62、Chapter 62 路西法挑了 ...
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Michael struggled bitterly, but was easily pinned back onto the sofa by Lilith. The power of the Night Witch was no joke—her one hand effortlessly held him down while the other swiftly tore apart his already tattered clothes.
"Swish—"
Michael felt a sudden chill as the remaining scraps of fabric were casually tossed aside, revealing his body scarred with marks. His skin, originally pale as snow, now bore deep purple bruises and bite marks stretching from his neck down to his waist, even the inner thighs not spared. Lucifer's possessiveness was laid bare in every single mark.
Lilith whistled, her gaze settling on the dark red imprints near his collarbone—clearly bites—that had begun to swell with surrounding bruising.
"Looks like the King really enjoyed himself last night."
Mercifully sparing Michael from an on-site explosion, she swallowed the words "played with you," though her hands didn't stop. They glided slowly down his chest, pausing briefly over each mark as if appreciating a work of art.
Michael tensed his entire body, trying desperately to escape her touch—but failed. The witch’s temperature was much lower than his own, and when her fingers brushed against his burning skin, it felt like being struck by ice. “……”
Lilith poked him in the waist.
There was a distinct finger mark there—left by Lucifer's tight grip the night before.
Michael immediately sucked in a breath.
"Painful?"
Lilith raised an eyebrow, yet didn't ease her pressure; if anything, she pressed harder. "Good. That means it hurts. Next time, remember not to provoke him."
Michael gritted his teeth, his voice barely escaping between clenched jaws. "I didn't provoke him."
He wasn't crazy—he'd rather be a million miles away from Lucifer, never to cross paths again in this life or any other.
And yet, he'd go out of his way to provoke him?
But Lilith clearly didn't believe him. She uncapped the ointment, scooped out a generous dollop of pale white paste, and gently applied it to his wound. The ointment carried a faint minty scent and felt cool to the touch, quickly soothing the burning sensation on his skin.
The Night Witch’s movements seemed casual, but were actually incredibly meticulous. Her palm glided over his skin with just the right amount of pressure—from shoulders to back, down to his waist—covering every inch without missing a spot.
A strange, tingling numbness shot up his spine, and Michael’s body tensed involuntarily.
Yet even that slightest reaction didn’t escape Lilith’s notice. Her smile deepened, and she deliberately slowed her motions, pinching gently at the hollows of his waist.
Michael’s female form was slender—perhaps excessively so compared to average proportions. In his male guise, it hadn’t been obvious, but as a woman, his waist and legs seemed almost skeletal.
Thus, his two shallow dimples appeared more pronounced—and more sensitive than usual.
"Does this hurt too?" she asked.
Michael felt himself nearly melting into the darkness. He turned his face aside, voice hoarse.
"It doesn’t hurt."
Lilith either genuinely didn’t believe his stubbornness or simply enjoyed teasing him. Either way, she didn’t let him off the hook, pressing gently on the bruise along his inner thigh. Michael nearly choked, his scream barely suppressed.
It really did hurt.
"You’re so beautiful," Lilith said, her gaze openly appreciative, "and you’ve got such a great figure. No wonder Lucifer gave you 'special attention.'"
"If the denizens of Hell saw you like this, they’d probably fight each other for the chance to spend a night with you."
Michael closed his eyes, pretending to be a corpse on the sofa, desperately trying to ignore both the mockery in her words and the electric thrill of her fingertips.
"Let them like me if they want," he finally said. "You're watching me so closely—do you like me too?"
At those words, Lilith’s radiant smile grew even brighter. She leaned closer, her voice low and teasing.
"Of course I do." Her grin sent chills down Michael’s spine. "Women can play together too—you didn’t know that?"
Michael’s expression froze instantly. “……”
"I don't want to know," he forced out the words with great difficulty.
Lilith refused to let him off the hook. "Shy now?"
The Night Witch seemed equally amused by teasing Michael. "You were so wild with Lucifer last night, and now you're all pure and innocent again?"
Michael had no response, only surrendering himself to her will. His body grew increasingly heated under her touch, every inch of skin as if set ablaze. And most despairingly of all, *****************************
Though a female angel's form showed no outward reaction, the sensation was still driving Michael to the brink of collapse. **********************************************
“……”
Perhaps Lilith sensed Michael's despair at that moment, and finally took pity on him. She stood up, casually setting the ointment aside.
"Rest well, poor thing."
The sound of high heels faded into the distance, and the door was quietly closed behind her.
