Chapter Text
The strain of staring at the screen in front of you had caused your eyes to ache. Stubbornness alone kept you focused on your work – squinting until you had to tear away. Phantom squares of blue light danced on your vision and you rubbed your eyes to banish them, not caring that you were smudging your meticulously applied eyeliner. The last of the interns had left hours ago. Hell, you were fairly certain you’d heard the late-night cleaning lady come and go.
What time is it anyway? You snatch up your cell and check the time. 3:33 am.
“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, falling back heavily into your desk chair. The hour didn’t make a damn bit of difference. You’d be getting a call from your client bright and early and he expected some good fucking news. This is gonna take either a strong coffee or a strong scotch, you think bitterly to yourself. Definitely scotch.
Your mind made up, you rise from your desk and practically sleep walk over to the bar cart in the corner of your office. There’s a modest splash of dark brown liquid at the bottom of the polished crystal decanter. If there was ever a clearer sign of how this campaign is going… you scowl and drain the last of the 16-year single malt into an elegant rocks glass. With a resigned sigh, you and your scotch get comfy together back in front of your laptop.
The latest poll numbers were fucking abysmal.
“Explain to me how we can lose seven points to ‘undecided’?? Seven. Points,” you grumble, thinking aloud as you pore over every last data point. Every demographic. Every trend. No matter how many ways you rearranged the numbers, there was no positive outcome. Your candidate was simultaneously running an impossibly tight race while rapidly losing sections of his consistent voter base. Fuuuuucccckk…
You knock back a swig of scotch and suck in a deep, steadying breath – anything to slow down the thundering of your heart. You can feel the pinch of a headache forming behind your knitted brow and you snatch up your pen to drum it on the desk’s edge while you try to think. In a last-ditch attempt to find the bright side, you check the feedback on the latest cable ad. Fucking awful.
“I swear to God, I’m firing Jason,” you grit through clenched teeth, the tip of your pen sliding as you slash out a repetitive pattern. The top of your desk is littered with legal pads, covered in scribbles. Drawing mindlessly has always helped you gather your thoughts – you left countless graffitied desks in your wake at your Catholic high school. They repaid the favor with sharply administered slaps across your knuckles, and the back of your knees when you grew over the summer…
You wince. The memory stings as much as the punishments did. And that’s why I never chase the religious vote, you smirk and continue your doodling while squinting at another disappointing set of analytics. You’d experienced low points in your career – such was the state of this beyond fucked-up system – but this was a deep dark hole. It would take a miracle to pull a win out of this.
“Come on, son of a bitch,” you implore to the universe, “Give me something good. I need a win.”
The pounding in your head is sharper and more insistent and you finish the rest of your scotch in the hope of deadening the sensation. Your eyes burn. You need to sleep. This shit-show will still be here in the morning…
You half-heartedly tidy your desk and spare a glance at the legal pad you’d been scrawling on. An uneven, five-pointed star – the sweeping pen-strokes pressing into the paper over and over, so hard that the shape has been branded into the next ten pages of the notebook. Your lips curve into a small smile at the whimsical little design.
“Call me Dream Maker and I’ll answer!”
The sudden intrusion of a man’s loud, boisterous tone makes you jump out of your skin. “What the fuck,” you bark, wheeling in the direction of the voice. Your anger quickly dissipates into unease. Not only are you not alone. Your guest is entirely too close for comfort.
The man standing just inside the large glass doors of your office has an elegant bearing about him. His slender build makes him appear taller than the reality – which could also be the effect of his very crisp, white suit. For some reason, something about him reminds you of the smarmy CBN execs that you had met with on a previous campaign. Alarm bells are clanging in your mind.
“Sir,” you say with authority, “You need to leave.”
“I don’t think so.” His expression is shadowed by the wide brim of his hat, but you can hear his mocking sing-song loud and clear.
Your mind is working overtime. Is he from the Bradshaw campaign? Is this supposed to fucking scare me?? How did he get in here when I’m one of maybe three people that has a key?
Every single possibility spells trouble. Lawsuits. Your ass absolutely getting fired. This situation has to be handled. And discreetly.
