*MATURE CONTENT*

"Are you still mad?" Lucifer asked when we reached the bedroom I had begun to think of as my sanctuary. In response, I stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door so hard that the door frame shuddered on impact. I heard the angel wince.

"I'll take that as a yes."

No shit, Sherlock.

The bathroom continued the modern black and slate gray theme of the bedroom itself, with marble counters and black tile floors. The shower was clear and looked more expensive than a twenty-first century college education. I appreciated a bougie-ass bathroom.

As I glowered at the mirror, horror washed over me.

I looked like a goddamn train wreck.

My red hair was frizzy and curly and stuck out at odd angles; I looked like Ronald McDonald if he did recreational drugs and forgot to get a haircut. I had met with a council of hell looking like a fucking stoned clown.

And, of course, the freaking bruise on my neck was red, and large, and very, painfully, obvious. The fires of my rage roared high again as I saw it.

Damn arrogant possessive freak.

Though I had just thought to use the bathroom as a way to get some space from the infuriating, patronizing holy being who wouldn't leave me alone, I decided that a shower was critical.

I clicked the bathroom lock into place and began to strip. However, before I could so much as get my shirt off, the door pounded violently.

"Rika, unlock the door!"

"Why the Hell would I do that, you perv?" I shouted, breaking my stony silence.

"I'd rather not break down my own door if you need me." The angel replied sensibly. I growled, not in the most sensible of moods.

"I won't be needing you, so drop it or I'll drop you!" I snarled. Satisfied with the moody silence that followed, I finished undressing and jumped into the shower.

As expected, it was a euphoric experience. The water pressure was divine, and the showerhead was large enough so that my whole body could be under at once. As I lathered shampoo between my palms, I prayed that it didn't have sulfates in it. I'd need to get some of my shampoo and conditioner pronto...though the scent of the currently available products wrapped me in the smell of my angel. Maybe I could wait on my products for a little bit.

Listen to you, you spineless wimp! You sound like you actually plan on staying here. What happened to your independence?

I winced, pausing with a palmful of amazing-smelling conditioner. I was in a tricky situation. I didn't want to leave Lucifer. My heart stuttered at the mere thought of it. But, this arrangement rubbed me the wrong way. No matter how much attraction I felt for him, if he continued to be controlling, he would suffocate me.

But that wasn't important now; maybe it wouldn't ever be. Maybe after this whole Michael situation was sorted, and I was no longer in active danger, Lucifer would loosen up a bit. Not be so possessive and demanding. Overall, just less dominant.

Don't kid yourself.

I shut off the water, stepping out and wrapping myself in a fluffy black towel. I was much happier with my reflection now, and, as I stared to the mirror, I gave myself a pep talk.

We were adults, and so I'd handle this like an adult. No more sulking or silent treatment. I'd talk to him about it. I'd tell him that his dominating behavior might fly with everyone else in his life, but not with me. If he didn't listen, it wouldn't matter how much I liked him. I needed to be treated like an equal; with respect.

If he wouldn't change, or at least try, I saw no reason to try with him.

I hope he listens...I want him to listen.

With that thought, I wrapped myself in a black robe, (which was way too big for me), and stepped out of the bathroom.

I raised an eyebrow when I found the angel lying on the bed, a book in hand, a set of clothes picked out for me next to him. I blushed as he raked his eyes over me, taking in my wet hair and state of dress. His blue eyes darkened, and he gave me a heated look.

"Do you feel better, Love?" He asked huskily. I gulped, shuffling slightly. How did he manage to strip me of all my confidence with one look?

"Much, thank you. Now, would you mind if I get dressed?" I asked, staring at him pointedly.

"Not at all," he grinned, being deliberately obtuse. I rolled my eyes at his antics, gesturing for him to turn around. Reluctantly, he did so, and I watched him for a moment suspiciously.

"No peeking!" I admonished, reaching for the pile of clothes.

"Just don't take too long, Kitten, lest the temptation become too much for me."

Deciding he probably wasn't kidding, I threw on my clothes in record time. There was a pair of medium-wash skinny jeans and a soft, oversized long-sleeved cream shirt. The undergarments made me pause briefly, but the threat of peeking had me putting on the black, lacy affairs without complaint. I just prayed the bra didn't show through the shirt.

