, breathlessly, and licked a second wave out of her, and then a third, and she wanted suddenly, she wanted, and she said desperately, “Lucifer,” and grabbed at his shoulders—he was still dressed, and for fuck’s sake, she was still dressed, she was still in her shirt and socks—
He sat up with his whole face wet and ablaze with satisfaction, wiped it off grinning almost savagely, and he stripped himself out of his shirt and stood up off the bed to shuck his pants, too. “Now, then,” he purred, and reached down into the heap of his jacket and brought it out, harness and all, and as he prowled back onto the bed, Chloe swallowed and said, “We don’t have to.”
He sat back on his heels. “Darling,” he said reproachfully, “you’ve been mad for it all day! Why on earth would you deny yourself now?”
“I—I don’t want you doing it because—you think it’s the only way,” she said. “It’s—it’s not,” and she felt her face getting red. “We could just—”
His eyes gleamed. “Oh, trust me, we will. You’ll be ripe for it, after,” and then he crawled forward over her and kissed her, his mouth still wet and slick and hot, and she shivered and put her arms around his neck as he slid the end of it inside her, slowly, maddeningly, rocking it gently in as she gasped. She reached down and got the harness blindly out of his hands and lifted her hips up to slide the straps under and she buckled it on.
There were nineteen different kinds of lube in his bedside cabinet, all open. “Gun Oil for this, I think,” he said and waved at it, reclining back on the pillows, one leg drawn up like something out of a photoshoot, still unbearably pleased with himself, but she couldn’t actually mind anymore. He was smiling up at her as she slid her fingers into him, his eyes sliding shut and his head tipping back a little. “Mm. That’s enough.”
“I really don’t think it is.”
He laughed, breathlessly. “Trust me, darling, I don’t mind if it hurts a bit. Pain’s so novel.”
She used some more anyway, and then he made an impatient noise and caught at her hips. He helped her put it in him and then she was sliding into him and his head had gone back and his eyes were shut and he was gasping, his mouth open and curved at the same time, and he groaned in a low deep voice that shivered all the way up her spine.
He was breathing hard, nostrils flaring, but when she tried to slow down he grated out, “Don’t stop,” in a deeply annoyed tone, so she kept going, and going, and the other end was pushing into her, rocking against her, and she was panting too by the time she hit the limit.
She stopped to catch her breath, propped up over him. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her, heavy-lidded and muzzy and delighted, and she smiled back, feeling stupidly gleeful, like she’d gotten away with something—like they’d gotten away with something together. “Hi,” she said.
His smile widened. “Hello yourself,” and he jerked his hips up and made himself gasp.
“Oh,” God, she swallowed, because she didn’t want to distract him even the least little bit, she wanted all his attention on her, greedy for it. She thrust into him, a little clumsy, and then after a few more tries she started to find the rhythm of it, and he was blowing out a deep harsh breath each time, mouth rounded, “Oh, oh, oh darling,” groaned like she’d—fucked it out of him, and she wanted more, she wanted to give it to him so hard. He was moving with her, taking her thrusts, breath starting to whine out of his throat, and he suddenly said, “Do you know, I’m going to come,” sounding mildly surprised, and he arched back and shuddered into it even before she got her hand around him and took him the rest of the way through.
She’d come again in the middle and she was so wet she was dripping, and her hands were trembling faintly as she unbuckled the harness and slid the strap-on out of her. She crawled up the bed and fell down next to him, breathing hard and shaking. He was panting too, still smiling faintly with his eyes shut. He put his arm around her and gathered her in, nuzzling at her temple. “Never fear,” he murmured against her hair, dropping kisses along her forehead. “I’ll be ready again in a minute.”
“Mm hnh,” she said groggily, snuggling in to his shoulder and not even bothering to call him on his bullshit. Whatever, she was going to sleep for twelve straight hours. Thank God Dan was picking Trixie up today for the weekend.
Lucifer gave a deep satisfied sigh and put his other arm behind his head. “We could have been having sex like this for months now, you realize. Aren’t you the least bit sorry you made us wait?”
“Mnh,” Chloe said. She wasn’t at all, actually, although she also wasn’t sorry she had done it, which was a surprise.
Lucifer took another long deep breath and stretched, arching his back off the bed and stretching out his mile-long legs, a pleased wriggle. “Ahh. All right, there we go, back in business,” he said, and rolled up onto his side and pulled her in with a hand on the small of her back, right up against—his completely hard dick. She opened her eyes again and stared at him. He beamed at her. “Told you I’d be ready in a minute.”
“That’s not human,” she said.
“Of course not,” he said cheerfully, and tipped over over onto her back, and—Chloe whimpered, but she put her arms around his neck as he slid into her. She’d been done but maybe not, because he felt amazing after the strap-on, hot and velvety and wonderful. And thank God, he clearly didn’t expect her to do anything, she could just hang on for the ride while he fucked her, her legs wrapped around his thighs and her thoughts melting out of the shape of words and she came again, and then she came again, and he groaned and came with her that time and didn’t stop, and she woke up the next morning feeling like she’d won the lottery and also gone ten rounds with an Olympic mixed martial artist.
Five seconds of sunshine later, he bounced onto the bed—carefully, he was carrying two Bloody Marys—kissed her, and said, “Do you fancy another round before breakfast?”
She glared at him out of one eye. “Are you kidding?”
“Hm. After breakfast?”
Three weeks later, she finally started to believe he really was the Devil. But by then it was pretty much too late.