chapter 3 🥀 4
3592 Words
THE DEVIL'S SIN
Luna was shaking in fear.
Her breath hitched.
She was breathing so hard.
She was with him.
Lucifer.
The devil himself.
His arms still wrapped around her waist like shackles.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
And if she dared to make a single mistake.
Her dead body would be the next to walk out of this room.
She couldn't think.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, so loud she was afraid he could hear it.
Lucifer.
Best friend of Waylen Rossi, the owner of this nightmare palace.
They were monsters.
Both of them.
Some say Waylen was worse. Though playful, when angry, he was pure damnation dressed in silk. The kind of man who'd stab you with a smile and toast your blood like fine wine.
But many believed Lucifer was far worse.
Because his name was Lucifer.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. Didn’t warn.
He killed with silence.
And when he didn’t kill?
He broke.
Luna was terrified.
He could kill her. Or worse.
He could ruin her. Break her. Strip away her job, her body, and her freedom. Leave her nothing but a trembling, hollow shell.
And Lucifer?
He could smell the fear on her skin, in her breath, between her trembling legs.
And he was loving it.
He finally moved.
Let go of her slowly, like he was releasing prey he would soon devour again.
He sank onto the couch like a king. Legs spread. One arm draped over the leather, the other swirling a glass of red wine.
“Dance for me, Luna.” his voice was deep and husky.
Unapologetically cruel.
Luna jolted from her frozen state.
Her heart dropped.
Dance. Alone. For him.
Her first private dance.
Her first performance for a man with death in his blood.
She took a deep breath and stepped toward the pole.
The music began.
A low, dangerous beat.
Smoke swirled around her like whispers from hell.
Her fingers grazed the silver pole, and she moved slowly, body arching like a serpent awakened.
She climbed.
Wrapped one leg around the pole, then the other.
Let herself hang upside down.
Then descended like a falling sin.
Her body glowed under the dim red lights, every curve outlined in fire and gold.
She flipped her hair. Dropped low. Opened her legs.
Grinded with purpose. Teased with each step.
Not because she wanted to.
But because her life depended on it.
She rolled her hips like rhythm was her weapon.
Spun around the pole, legs splitting midair, then landing perfectly on stilettos that could kill.
Her arms stretched high, wrists curling like she was offering herself to a god.
Lucifer didn’t blink.
He watched.
Devoured her.
Not with hands.
With thoughts.
Look at her.
Trembling.
Scared.
Perfect.
A little bird in a room full of wolves.
She moved like prey, graceful but unsure. Her fear made her beautiful. More beautiful than any w***e that ever graced this floor.
She didn’t want to dance. That was the best part.
She had to.
That desperate ache in her eyes. The terror in her trembling knees. The subtle resistance in her movement that screamed, 'Please don’t touch me.'
He drank it in.
Every breath. Every flick of her hips. Every soft, humiliating motion she made on that pole was for him.
And yet she doesn't even know who owns her soul now.
He wanted her to dance until her legs gave out.
To cry while crawling across the floor just so he could whisper that she was doing well.
He didn’t want her body.
He wanted her surrender.
Her mind.
Her obedience.
Luna slid down the pole, skin catching glimmers of light as she slowly spread her legs into a split.
Then, she rose again, this time without grace. She was shaking.
Crawling toward him.
One hand. Then the other.
Each movement forward ripped her pride apart.
She looked up.
Big mistake.
Her eyes met his.
Silver.
Cold.
Merciless.
He stood slowly, his glass still half-full. He approached her like a shadow stretching through firelight.
She stayed on her knees.
Like she knew better.
He crouched before her.
Brushed a knuckle down her cheek.
“You’re scared,” he whispered.
She nodded, lips trembling.
“Good.”
His hand wrapped around her neck, not hard, not soft. Just enough to remind her who had the power to snap it.
“That fear? It suits you.”
She tried to look away. He tightened his grip just slightly.
“You don’t look away unless I tell you to.”
“Yes… sir,” she whispered.
He smiled then.
Slow and cruel.
“Crawl back to the pole.”
She hesitated.
“On. All. Fours.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she obeyed.
Every inch she crawled, Lucifer burnt the image into his memory.
The way her back arched.
The way her knees dragged across the cold marble floor.
She reached the pole and clung to it.
He sat back on the couch.
Legs spread.
Wine untouched.
Eyes on her like a man watching the most exquisite tragedy.
“Now dance for me again,” he said, voice darker than before.
“Slower.”
“Make me believe you belong to me.”
Luna closed her eyes.
She had no other choice.
The music throbbed like a heartbeat.
And she began to move again, this time not for the money.
But to survive.