When I was done, I scrunched my hair and tossed it over my shoulder, wincing at the damp feeling on my neck.

One of these days, I'll chop it all off.

"You can-" I began, turning to look at the angel, only to meet his playful gaze. My jaw dropped.

"You-"

"Don't worry, Rika. I didn't see anything," he assured me, though he looked far too self-satisfied for me to actually believe him, "unfortunately."

"You better not have, Lucie," I threatened, but it was empty. He grinned.

As he looked at me, he seemed to turn something over and over in his mind. His face was intense, and I almost shrank away from his perusal. Only my stubborn refusal to do literally anything anyone else tried to make me do stopped me. I met him head-on.

"When we first met, you kicked me in the balls," he muttered, as if he were confirming some sort of deep truth about the universe.

My face flushed, "well, you were manhandling me. I was just defending myself. To be honest, I'd do it again."

He grinned, breaking his thoughtful exterior, "I know. And it's one of your many attractive qualities. However," he went into his thinking trance again, "you also, despite your best efforts, will be helpless against a real supernatural opponent."

I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrow, "I like how you carefully ignore the fact that I killed an angel before you even really met me."

He met my eyes with his stormy ones, "and that astonished me. However, I surprised them, you were desperate, you almost died, and he was a minor angel. Counterpoint: a hellhound almost made you into kibble."

"Point taken," I grumbled, "but it's hardly my fault that I've got measly human senses and abilities."

"In a real, pitched battle, you'd be slaughtered, and I would be too occupied to keep you safe."

I suddenly got both very excited and very concerned, which was a whole roller coaster of feelings to experience all at once.

"You are going to train me, which I am very interested in," I said slowly, "but you also are expecting to fight a battle in which you are occupied by a battle. You mean to fight the two archangels?"

He looked away, and that's all the confirmation I needed. I flipped my still-wet hair over my shoulder sassily.

"Well, I wish you'd brought this up before I had a shower, but let's get started. I'm sure you have some sort of gym or dojo in this giant labyrinth of a castle, right?"

"What-" the angel began, looking back towards me quickly.

"Well, if you expect to be in a battle, you'll need me to be able to protect you, and I can hardly do that without your training," I bent down and kissed him on his stubbly cheek, barely missing the corner of his mouth.

"You are only to protect yourself in a battle, you hear me, Rika?" He commanded, and I instantly wanted to do the opposite.

"No."

"Rika..."

"This isn't important," I interrupted, leaning forward and placing my hands on his thighs.

Great job, A. Super seductive.

You know what, you can take that attitude and-

Lucifer coughed, his eyes hooded, "well, we have fourteen days," he touched his hand to my face, tucking a piece of wet hair behind my ear, "we'd better get started."

The dojo was a segment of a much larger gym area, separated by a door for privacy. I was grateful; I had a feeling I'd spend a lot of my time here falling on my ass. I hardly wanted that to happen in a public area.

The dojo was similar to ones I'd been in before. It had worn, dark oak floors that went with the whole stone-wall aesthetic of the castle. There were mats hanging on one wall, probably for stretches and the like. On another, much more exciting wall, was a variety of wooden, dull, or otherwise practice-appropriate weapons. The other two walls were basically giant mirrors, so students practicing there could check their technique. Also, as I knew from experience, this ensured the teacher could always be sure you weren't slacking off.

The dojo was plenty big, but between Lucifer's already impressive size, his wings, and his forceful aura, he seemed to dominate the floor. As he walked to one wall, I had to consciously stop myself from drooling. He'd changed into a more workout-appropriate outfit than his grey button-up and dark jeans, and though I had no complaints whatsoever about his jeans, his new uniform was downright distracting. He'd put on a burgundy, skin-tight workout shirt that complemented his skin tone and hugged his biceps and pecs beautifully. His pants were looser-fitting and black, but, well...let's just say I appreciated the view from behind immensely. Overall, no matter the angle, he looked delectable. I don't know why the word "edible" came to mind, as I wasn't a cannibal. I shuddered at my own twisted thoughts. I should be committed.

A loud whack brought me back from my musings with a jolt.

Lucifer, who had thrown two mats down on the hardwood floors suddenly, looked at me with an arrogant eyebrow-raise. I went on the defensive immediately.

"Well, how do you expect me to focus?" I snapped accusingly. He looked momentarily confused, but then light dawned in his crystal-blue eyes.

