I could see the man, who had forced into a chair, looking up into John's face, begging. John slipped out of his jacket and handed it to a handler. He rolled up his sleeves slowly, watching the man plead.

John wasted no time between finishing his sinister clothing adjustment and bashing the man in the jaw. The man's head lolled and dropped forward. I recognized what was coming; John would beat him to within an inch of his life, or possibly to death. I didn't want to see it, but I understood I had to.

When John's smile spread on his face, I learned something of myself: Courage or not, I'd be taking him to hell with me. Lucifer had been right; I would bring him those I recognized to be truly guilty.

I forced myself to watch the depravity to which humans could sink. I glanced away many times, cried tears, shouted obscenities, paced, sat, and yet I could do nothing, impotent.

Over at last, I couldn't tell if the man was alive or not. I watched John wash his hands at the hose, take a towel from the second handler, and methodically dry them while giving the man instructions. The handler nodded at several intervals until John finally turned away.

He led the first handler out of the room and into an immaculately clean apartment across the hall. There, he knocked back two fingers of amber-colored alcohol, then went to take a shower. He finished, did his bathroom grooming, and dressed in a fresh shirt and pants. The last thing he did was pluck his suit jacket from his man and ease it on.

All before lunch.

Funny, but I had no appetite. Instead, it was my turn for a drink. I fixed one and stood staring at the Wall of Deirdre. I missed her with an ache that threatened to overwhelm me. I daydreamed about what we would do when she came back. We'd have to move away, I guessed, and start over, like we were in witness protection, and I stung at the thought of leaving those I loved behind, but regaining Deirdre would be worth the loss.

As I looked at the wall, scenes of the beating the man had taken intruded into my mind. Perhaps it was the effects of what I'd witnessed catching up with me, or the alcohol on an empty stomach, or a combination of the two, but I barely made it to the hall bathroom to vomit up the meager contents of my gut.

I rinsed my mouth and put a cool cloth on the back of my neck, leaning over the sink. With a knock at the door, I knew beyond a doubt what I wanted.

I flew to it and yanked it open to reveal a startled Lucifer. I flung my arms around his neck, buried my face, and sobbed.

He said nothing. He didn't have to. He picked me up and took me inside, carrying me with ease. I expected to go to the bedroom; instead, he sat on the couch and pulled me into his lap and held me as I wept.

"I am so sorry, Olivia," he whispered. "I was so set on having the souls, never once did I think about how this might affect you." His voice was pained when he added, "I wish I could take it back."

I sighed and snuggled my head on his shoulder into his neck. We sat in silence as he stroked my hair and played with a curl. The shock of the day caught up with me, and I drifted. I vaguely felt myself lifted, carried, and then put gently down on the bed. I roused, cold, for a moment before a warmth against my back wrapped around me.

I woke in the night to the smell of a faint cologne mingled with a subtle masculine scent. Even in the dim light, I could make out Lucifer's face. It was his chest I had snuggled up against and his arm that draped over me. He was sleeping, peaceful, and I was reluctant to wake him. I burrowed into the warmth again, and he pulled me in against him in his sleep. It felt like home.

I put my back to him, and we spooned; he buried his head in my hair and drifted away quickly. I laid awake, enjoying the moment. It'd been a long time since a man had wrapped me in his arms. I'd almost forgotten the sensation.

His body reacted to me in his sleep, and I responded in kind, but I still couldn't make up my mind. Soon, tears wet my cheeks, a visible telltale sign of my confusion.

He must have sensed something was amiss; his breathing changed, and he came awake.

"What is wrong, Olivia?" he breathed into my hair.

"Everything and nothing, Lucifer," I complained.

He pulled me tighter, and I could feel him press against me. "Do you not like this? Want this?"

"I do. A great deal. And that's the problem. I don't think I should, but I do."

He was quiet for a while. "There are two things I can do here, Olivia. I can go on pretending this does not exist because you do not want it to, or..."

"Or?"

"Or, I can convince you to let me love you for the night if you want to be convinced."

I rolled over to face him and brushed a hand down his rough cheek. Damnit. I'm dating the Devil.

"I don't need to be persuaded, Lucifer. I agree outright." I reached and began to unbutton his shirt gently. He closed his eyes for a long second before stopping me.

"Are you sure, Olivia?" he asked, looking deep into me. "There is no going back after this. There is no more pretending between us. I do not think I could bear it if you suddenly changed your mind tomorrow."

I swallowed past the tightening of my throat, tears threatening again. I continued to unbutton his shirt. He sighed and let me.