Because tonight...
She wasn't dancing in a club.
She was dancing in the devil’s hands.
And he was never going to let her go.
.
The club had begun to empty, the music fading like the echo of sins whispered into the dark.
Backstage, the changing room glowed under low golden lights. Makeup-stained mirrors, perfume lingering in the air, and half-naked girls slipping out of their designer outfits with tired sighs and practised routine.
Starr pulled off her stilettos, wincing as she rubbed her ankles.
“Luna isn’t back yet,” she said, worry lacing her voice.
“She’s probably too busy sucking off some mafia king for extra cash,” Lisa scoffed, smirking as she peeled off her rhinestone corset.
Melisa chuckled, loud and venomous. “Oh, please. She’s probably still on her knees praying Lucifer keeps her alive.”
Violet raised a brow, applying a gloss of clear lip balm. “Jealousy is such a cheap scent, Lisa. You wear it too loud.”
Starr added with a smirk, “Yeah, Lisa. If Luna is getting attention, maybe it’s because she can actually dance and doesn’t need to f**k her way to relevance.”
“Oh right,” Violet jumped in. “And let’s not forget, you got thrown down to the second floor tonight, remember?”
Starr pretended to gasp, laughing. “What happened, queen of the top floor? Did they get tired of recycled p***y?”
Lisa slammed her locker shut. “f**k off.”
“Touchy,” Violet muttered, still smiling.
Melisa’s eyes burnt, lips pressed into a thin line. Rage and embarrassment curled inside her like acid.
The dressing room door swung open.
Aiden stepped in, expression unreadable as always. His black suit was crisp, his presence cold.
“You’re all still here,” he said, eyes scanning the room. “Good. Go home. The boss was pleased with tonight’s performance.”
The room lit up with surprise.
Lisa and Melisa straightened instantly, their earlier anger forgotten.
“And he’s hosting a private party this Saturday,” Aiden continued. “He wants all strippers present. His associates will be there as well.”
Melisa beamed, tossing her hair. “Finally, some real fun.”
Lisa grinned. “Can’t wait to get back on the throne.”
Just as Aiden turned to leave, Melisa’s voice rang out sweetly.
“Um, boss… What about Luna?” She asked, not from concern but from curiosity, envy crawling beneath her skin.
Luna hadn’t come back.
She hadn’t walked through those doors.
That meant only one thing in Melisa’s mind.
She was still with him.
“None of your business,” Aiden replied coldly, not bothering to look back.
He left without another word.
The moment the door closed, Lisa hissed under her breath.
“That stupid b***h is probably getting paid double for opening her legs upstairs.”
“She’s nothing special,” Melisa snapped, pulling on a hoodie. “That’s my floor. She doesn’t belong up there.”
Starr and Violet were already dressed and walking out together.
“You know...” Starr said, glancing back. “Rather than being a stripper, you should have been a whore.”
“Have you forgotten she wasn't picked because she was too ugly to be one?” Violet added darkly.
“b***h, you weren't picked either as a w***e,” Melissa yelled.
“That's because we didn't apply for a slut but a stripper. You and Lisa applied to be a w***e but got rejected.”
“Poor, desperate, ugly being,” Starr said, wiping fake tears.
Then Starr and Violet laughed before walking away, leaving those two in anger, ready to slaughter someone.
Lisa pulled on her leather jacket. “Saturday’s ours. I’ll be damned if I let that virgin-faced charity case take what belongs to us.”
Melisa smirked. “Exactly. I’ve been working here the longest. I deserve Lucifer.”
Her eyes went dreamy for a second.
“I still remember last year… The way he looked at me touched me. Nine inches of absolute god. I was the only one who got him before he left for Italy. Even the sluts were jealous.”
Lisa rolled her eyes playfully. “Meanwhile, I almost choked on Waylen’s d**k at his birthday party. God, I miss that psycho.”
“Tomorrow we'll be back to the top floor.”
They both laughed.
Dark. Wicked. Dirty.
“Saturday, I want his hands on me again,” Melisa whispered. “I need Lucifer to remember what I taste like.”
Lisa smiled, twisting her hair into a bun. “Let’s book a spa treatment tomorrow. I need my skin glowing. If I step onto that top floor again, I want every man looking at me.”
“Waylen won’t resist this ass,” Lisa added with a smirk.
“And Lucifer won’t resist me,” Melisa said with certainty, lips curling into a confident, dangerous smile.
They walked out together, heels clicking like weapons against the marble floor, already dreaming of Saturday.
.
Lyra Noir could barely feel her legs.