"It's for mobility, Rika. I can hardly do this in jeans," he gestured to his outfit with his tanned hands as he spoke, making his muscles ripple in an extremely distracting manner. I glued my eyes to his arms and shoulders like a woman in a trance.

I shook myself irritably, "well...your shirt...Jesus Christ." I swore as he deliberately placed his hands behind his head and stretched. I glared at him, trying to avoid looking literally anywhere else.

"I'm terribly sorry, Rika. That was inconsiderate of me. I'll fix this," he promised. However, the look on his face made me suspicious.

"What do you-" I made a choked, gurgling sound, unable to finish my sentence as the arrogant, beautiful angel did the worst thing imaginable: he peeled off his shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. Erotically.

As this was the first time I'd seen him completely shirtless, and I was taken off-guard without time to mentally prepare myself, he did the maximum damage. I actually felt my ovaries explode in twin bursts of flame.

He was perfect.

His shoulders were broad, which was a theme with him. I'd always known he was brawny, but I'd had no idea the extent to which the man was built. His shoulders rippled with muscle, and his pecs were defined, chiseled, and positively perfect. His abs...Lord, save me. He had an eight-pack, which, up until now, I was sure was physically impossible. My eyes couldn't help but follow the path created by the defined 'v' of his hips to a trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his pants, which were slung so low he could've been considered dangerous.

With a shirt on, he should come with a strongly-worded health and safety warning. Without one, he should be outlawed. He was straight up hazardous to my well-being. I was so hot I was worried I'd spontaneously combust.

Drinking in his delectable physique, I decided I was no longer concerned with him dropping me when he carried me around like a caveman.

After what felt like eternity, I finally dug deep and found some hidden pocket of willpower in the depths of my soul and dragged my eyes to his. He looked far too self-satisfied and smug. However, I was hardly in a position to fault him for that; he deserved to be proud of himself. Even so, the vindictive pleasure he took from making me so flustered couldn't go unpunished.

So, I did the only thing I could.

I took hold of the hem of my loose-fitting blue workout top and, before the Angel could stop me, whipped it over my head, leaving me in a black, reasonably sexy sports bra. The sexiness of the bra had seemed annoying and pointless when I had put it on, (I mean, who wants to work out with weird boob-cutouts in their bra?), but I now had a newfound appreciation for it.

Lucifer, who had stepped forward in a panic when he saw my intentions, presumably to stop me, halted. And this time, it was his jaw that hit the floor. I crossed my arms smugly at his glazed eyes and grinned widely. He seemed unable to tear his gaze from my body, and all of a sudden, my brain caught up with me. My face flushed, and I berated myself viciously, cussing out my subconscious as creatively and thoroughly as I was capable of.

But, what the hell? I'd already done it.

"You alright there, Luce? I thought this was our first lesson," I simpered, trying, unsuccessfully, to hide my smirk.

He narrowed his eyes, and spat, "right, of course. Shall we continue?" He grimaced as if in actual pain. I self-fived at his obvious agony. Served him right.

"Of course, we'll continue. I really want to do well," I replied sweetly, laying down the metaphorical gauntlet.

"You play a dangerous game here, Kitten," he growled, his brow furrowed intimidatingly, "one in which you are way out of your depth."

Crap. I wish that weren't true.

I was literally the dictionary definition of inexperience.

But I was the last person you'd see backing down from an obvious challenge, especially one I'd started. Plus, I was enjoying the power I had over him.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Satan." I replied evilly.

"If you insist, Gift. Now, let's get started."

The next hour was positively torture.

I think I would've rather been waterboarded.

We'd began with exercises to warm up. Easy, right? Limited touching, limited willpower needed.

Wrong. Very, very wrong.

The movement of his body was hypnotizing, and when he began to lightly sweat; oh, damn. His body glistened in the light, and I thanked God, his father, (which I now was beginning to realize was super weird), that he was in good shape, because if droplets of sweat had started running down his washboard abs I would have literally had to lick them off.

I have limited self-control, okay? I'm only human!

Luckily, he just got a tempting sheen on his skin, which was only very hard to resist, instead of utterly impossible to resist.

But that wasn't all. No, his dad really hated me.

I mean, maybe in this case, "God hates me" could be literal? Fuck, I haven't even met the dude.