"Lucifer?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not naïve enough to assume you haven't had sex in some time, but it's been a while since anyone has been tender with you, hasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Me too." I gently tugged his shirttail from his pants before working on his cufflinks. They gleamed softly in the subtle lighting of the room, simple monograms with diamond accents.

"Seems like we might be well matched then," he said, watching what I was doing as he held his arm up for me to work on them.

Cufflinks removed, I slid my hands under his shirt, up and over his shoulders, pushing it off them. He maneuvered to help get rid of it.

I found a tight-fitting A-shirt over a fit body covered with tattoos. I realized I'd never seen him in anything but long sleeves. Now I appreciated why. I trailed my fingers over an inked sleeve depicting a fire and brimstone scene with a red-faced horned Devil and various demons.

"This is beautiful, Lucifer. Let me see the rest?" He looked at me for a heartbeat as if he were worried about what I'd think of them. He rolled over so I could see, even in the low light, the brilliant colors depicting his Fall covering the entirety of his back. I gently tugged on him, and he moved to show me his chest and other sleeve. The full arm tattoo seemed to be a fight scene between Light and Dark armies. On his chest, I found a script I couldn't read.

"What does it say?"

He cleared his throat. "Sovereignty Before Authority." He caught a hand loosely in the hair at the nape of my neck and pulled me to his mouth for our first kiss. It was soft and sweet initially but grew deeper and more demanding after a time. I felt as if he would devour me slowly if I'd only let go.

I let go.

He rolled me on top of him, then sat up, my legs around his waist. It was his turn to undress me, and he removed my blouse and bra with expert care. Our passion, a deep, languid pool I could float in and be high from for days, grew, patient and slow. He seemed to feel it as much as I did.

He kissed me deeply, and I couldn't help but moan. He reacted to my noise and knew I didn't have to worry about being quiet with him.

I gasped when his warm hands cupped my breasts, thumbs finding tender spots, and I whimpered when he took them away long enough to pull his A-shirt over his head and toss it aside.

He wrapped his arms around me, his hands in the middle of my back, and pulled me to him so we would be flesh to flesh. He ran his hand up my spine and pulled my head to the side, gently exposing my neck for him to kiss.

It felt so good that tears formed and fell before I could blink them away.

He lifted his head to whisper in my ear. "Are you okay, Olivia?"

"Yes," was all I could manage, overwhelmed with the tenderness of his touch. It had been so long, I had forgotten the power of sex.

He kissed my tears, then dived deep into my mouth, searching. I met him, answering him as intensely as he gave. He strained through his pants, pressing into my still-clothed wetness.

I broke the kiss. "Lucifer?"

"Mmm?" He was breathing deeply, forehead against mine, inhaling my scent.

"We have on too many clothes," I complained.

"Yes."

He rolled me onto my back and pressed into me, making me groan.

He kissed his way down, paying attention to all the right places as he did until he had slid down and off my body to undress me further. He worked deftly. My remaining clothes slid off, exposing me, but I didn't mind.

He moved up, trailing a hand until he could kiss me again. I moaned into his kiss when he ran his fingers through my wetness. I thought nothing of it to spread my legs and allow him inside. He found what he wanted and made my eyes roll.

I spoke a near whisper when he pulled back a bit. "Too many clothes, Lucifer," I insisted, running my hands down his torso and abdomen, searching for the waistband I couldn't quite reach.

He snapped away his clothing. His body was warm as he knelt between my legs, pressing only our upper bodies together.

"I need to be inside you, Olivia," he growled, lowering to pull himself through my slickness, stopping just before joining us.

"Please, Lucifer. Don't stop. I want this," I pleaded, trying to press into him with my hips unsuccessfully.

"Shh..." he said, playing with me, knowing I'd not be able to keep quiet. I was already whimpering with need as it was.

"Open for me," he said, insistent.

I did so, wanting nothing more than to feel him slide into me, which he did at a snail's pace. I whimpered louder and moaned, feeling my body welcome him. He pushed until he'd buried himself deep. He kissed me then, and I clenched around him. He growled in response.

"Lucifer..."

He knew what I wanted. He withdrew and pressed in again, and I cried out, unable to resist; I became lost in the feel, in the scent, in the drowning sea of him.

His waves rushed over me as he thrust, gently but insistently until he had set up a rhythm for us that felt as natural as breathing.

He raised up on his knees and lifted my hips to him. "Help me do this for you, Olivia," he said. I reached down, groaning as my fingers slid against my most sensitive areas. I worked myself as he increased the pace until he was fucking me with great strokes, burying deep inside of me with each thrust.

I called his name as I fell over the edge plunged, lost in the world which existed of nothing and no one except the two of us. Satisfied when I went first, he wasn't far behind, crying out himself as he did. He rocked us until neither of us could speak.