You straighten your spine and glare down your nose at your late-night visitor, “Listen. This is a bullshit tactic and you can tell the people over at Bradshaw that we will be pursuing legal action. I’m serious, pal. You are trespassing and you need to fuck off.”
“Goodness, missy, have you got a mouth on you,” he bit back sardonically, lifting his chin finally to look at you head-on. The flash of his smile was disarming – blindingly white and wide as it stretched across his face. A schmoozer’s smile. Any sense of comfort it may have offered disappeared when you noticed that each of those pearly whites came down to a fang-like point. The inhuman quality of his grin was a fitting summary of the rest of him. Pale skin. Rosy cheeks. A perfect coif of blonde hair peeking from under his hat, and glittering eyes – that were currently studying you with immense interest.
Angler fish. The absurd thought roared into your mind and struck you with its accuracy. Everything about your visitor was like an angler fish. A pretty little light – out of place in his surroundings – that distracted from the threat just beyond.
“But, I don’t mind,” the man continued, arching a brow and swaggering further into the room, “A filthy mouth is a terrible thing to waste.”
A hot blush spreads over your skin and you see red. “Okay, asshole,” you advance on him, “You’re out of here.” In an instant the end of a long cane is jabbing you in the stomach, keeping you at bay while the man smirks. “Now see there,” he teased, winking at you, “You made me whip my rod out.”
The comment makes your skin crawl… and it straight up pisses you off. You shove the end of the cane away from your stomach, gasping when the man whips it around and pops you playfully on the opposite hip with it. Just enough to sting. “Look, darling, I don’t know what you’re frothing at the mouth about,” his voice pitched with his excitement, “You called me!”
“I have no clue who you are!” You hate to prove him right, but you are rapidly losing your cool.
Something shifts in your guest’s expression. A dawning of realization that leaves him looking absolutely elated – and therefore has you feeling extremely uncomfortable. With the snap of his fingers, the man’s cane disappears and he sweeps the tails of his coat back with him as he bows low. “I am Lucifer. The Morningstar. King of Hell,” Lucifer’s voice seems to reverberate through the very atoms in the room, the booming of a ringmaster. A slender finger darts out to tap the tip of your nose, “But, since I’m here for you babe, Lucifer will do just fine.”
Absolutely not. You cross your arms over your chest, curling your lip around the venom in your tone, “The devil? Seriously?”
“Believe it, little hellion,” Lucifer leaned in close, his face mere fractions of an inch from yours. He was well-under six feet – you had a couple of inches on him, especially in your heels – but something about his presence made you feel insignificant. Small. Powerless.
“Bullshit.”
A flash of red light nearly blinds you – stifling heat enveloping you and leaving your skin ablaze. Like the feeling of being trapped in a hot car under the scorching sun. In front of you, Lucifer’s entire countenance has shifted to something otherworldly. Six feathered wings sprouted from his sides and curving horns protruded from above his brows – somehow, he’d shot up another three or four feet in height and his eyes were blank and scarlet. Your startled scream dies in your dry throat and you fight against the feeling of hellfire dancing over your body. “OKAY! OKAY,” you manage to shriek in surrender, “I BELIEVE YOU!!!”
Just like that, the heat was gone. Lucifer’s short-statured, charming veneer had been restored and he tipped his hat back on his head with a devilish grin, “Good. Because I hate when I have to do that.” You uncurl your body from the tight ball you had rolled it into and do your best to restore some semblance of dignity, “Okay. So, you’re the devil.”
“The Big Boss of Hell, himself,” Lucifer interjected enthusiastically.
“Whatever,” you placate him, “But I didn’t call you.”
“You did.”
“I really didn’t.”
Lucifer’s smile stretches so far it looks like it could split his entire skull, “Oh. You really, really did…”
Of course, the devil would be fucking exhausting. Your headache is back. “Fine,” you snap, “How did I manage to summon Lucifer the Fallen to my goddamn office, totally by accident??”
You’d be damned if he didn’t look a little crestfallen at that last remark. Lucifer leans toward you, reaching behind you to yank one of your notepads off your desk. “Pentagram” he declares with bravado, tapping your doodle from before.
A harsh scoff slips through your lips before you can stop it, “That’s a star.”
“It has five points,” he repeats emphatically, clearly frustrated, “It’s a pentagram.”