Her heels stabbed into her feet with every step, each click on the marble floor a cruel reminder that she wasn’t human in this place; she was property. A beautiful servant girl in a den of wolves, dressed not to serve, but to seduce.
Her uniform for the night?
A short black skirt that barely covered her ass. A thin, sheer bra. And no shame.
She was a waitress… yet they made her dress like a w***e.
“For tips,” they said.
“For the ambience,” they said.
But ambience didn’t make your skin crawl. The ambience didn’t make you want to vomit when every man in the room devoured you with his eyes like a piece of meat soaked in perfume.
It wasn’t a restaurant.
It was a slow, glittering slaughterhouse.
She wiped sweat from her brow, her hands trembling as she carried a tray toward one of the back tables. Her back ached, her eyes burnt from lack of sleep, and she was still covering Ocean’s shift.
Twelve hours straight. No break. No rest.
All night, all eyes on her.
She felt like she was dancing on the edge of a blade.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said politely, voice soft but steady as she reached one of the tables. “May I take your order?”
The table was surrounded by men. Dangerous ones.
One of them wore a heavy coat even though it was warm inside, and his face was hidden in the shadows of his hat. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even acknowledge her presence.
But the other man beside him smiled. He looked more charming, less terrifying. His face was clean-shaven, with olive skin and green eyes.
“I’ll have the fillet mignon,” he said. “Rare. And a glass of red, French. Surprise me.”
Lyra forced a smile. “Coming right up, sir.”
But then her eyes dropped to the table.
Three black guns lay across it casually like silverware.
Her throat tightened. Her knees weakened.
'You forgot where you are,' a voice inside her whispered. There are no nice men here. Only killers who haven't decided if you're worth shooting.
She gave a small bow and turned away, heels clicking faster now.
Her breathing turned shallow, her smile fake and shaky as she hurried toward the kitchen.
SLAP!
A loud smack echoed through the hallway.
Pain exploded across her backside, her ass cheek.
“f*****g soft,” a voice growled.
She turned sharply, eyes wide.
A man was leaning back in a booth near the corridor. Tattoos crawled across his arms and neck like serpents. His shirt was open, revealing scars and a silver chain with a skull.
On the table in front of him, knives, brass knuckles, a bloodied napkin, and another goddamn gun.
He looked up at her slowly, smirking.
Like he owned her.
Lyra didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them in. She spun and ran into the kitchen, head bowed.
The moment she crossed the line of the swinging door, her breath collapsed.
Tears spilt silently.
She leaned against the cold tile wall and let herself break, just for a second.
She hated working here.
Every shift was a war.
Every customer a possible executioner.
This wasn’t just a restaurant. It was the mouth of hell, and she was serving demons their dinner.
But she needed the money.
For her mother. For Luna.
She wiped her face quickly. No one cared about your pain in Inferna. Weakness was like blood in the ocean; it attracted the worst.
She gathered the food tray for the order. Balanced the wine.
Took a breath.
And headed back into hell.
Her heels clicked steadily as she approached the table again, careful not to make eye contact, praying silently.
SMACK!
The tray went flying from her hands.
Dishes clattered. Glass shattered.
Food and wine spilt across the man’s chest.
The same man who had slapped her ass.
The Mafia thug with tattoos and a smile like rot.
Lyra stumbled backward, eyes wide in horror.
She turned her head and saw Amber walking away, a smirk painted on her lips like lipstick.
She had done it.
Amber had shoved her on purpose.
Sabotage. Betrayal.
Lyra’s heart stopped.
“No… please…” she tried to say, stepping forward to explain.
But it was too late.
The man stood.
Covered in steak and wine.
Eyes murderous.
And then,
SLAP!
His palm cracked against her face, loud enough to echo.
Her head jerked sideways, the sting blooming red across her cheek.
She gasped, her hand flying to her face.
“How dare you?” the man yelled as Lyra cried, tears blinding her.
The restaurant went silent.
Every pair of eyes turned toward her.
No one moved.
No one came to help.
Because this was Inferna.
There were no heroes here.
Only survivors.
The man growled, reaching for something on the table.
Lyra’s chest squeezed.
No…
He pulled out a gun.
And pointed it at her.
Straight at her forehead.
Her legs froze.
Her vision blurred.
“No, please, I…I didn’t…” Her voice broke as she stumbled back.
“Bye, b***h,” he hissed.
BANG!
The gunshot cracked through the restaurant like thunder.
.
Luna’s knees were trembling.
Her heels had long since begun stabbing her feet like knives. Every move, every sway of her hips, was a silent scream through pain. She had been dancing for four straight hours, no break, no water, no mercy.
Her muscles ached. Her chest heaved. Her vision blurred.
But still, she danced.
