The Devil And His Rose

He was the one her father made a deal with—the one she now belonged to, the one she should be scared of.

"I- I'm really sorry" Her voice was now really shaky. Why was she scared? Maybe because he looked nothing like a demon, talk less of a rogue demon.

No horn, no tail, no red skin, and he was unusually fast for one. Yet she couldn't deny that despite her fear, there was attraction that burned withen her.

Maybe because he was simply good looking?, she did not know. But one thing was for sure, she had to do everything in her power to make sure he doesn't kill her on the spot.

"Do I really look like a mermaid?" Lucifer's low, velvety voice resonated behind her, sliding over her skin like a caress.

That voice was a problem—a dangerous one. It made her stomach twist, her pulse race in ways she couldn't afford to feel right now. But another problem loomed: how in the hell did he know?

Had she said it out loud? Was he angry?

She spun around awkwardly, her back brushing against the nightstand.

Her breath hitched as she realized there was no escape—he was too close, towering over her, trapping her in a cage of his presence.

"M-Mister, you're just so handsome," she stammered, her voice rising in pitch, desperate for a way out.

"I thought maybe you were…uh…a water creature?" She forced out a laugh, but it wavered, cracking under the weight of his dark gaze.

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk, predatory and knowing. She was trying so hard to sweet-talk him, fumbling her way through excuses, but he could see right through her.

His Rose was just like this, cunning, her mind always spinning, scheming—a little vixen pretending to be innocent. And God, he liked that.

Her hands fluttered up to his chest, pressing weakly as if she could actually move him.

"Do you mind stepping back a bit?" she asked, her voice trembling but determined. "So we can—"

"We can what?" His hand slid to her waist, fingers curling possessively as he pulled her flush against him.

Rose gasped, her body reacting before her brain could catch up.

Her knees wobbled, her breath coming in shallow pants as her senses were overtaken by his heat, his scent, the sheer intensity of him.

"S-so we can discuss properly," she managed, her voice a whisper, though even she wasn't sure what she meant anymore.

For fuck's sake, what was wrong with her? She'd never felt this way about anyone before—so raw, so unhinged.

Why did he have to be the exception, the one who broke through her carefully built walls? And worse, she was supposed to fear him. Fear him.

Lucifer smirked as her thoughts unraveled, each one louder in his mind than the last.

She had no idea how tightly he was holding himself back, how every fiber of his being screamed to take her, claim her.

Lord, how he'd missed her—her body, her scent, her taste. But more than anything, he missed the gentle solace of her touch, the way it soothed the storm that raged inside him.

Before Rose could process what was happening, his arms were around her, strong and unyielding, pulling her against him in one swift, possessive motion.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed, struggling against his hold, her hands shoving weakly at his chest. But his grip didn't falter.

And then she heard it—that voice, low and raw, carrying a desperation she wasn't prepared for. "Please, Rose. Just a second more."

Her movements stilled, her breath catching in her throat. Was he begging her? The sheer vulnerability in his tone cracked something inside her, unraveling her resistance.

It wasn't just the words—it was the ache behind them, a pain so deep it made her feel like the ground beneath her was giving way.

Why did this feel so familiar? Like she'd lived this moment a thousand times before, like she was meant to be here, wrapped in his arms.

Slowly, hesitantly, she stopped fighting and let him pull her closer, until there was no space left between them.

In his embrace, the world fell away. She felt so small, so impossibly safe, like nothing—no one—could ever harm her.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, her soul stopped searching. It was home.

Lucifer buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize her scent all over again.

His hands gripped her waist tightly, trembling slightly as if afraid she might slip through his fingers, disappear like she had before. He couldn't bear it—not again.

Not this time. This time, he'd hold on until the stars burned out if that's what it took to keep her.

But he knew he couldn't hold her forever. As much as his heart begged him to keep her close, reality clawed its way back in. He had to let go—he had no choice.

After what felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment, Lucifer finally released her.

His hands lingered on her waist for the briefest second, as if reluctant to break the connection, before he stepped back.

He gave her one last, piercing look, his eyes dark with an intensity that made her knees tremble.

"Go freshen up," he said, his voice clipped, almost cold, as he turned away without another word.

It happened so fast that Rose could barely process it.

One moment, she was wrapped in his arms, drowning in his presence, and the next, he was gone, leaving her standing there, breathless and confused.

"Wait!" she called after him, her voice shaky, desperate. She darted for the door, her heart racing, but by the time she reached the hallway, it was empty.

The silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. She stood there, her chest heaving, staring down the long, deserted corridor, questions swirling in her mind.

Why had he pulled away? Why did he have to leave her feeling like she was grasping at smoke.