“I thought it had to be upside-down to be Satanic??”
Lucifer storms past you and slams the notepad down into its original place. “For a summoning, it’s from the entity’s POV,” his body curves over your desk, arms waving in tandem with his rising agitation, “See… if you turn it like this. When you were drawing and making your wish –”
“But I didn’t wish for anything,” you counter. If only the Mother Superior could see you now…
A heavy sigh rattled Lucifer’s entire frame and he dragged a gloved hand over his face, “You weren’t sitting right here, wishing for a win?? To succeed for the sake of pride?? You do realize that pride is like my whole thing!!”
Your jaw drops. “Fuck,” you blurt out before you can collect yourself.
“Mhmmmm,” Lucifer purrs.
“Fuuuuuck.”
“Yup,” he nods, flashing that smile.
You’re out of ideas… and it wouldn’t be the most humiliating thing you’ve done in the interest of closing a deal. You fall to your knees, hands clasped before your face in fervent prayer. It has been… awhile… since you’ve said a Hail Mary. Should be the thought that counts…
Lucifer perches on the edge of your desk, stretching languidly over its surface, “You’re cute on your knees. Truly. But what are we doing here?”
You squeeze your eyes tightly closed. You can’t afford the distraction of his weirdly perfect (if not a tad spooky) features. “I’m praying,” you answer, matter-of-factly. “Oh,” Lucifer’s voice drips with sarcasm, “Praying. Is anyone listening?”
“I doubt anyone can hear me over your talking.”
“Oh, come on,” Lucifer pouts, “You wanted this!”
You twist from your position on your knees to fix Lucifer with an exasperated look, “I wanted to make it through tomorrow without getting fired. Not exactly grounds for divine intervention!”
When Lucifer steps in front of you, you avert your eyes to keep from staring directly into his crotch. He bends to your level, capturing your chin in deceptively strong fingers and angling your face toward his, “Can we be honest with each other, for just a sec?”
Your lack of answer doesn’t deter him. “Let me tell you something about the dark corners of your soul,” his smile is pure seduction, “You think you’re so noble. That you get the good guys into office. But I’ll tell you something that I bet you already know… none of it matters.”
“Stop it,” you hiss.
“Ah, ah,” Lucifer’s voice adopts a lilting quality, as if you were a small child on the verge of a tantrum, “Listen when Daddy’s speaking. I don’t care what slogans you cook up for these clients of yours. There’s not a saint among ‘em. They’re all my people. Do you understand me?”
It wasn’t exactly news to you. Politics was a pay-to-play game. And nobody came into that kind of money without being at least a little fucked. Still…
Lucifer’s wide eyes flicked to different points of your face and you felt that he wasn’t just assessing your features – but the condition of your soul. “You’re a sinner already, little hellion,” his voice slowed in its cadence, “So, why not let me do you a good turn?”
You roll your eyes and attempt to jerk your chin free of his grasp, “Forgive me if I’m a little suspicious of the devil offering a favor.”
“Heaven may not approve of your results. But I can appreciate the iron will that it takes to climb to where you are. I love a dreamer.”
There was a softness in his expression. Gentle pleading behind his words. He made it sound like he was the one that needed you. Desperate to offer you what he had to give. It was… tempting.
“Fine.”
Lucifer visibly brightened, his voice snapping back to its rapturous pitch, “Come again??”
“Yes. I want to make a deal.” How bad could it be? You had negotiated countless contracts. Navigated every possible dicey exchange. If your hubris was to be your downfall, it would be poetic. You push your hair out of your face when you rise to stand, smoothing the front of your skirt, “How does it work?”
“Well, there are a few ways to do it,” Lucifer teased, rubbing his hands together eagerly, “You can write your name in my dark book. In your own blood, of course. Shaking hands at the crossroads seems a little informal. Not your style, hellion.” Lucifer paused, not bothering to hide the appreciation in his eyes as they swept up and down your figure, “Given the circumstances… how does becoming a Whore of Lucifer sound? Fun?”
You snort, a harsh and mocking sound.
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” you rest against the edge of your desk, letting your manicured nails tap out a nervous rhythm on its surface, “But there’s no way in Hell.”
Lucifer chuckles, his brow arching wryly, “Witty. If you’re trying to turn me on, it’s working.”