At last, Michael was alone in the room. He curled up on the sofa, burying his face in his arms, overwhelmed by a mix of shame and fury.
That damn Lucifer!
The archangel seethed inwardly. Even after ten thousand years apart, the bastard could still so easily reduce him to this humiliating state. The events of last night haunted his mind—Lucifer’s hot breath, his rough biting, and that almost frantic need to possess.
He hated Lucifer with every fiber of his being, yet his body betrayed him. Even now, just recalling fragments from last night, he felt an unbearable craving for that man rise within him.
Michael shut his eyes tightly, forcing himself to stop reliving the memories. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his ragged breathing, but the heat in his body refused to subside.
All he could do was lie stiffly on the sofa, waiting for time to dull the ache. ……
Two days later.
Michael sat alone on the bed, wearing a black silk halter dress. The night sky of Hell held no stars—only a silver moon hung high, casting dim light into the room.
In his hands, he held a light screen, his fingers swiftly gliding across it as he scrolled through recent news and online updates from Hell.
"Hell's internet signal is actually more stable than Heaven's," Michael muttered under his breath. The screen displayed several emerging industries in Hell, including some gray-market ventures involving secret dealings with Heaven. He quietly memorized the details, pondering how to exploit this information, when suddenly a soft sound came from near the window.
He raised his head sharply, turning toward the source. Outside, silence reigned—only the moonlight cast a blurred shadow across the glass. “……”
Michael set down the light screen and stood up, walking to the window. He reached out and pushed it open; the night wind brushed against his cheek, carrying a bone-chilling coldness.
Strange.
Michael frowned slightly, about to close the window—then suddenly, a dark shadow shot through the opening, pouncing on him with lightning speed and knocking him onto the bed.
His back slammed hard into the mattress before he could react. Before he even had time to process what was happening, a scorching body pressed down on top of him.
His wrists were effortlessly seized and raised above his head, while his legs were pinned by the other’s knee, rendering him completely immobile.
A familiar, icy scent invaded his nostrils.
Michael’s pupils contracted sharply.
Before him stood the fallen angel, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. His pitch-black eyes were as deep and endless as the night itself, seeming capable of devouring Michael whole. The demon lord’s presence enveloped him, the cold fragrance laced with a faint, almost imperceptible hint of blood that stung his nasal passages.
"Carla, long time no see," Lucifer murmured in a low voice, tinged with mockery.
Michael steadied himself, curling his lips into a teasingly seductive smile. "It's only been two days—already so eager, Your Majesty?"
His voice was soft and languid, like a casual, half-hearted complaint.
Lucifer, of course, didn’t bother arguing. He smiled graciously. "I just missed you."
Though his words were those of a lover, his hands never stopped moving—***********************.
Michael lazily shot him a glance, clearly more flirtatious than angry. "Do you miss me—or do you just want to sleep with me?"
He placed his hand against Lucifer’s chest, gently pushing upward, half-rejecting, half-enticing, his tone laced with provocation.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow, utterly unashamed of his desire. "Does it matter?" His hand wrapped around Michael’s waist, pinning him helplessly, drawing the witch closer into his arms.
"Last time, I still hadn't finished with you."
They say the Demon King and Queen Lilith share such a close bond—yet when the Demon King sleeps with me, he certainly doesn’t hold back.
Lucifer seemed to pause for a moment, then quickly resumed his nonchalant demeanor. Ignoring Michael’s question, he countered instead.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" His hand slipped beneath Michael’s skirt, tracing sensually along his skin.
Michael’s breath grew unsteady under Lucifer’s touch. After a moment, he regained composure, feigning ease with a soft, teasing hum. "Oh, quite comfortable—but Your Majesty is far too strong. My ass still hurts from last time."
Hearing this, Lucifer let out a quiet chuckle. His palm returned to Michael’s buttocks, gently kneading—not too hard, not too light—Michael felt it was pure provocation. "Then this time, I’ll be gentle?"
No matter how he felt inside, Michael kept his expression relaxed and carefree.
"I wouldn’t dare believe anything the Demon King says." He shifted his leg slightly, brushing against Lucifer’s waist, his tone deliberately suggestive. "You said the same thing last time."
Lucifer’s eyes darkened. Without hesitation, he lowered his head and bit down on the pale neck exposed within his sight, which swayed gently.
His teeth left a shallow mark on the skin, then his tongue traced it lightly.
"Mmm—"
Michael let out a muffled grunt, his body stiffening in the demon king’s arms.
Was he really nothing but a dog? ！
作者有话说
第62章 Chapter 62
