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“You’re to stay on my lap until I give you permission to move,” Lucifer says, patting his left thigh in a welcoming yet somehow threatening manner.
It’s rare that he has free time away from his brothers with you, despite your established relationship, so he often takes advantage of the half hour before sleeping to reassure you of his devotion to no other. Regardless of your interests for the moment, he brings you to the bed or the couch in his room and sweeps you into a tight embrace on his lap. Sometimes, it leads to more. Most times, it leads to nothing but a series of kisses over whatever bare skin graces his presence. Most importantly, the time is spent relaxing until it’s declared time to sleep.
Tonight, he is nude, as are you.
Tonight, you appear as though you know what to expect as evidenced by your calm smile and squared shoulders. You expect his hands beneath your ass. Having to hold yourself up against his shoulders so he’s able to control the pace. Heavy breathing and climaxes—plural, of course—heaving chests and bruises come morning.
Your arrogance is rather cute, he thinks, allowing an impish smirk to grow upon his clean-cut features.
His cock hardens quickly, his free hand bobbing along its sizable length. An erection is not an uncommon sight during even your most chaste evenings, but it’s something you certainly wouldn’t expect at the beginning of a weeknight.
The difference tonight being that he has no classes the following day. He’s set to travel with Diavolo in the late afternoon, leaving plenty of time to spend pleasing you and himself overnight.
Thirty minutes? He prefers a full hour, if not two, before crawling into bed to sleep. After all, he has no butler to pack his suitcases. The job was his and his alone.
But that is the following morning.
For now, his gaze slithers across your body as you approach. Your chest puffs out, still acting as though you know what is going to happen. He almost can’t hold back a laugh, but he manages.
You straddle his hips, your warmth burning his cool skin. Had he originally thought he was in total control, he would be proven wrong the moment you touched him. It always happens this way; the second you rest against his chest, whether clothed or not, soothes him as easily as several glasses of Demonus. Almost like you know, you kiss the top of his head, your lips staying in place for longer than the time it takes for him to reach full arousal.
How he wants to be inside you.
How he wants to hear your moans and pleas for him to move quicker.
How he yearns to destroy every thought in your mind and replace them with an obsession over him.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he wants to experience patience. A virtue he’s long forgotten, but instead of heavenly, he wants it turned sinful.
He wants to ruin you without moving an inch.
How he reacts depends on your reaction, and he’s curious to see whether you can come with nothing but his cock inside you.
Adjusting his position, he runs a hand down your neck to your collarbone, where his lips and tongue draw sigils on your supple skin. The trust it must take for you to allow him this vulnerability…He could never repay you for giving him such a grand opportunity to please you.
This is when you notice his behavior is different than usual. You shift to take his lips in yours, subtly questioning his actions and relinquishing the leadership back to him, as he planned all along.
His cock prods against your slippery entrance. He runs it leisurely along your folds, his movement pausing to give extra attention to your clit with the head of his dick. You moan, a gentle sound, a self-seeking sound, a damnable sound. You’ve already fallen into the demon’s lair, and hell is where you will lie while he gives you the heaven you desire.
He shushes your whispered pleas against his tongue by pressing his cock into you. Warmth envelops him. Wetness coats him. He allows you to sink as far down as you’re willing, to settle slowly on his length while he leans his head back to watch your expression morph from subtle lust into ecstasy. The first is always too easy when he’s moving quickly, but when he’s forcing you to remain still, will it be the same?
“Don't move,” he orders, brushing loose strands of hair back from your beautiful, flushed face. “Allow the feeling to overwhelm you.”
Nodding, you allow yourself to drop fully onto his lap, your body adjusting to him and allowing him room. Whether on purpose or by accident, your pussy clenches tight on his dick, and he huffs a startled breath against the side of your neck. You mumble an insincere apology.
Trailing kisses from your neck, around your jaw and to your mouth, he steals your lips again. His tongue enters to circle yours. His cock pulses inside you through no action on his own part. You move to grind lightly against his hips, but his hands hold you firm on his lap. Not this time.
He does, however, slip one hand between your legs and leans a knuckle against your clit. You whine on his lips, your nails beginning to scratch gently over his back. The phenomenal feeling convinces him to rub his knuckle against you, to give you a release while he’s inside, to feel what it’s like when you have nothing else to focus on but your climax.
No rutting. No pounding. No orders except to come on his cock and allow him to come inside you afterward.
If the sensation running up and down his length with each clench of your pussy is any indication, he may also be closer than he thought. Rubbing your clit sends waves of pleasure through your body, your muscles tightening and loosening as you struggle to remain still. Your moans turn to small whimpers on his lips, short pleading statements begging to come. You’ve learned to ask first, but tonight, he wants you to enjoy each moment as long as you possibly can.
His knuckle slows on your clit, giving light pulsations instead of rhythmic strokes. You’ve soaked his lap with cum, the remains of your near-climax evident on his naked thighs. He wants to reach it together for the first time in ages—perhaps the first time altogether. In fact, he can’t quite remember the last time.
“P-please,” you mumble.
He swallows. The way you’re pulsing and sucking and squeezing his cock sends him against the edge. He’s close. You’re close. Everything together in your bodies feels connected, united, potent, and his hand continues its dedicated strokes on your clit as he barely reaches that edge. You tighten around him, you dig your fingertips into his shoulders, you cry out in a sharp breath against his neck as you come, and with the tightness of your climax he follows, his hips struggling to stay put and lifting to pump gently into you, his chest exploding with heat unlike any he’s experienced in his current memory and his hands snatching at your hips to force them to move and suck him dry.
He’s spent beneath you, his breath coming quickly to match yours, his mind linked as though your climax doubled his, his head spinning as his kisses on your lips soften and soothe rather than wind him up. He feels cum dribble into his lap, but he doesn’t care. What trouble is a little clean up once you’ve both come back to reality?
With a sigh, he burrows into your breasts and hugs you close. Had you been listening, you would have heard him thank you—thank you for allowing him the pleasure of taking you, for giving him the chance to love you wholly, for forgiving his transgressions against you…
…For being his, and for him being yours, until the end of time.