Suddenly Eve’s betrayal of mankind made a lot more sense. He was charming. Despite all logical reasoning… you liked him. You sigh, rubbing your temples to keep your budding migraine at bay, “I do feel pretty attached to my soul.”
“Tell you what,” Lucifer offered, reaching up to push a lock of hair back behind your ear, “I’ll give you an out.” When his knuckle brushed your skin, the pounding in your head disappeared – replaced by a cool, soothed sensation. That’s interesting. His placid expression gave you pause, “An out?”
“An option,” Lucifer clarified, an impish glint igniting behind his eyes.
“I’m listening.”
“Normally,” he began energetically, “Consenting to be my consort would sufficiently seal the deal. And we are consenting, correct?” Lucifer paused; eyes hooded suggestively as he waited for you to respond. “In this hypothetical,” you answer flatly.
“I’ll take it,” he winked before continuing, “But, given our little misunderstanding – and my promise to do right by you – let’s agree that your soul isn’t lost until… say…” Lucifer made a show of pondering it, hemming and hawing to himself, “Your ninth orgasm?”
The laughter bubbles over before you can clamp your lips shut around it. The suggestion is ridiculous and you double-over at the idea, cackling. Lucifer takes it in stride, a smug smirk on his lips as he waits for you to finish. “Nine?!” you scoff.
“Those are my terms,” his voice pitches to a lower, more provocative tone.
“So, all I have to do is NOT cum nine times. Eight times and I keep my soul? If at all?”
It’s Lucifer’s turn to laugh – it’s a pleasant sound and you’re taken aback by how genuine it seems – he shakes his head, “Yes, that’s the gist of it.”
You had never finished more than maybe three times max on your absolute best day. And today was not your best day. You were sleep-deprived, agitated, and a little drunk. Far be it from you to question the devil’s credentials… but you did have basic biology on your side.
“So?” He was waiting. “May I try to win your soul?”
A delicious tingle slithered through your body. There was something in his voice. The way he was looking at you right now. At the back of your mind, the last of your sense of self-preservation gnawed at you – but you didn’t really see any way out of it. Might as well…
You assess Lucifer once again. The polish of his appearance completely at odds with the aura of chaos that surrounded him. You prided yourself on your ability to read people and it both intrigued and worried you that Lucifer seemed to straddle that line of command and anarchy. And he was handsome… like really handsome.
Goddammit.
You shrug casually, masking any nervousness behind a smirk of your own, “If that’s the deal… though I can’t help but think there’s a catch.”
Lucifer closes the space between you – his stride not faltering when you instinctively pushed back into the edge of the desk. With surprising gentleness, he presses one hand to your lower stomach and guides you to a seat on the desk’s edge as he knocks your knees apart to stand between them.
For an instant his eyes left yours and flicked down to the inch of space that separated the hem of your skirt from where he stood. When Lucifer’s eyes meet yours again, they’re burning. You swallow a shallow gasp when he grasps your hips, his thumbs pressing into your flesh.
“The catch is that I’m very, very good at this.”
In one smooth movement, Lucifer steps forward and pulls you in by your hips. You feel the tight fabric of your skirt inching over the swell of your hips as his proximity forces your thighs to part. The two of you are cheek to cheek. Lucifer’s calm breaths tickle your ear and you curse yourself for sighing when he slowly turns his lips toward your ear.
He smiles against your skin, “Any sweet spots I should know about, hellion?”
You giggle – forgetting yourself for a second – and Lucifer rewards you with a soft kiss on your throat. FOCUS! “Nice try,” you reply, painfully aware of the faint breathy quality of your voice. Lucifer certainly notices.
“Suit yourself,” he teases, tracing a burning path over the curves of your waist, hips, and thighs with his fingertips, “I’ll find out soon enough.” Every pass of his hands stokes the heat in you until it feels like your insides are melting. You can feel yourself getting wet – really wet.
No! Straighten up, you scold yourself internally, This is not how we go down!
Oblivious to the mental war you’re waging, Lucifer steps in closer. The sudden movement snaps the taut skirt over your hips, bunching the fabric around your waist. All that’s between you and the King of Hell is a simple black thong. “Is this alright?” he’s whispering against your hair as his hands knead the small of your back.
