Lucifer finally allowed himself to look down, at where his hand slipped under the waistband of her trousers. At her hips, moving so frantically, and her hands on the mattress. She was nothing but a desperate ball of need, and it was beautiful and profane and utterly debauched--

He really missed being inside of her.

He gasped softly. It felt as if the tables had abruptly turned, and now all he could do was match her frantic motions with his hand, pushing her along. Giving her what she wanted.

(That was all he ever wanted.)