Chapter 90 – Suit and Tie
Fifteen minutes later, Lux stood under the scalding water of the hotel suite’s rainfall shower, one hand braced against the marble tile, the other dragging through his wet hair. Steam rose around him in thick clouds, fogging up the mirror outside and carrying with it the scent of charcoal soap, mint, and the last lingering traces of... well, Rava.
He wasn’t showering for vanity. Not exactly.
Rava had insisted.
"If you’re really gonna drive me, you need to shower," she’d said flatly, brushing blush across her cheekbone like a pro. "You still reek of sex. And not just mine, yours."
Lux had raised an eyebrow. "That’s part of my charm."
"That’s part of your problem."
To her credit, she wasn’t wrong.
He’d noticed it earlier, too—how mortals reacted when the scent of incubus pheromones clung too thick, too long. Subtle, yes. But in a world filled with rules and restraint, walking around like you were the embodiment of post-coital satisfaction was asking for attention. Unwanted attention. Or worse, administrative paperwork.
So, yeah. Shower.
Steam curled along his shoulders as he tilted his head back into the spray, letting the water run down his spine. It didn’t burn. Not really. But it was hot enough to ground him. Mortal heat. Mortal pressure. Mortal rules.
He stepped out ten minutes later, towel wrapped low on his hips, water still dripping from his hair in lazy rivulets down his neck and chest.
And when he walked back into the suite—
Rava looked up from her makeup.
And nearly dropped her highlighter brush.
She was sitting by the mirror, one leg crossed over the other, bathrobe adjusted just enough to allow movement. Her hair was mostly dry now, makeup maybe 90% done—liner sharp, lips freshly glossed, her expression fixed in what she thought was calm focus.
It wasn’t.
Not anymore.
Because there he was. Towering. Dripping. Practically steaming. The white towel clung to him like a sin trying to stay discreet. His torso still gleamed from the shower—shoulders broad, collarbone perfect.
And that walk. Slow. Unbothered. Confident like gravity bent toward him.
Rava tried not to look.
She failed.
Her eyes darted once to his chest. Then back to the mirror. Then to his waist. Then away again.
Her mind, unfortunately, was already working against her.
She remembered how that body felt over her. Under her. Inside her. The way those hands gripped her thighs. The way his hips rolled with obscene precision. Her throat flushed. She swallowed quickly, applying setting powder like it was going to erase her thoughts.
Lux hummed as he opened the shopping bags, towel shifting dangerously low as he leaned forward. "Hm. Blue? Too serious. Black? Too funeral. Gray with the faint checkered pattern? Ooh, finance warlock chic."
He settled on a midnight charcoal suit, tailored and simple, with silver thread details around the cuffs. Button-down white shirt. Thin black tie. Polished leather shoes. Mortal glam with infernal flair.
As he changed, Rava couldn’t help it. She peeked again. Once. Twice. Just a little.
He caught her in the mirror.
Didn’t say a word.
Just smirked.
By the time Lux was fully dressed, he looked like temptation with a boardroom upgrade. Hair dry and styled just enough to look like it wasn’t styled at all. Tie loosened slightly. Sleeves rolled halfway with that casual devil-may-care energy.
He adjusted his cufflinks—slow, precise, each silver edge catching the light like it knew it was part of a performance. As he straightened the last one, a flicker of movement in the mirror caught his attention.
He didn’t move his head. Just his eyes.
Rava.
She was trying to focus. Really, she was. Lipstick in one hand, mirror in the other. But her gaze kept drifting. Every few seconds, her eyes would flick toward him, lingering a little too long on the sharp lines of his suit jacket, the way it hugged his shoulders, the subtle stretch across his chest.
And when he reached up to fix the tie knot?
Oh, that glance was full tilt.
Her lips parted slightly, a breath caught mid-thought. Her fingers slowed just a beat too long on her mouth.
Lux smirked.
He turned to her fully, stepping forward like a man who knew he’d already won the silent game.
Then came the grin—slow, wicked, all-knowing.
"You know," he said, walking over slowly, voice a little lower than necessary, "I don’t mind if you screw me up in this outfit."
Rava’s brush froze on her cheek.
Lux leaned closer. Close enough that she could smell the lingering soap. Could see the faint heat still clinging to his skin. His lips curled into a lazy smile as he reached for his tie and tugged it ever-so-slightly forward.
"You could even use this to tie me up."
Her ears burned.
Lux tilted his head, eyes gleaming with pure demonic mischief. "Or, if you prefer... I could use it to tie you up."
Her breath hitched.
He didn’t touch her. Just stood there. In full view. Tie in his hand. Sin in his smile.
"L-Lux!" she snapped, cheeks turning a shade of pink she usually reserved for cocktails.
He laughed, wicked and soft. "Just saying," he purred, stepping away with a little shrug. "I’m a creative demon, you know."
Rava’s mind betrayed her the moment he leaned in, voice like velvet and sin.
The first image hit hard—Lux’s shirt unbuttoned, tie knotted tight around her wrists, her back pressed to the cool mirror as his body pinned hers with possessive heat. His mouth was trailing down her chest, slow and maddening, while her tentacles twisted involuntarily.
Then came another image, sharper. Lux on his knees this time, his tie wrapped tight in her grip, jaw slack, his usual smug confidence replaced with something raw. Her hand in his hair. His mouth open. Her control—absolute.
The third struck deepest—his tie forgotten on the floor, her robe barely clinging to her body as she sat on the marble counter, legs locked around his waist. Her heels digging into his back, his breath hot against her neck, her name spilling from his mouth like prayer. Their rhythm wild. Addictive. Her voice hoarse. His hands everywhere.
And again.
And again.
And again.
She blinked rapidly, shaking the images away like a wet cat.
"I-I need to focus," she muttered, picking up her lipstick again with shaky fingers.
Lux just flopped onto the couch like a satisfied cat, arms stretched across the backrest, watching her with open amusement.
"I am behaving," he said. "You’re the one imagining things."
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t need to.
Her blush did all the talking.
Lux folded his arms behind his head and grinned at the ceiling.
Sometimes, restraint was fun too.