Because the man watching her hadn’t told her to stop.
Lucifer, dark prince of the underworld and best friend of the devil himself, Waylen, sat like a king on his throne, untouched by time. He had drunk five bottles of the most expensive wine in Inferna, but not even a drop of it touched his soul.
He wasn’t drunk on liquor.
He was drunk on her.
On every twist of her waist. Every flick of her hair. Every breathless sway of her thighs and the way her body bent like a sin being offered.
Luna was exhausted, unaware of the wicked hunger in the man’s mind and how twisted his thoughts had become.
Because Lucifer was unravelling.
And it was her fault.
Mine.
Fucking mine.
Her legs.
That mouth.
The innocence dripping off her like forbidden honey.
She didn’t even realise what she was doing to him.
Didn’t know she was feeding a beast that hadn’t felt hunger like this in years. His obsession with her had evolved, mutated, into something vile. Something deadly.
No man should ever see her like this.
Only him.
Only his eyes should witness the way her body moved in shadows and light.
He didn’t just want her.
He wanted to ruin her.
To brand her from the inside out.
To cage her beauty and chain her freedom.
He wanted her to cry out his name with broken reverence and fear.
Luna stumbled slightly, gasping after another routine. Her hand brushed the pole for support. Sweat glistened down her spine.
Then, finally,
“Enough,” Lucifer said, his voice cold and final.
Relief crashed into her chest.
She almost dropped to her knees from exhaustion.
She gave a slight nod, trying to steady her shaking voice. “Umm… I hope you enjoyed it, sir. I’ll get going now.”
She was already walking toward the door.
It was 2AM.
She needed sleep.
Lyra would be home soon.
She needed to leave now.
But then,
“Who gave you the right to go?”
His voice stopped her heart.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.
It dripped with death and darkness.
Luna froze.
She felt it before she heard him move.
His presence, massive and overwhelming, closed in behind her like a storm.
Then she felt something hard… pressing against her backside.
Her breath hitched.
The sheer, thin dress she wore barely covered anything. She could feel him through the silk.
Lucifer was hard.
And she knew what that meant.
Fear clawed up her spine.
What if he tries to sleep with me…?
Can I say no?
Would it even matter?
He could kill her right here. Right now. No one would stop him.
She was nothing.
And he… he was everything dark and dangerous.
Lucifer reached out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around with ease.
Luna's breath caught.
They were too close.
She could smell him.
Expensive cologne and power.
And then
Without a warning
He kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was brutal.
Devouring.
Possessive.
His mouth crashed onto hers like a storm meeting the sea, swallowing her whole. Her eyes widened in terror. Her first kiss was stolen.
She tried to push him away.
Tried to scream.
But he was stronger. Dominant. He held her jaw in place like she was fragile glass he could shatter in his palm.
When he finally pulled away, her lips were red, swollen, and trembling.
Lucifer looked at her like a man who had tasted his last piece of sanity.
Fuck.
Her lips were softer than anything he had ever touched.
Like silk soaked in sin.
And her taste, Jesus f*****g Christ.
It was addictive.
Innocence and fire.
Fear and sweetness.
Like she was made just to be ruined.
Like God had carved her for the sole purpose of being kissed by the Devil.
No kiss will ever compare.
Not ever again.
She was his new addiction.
And he didn’t share addictions.
Luna stumbled back, breath ragged.
She was shaking, violated, shocked, and on the verge of tears.
But she couldn’t scream.
Couldn’t run.
Because she was trapped.
And Lucifer wasn’t done.
“I want to kiss you again,” he whispered, his voice like ice on bare skin. “No, I want to ravish that mouth… I want to mark every inch of your body until your tears taste like my name.”
Luna whimpered, eyes wide in terror.
She needed to get out.
She needed to escape this madness.
But then he said it.
“Your lips… Just one minute on them is worth three million dollars.”
Luna’s breath caught.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Three… what?
This man was insane.
A full minute worth three million?
He couldn’t be serious.
But Lucifer didn’t smile.
He stepped closer, pinning her with his stare.
And then,
“I want to kiss you for an hour, Sin.”
His voice dripped hunger.
Lust.
Obsession.
“Sixty minutes. That’s one hundred and eighty million dollars…”
He cupped her chin.
his voice dripped hunger.
Lust.
Obsession.
“Sixty minutes. That’s one hundred and eighty million dollars…”
He cupped her chin.
“You’re worth every f*****g cent.”
Luna's lips parted in shock.
But she had no words.
Nothing.
And then Lucifer leaned in once more, his voice like a slow spell in her ear.
“Tell me, Sin… Will you sell your lips to the Devil?”
- Writer
