Page 40 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"You can change your mind," he murmurs as we cross the threshold. "At any point."

I shake my head. "I won't."

My back meets the edge of the bed, and I sit, drawing him down with me. The mattress dips beneath his weight. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, his features soften. The sharp angles of his face, usually set in stoic determination, now hold a vulnerability I've never witnessed.

"I'm not sure I deserve this," he whispers, his hand hovering above my cheek.

"You deserve everything," I counter, placing my palm against his chest where his heart beats strong and fast.

I lean forward, initiating our second kiss. This time, there's no hesitation from either of us. His lips move against mine, tender at first, then with growing hunger. His hand finally meets my face, calloused fingers cradling my jaw as if I'm made of glass.

I deepen the kiss, parting my lips in invitation. He responds with a low sound—half growl, half sigh—that vibrates through me. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath to touch the warm skin of his abdomen. Muscles tense beneath my touch.

"May I?" His fingers hover at the ties of my nightdress.

I nod, lifting my arms to help as he slowly draws the fabric upward. Cool air kisses my skin as the nightdress slides away, leaving me exposed in nothing but simple undergarments. A flicker of self-consciousness ripples through me. My body bears the marks of motherhood—stretch marks silvering my hips and breasts, the softness of my belly.

His eyes darken as they roam over me, not with disappointment but with reverence. "You're beautiful," he breathes, and the wonder in his voice makes me believe him.

Wanting to see him, I tug at his shirt. "Your turn."

He strips it off in one fluid motion, revealing a canvas of scars across his torso—stories written in flesh. He's gorgeous, all cut lines and signs of strength. I trace a particularly jagged line along his ribs, feeling the raised tissue beneath my fingertips.

"Does it hurt?" I ask.

"Not anymore." He captures my exploring hand, bringing it to his lips. "Nothing hurts when you touch me."

He lowers me to the bed, his body a warm weight above mine as he reclaims my mouth. His kiss deepens, and I open to him, tasting the sweetness of the amerinth he had with dinner. My hands map the planes of his back, the powerful muscles shifting beneath scarred skin.

His lips leave mine to trail down my neck, gentle kisses that send shivers cascading through me. When he reaches the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, I gasp, arching into him.

"Tell me what feels good," he murmurs against my skin. "I want to know every part of you."

"This," I breathe as his hand cups my breast through thin fabric. "Everything."

He removes my undergarments with careful reverence, each new inch of skin exposed met with gentle exploration. His silver eyes darken with desire, but his touch remains worshipful. When he finally settles between my thighs, his breath hot against my center, he glances up, seeking permission once more.

I thread my fingers through his jet-black hair. "Please."

The first touch of his mouth against me draws a sound I barely recognize as my own. A keening, desperate noise that seems to please him as his silver eyes flick up to meet mine. His tongue traces patterns that make my toes curl, my back arch off the bed, my fingers clutching desperately at the sheets beneath me.

One large hand splays across my hip, keeping me steady as I writhe beneath his ministrations, pinning me gently but firmly to the mattress. His other hand joins his mouth, a finger slowly pressing inside me, then another, curling to find the spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.

I gasp his name, trembling as he works me with a devotion I've never known before, thorough and attentive to every response of my body. Where I'd only known pain before, he brings pleasure so intense it feels like flying.

"Rolfo," I gasp, clutching at his shoulders. "I?—"

"Let go," he encourages, his voice a rumble against sensitive flesh. "I've got you."

I fracture beneath him, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me trembling. He works me through it, gentle but relentless, until I'm boneless and panting.

When he moves up my body, his expression is one of awe. "You're magnificent," he whispers, kissing me softly.

Afterward, we lie tangled in soft blankets, my head pillowed on his chest. His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath my ear, a rhythm more soothing than any lullaby. His hand traces lazy patterns along my spine, raising pleasant shivers in its wake.

"Are you cold?" he asks, pulling the blanket higher around us.

"No," I murmur, pressing closer to his warmth. "I'm perfect."

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