Your words leave you. Your head is going foggy and every one of his deep, quiet breaths seems to ring in your ears. Tentatively, Lucifer tugs aside the collar of your silk blouse and nips at your collarbone, following it with a kiss. He inhales the scent of your perfume, leaning over you as if to take in more of you – that’s when you feel it.
The hardening bulge in his slacks rocks against your core and, before you can stop it, a small, pleading sound escapes your throat. Lucifer lets out a shuddering breath and goes still, but there’s no mistaking the sudden tension in his body. He’s practically vibrating.
His kisses become more fervent, lips seeking any spot on your jaw and your neck. The sudden urge to turn your face to his is overwhelming, but you banish the thought before your body can follow. “I really want to touch you,” Lucifer pleads, his voice breaking on a faint whimper, “Can I?”
Your lust is screaming like a demon inside you, but you quickly douse it in an icy bath of logic. “I’ve got my soul to think of here,” you murmur. It’s official – you’re brazenly flirting with Lucifer himself. Lucifer chuckles, groaning in playful frustration as he gropes your thighs, “I mean… it’s just one. We’ve got a long way to go, you and me. What’s the harm?”
He’s got a point. You’re in limbo. It’s becoming increasingly clear to you that you don’t have to risk it. Against all odds: the devil is a gentleman.
All you have to do is resist the temptation.
Lucifer studies your face carefully, his own eyes shining with arousal. When his gaze falls to your mouth, you can’t help but part your lips in answer. For the briefest of moments, it looks like he’s about to kiss you. Instead, with the flair of a virtuoso, he reaches for his hat and removes it. The gold snake hat band glitters in the low light, almost seeming to wink at you.
In one smooth movement, Lucifer tosses the hat aside and brings his hand to your clothed pussy. Gently, two fingers dance over the soaked fabric of your thong. “Mmmm…,” your hips roll into his touch. “Damn,” Lucifer croaks around a groan of his own, “You’re wet, hellion.” You bite down hard on your lip, forcing yourself to swallow a throaty moan when he toys with the edge of your thong.
“Please, darling,” he teases, tilting your chin up so he can kiss down your throat to your chest, “I could make you feel so good.”
One of his fingers hooks into the crotch of your panties and tugs. The slide of his knuckle through your slickness makes your hips jump off the desk. You want it. Badly.
“Fine,” you bite out, whimpering when his finger brushes against you.
“Thank Hell, finally,” Lucifer answers playfully, slipping his fingers into your panties. He wastes no time finding your clit, stroking his middle finger over it gently. All of your stalling did nothing to cool your arousal – quite the opposite. The moment Lucifer touches you, you jerk upright and grip his shoulders.
Lucifer shushes you gently, kissing your cheek while his fingers continue to tease lazy circles around your clit, “I think you’re making the right decision, hellion. Now let daddy take care of you.” Something in his voice makes you need him more. You’re panting in his arms. Every time his finger slides around your clit, he tightens his circle to concentrate the sensation.
Gradually your breaths give way to quiet moans, the coil of pleasure in your belly tightening. “That’s good, darling,” Lucifer coos, going a little faster, “I want to hear every single one of these.” Your logical self has been locked away in a cage – she’s rattling the bars and reminding you that this isn’t just a casual hook-up. The stakes are higher.
You don’t care. Not when it feels this good. Not when something so beautiful and powerful is focusing all of his sinful attentions solely on you and your pleasure. “Please, hellion,” he’s whispering hotly against your neck, adding another finger and pressing harder on your clit to drag you closer to the edge, “Cum for me.”
It starts as a shiver and then, all at once, the dam breaks. All of the exhaustion and anxiety are forced out of you on a wave of white-hot pleasure. Your moans pitch higher and higher, coming faster. Lucifer doesn’t slow down for a second, riding out the bucking of your hips and whispering his praises as your orgasm hits hard.
As quickly as ecstasy took you, tempering realization follows. “Fuck,” you pant, blushing when Lucifer tugs your panties aside and admires the drip of your arousal. His grin is smug and that spark of mischief has returned to his eyes when he brings his fingertips to his mouth to taste you.
“That’s one, hellion.”