Page 44 of Demon Daddy's Baby Girl

"I don't want to sleep." Her hand reaches up, fingertips grazing my jaw with a touch so light I might have imagined it if not for the trail of fire it leaves on my skin.

Then she's on her toes, and her mouth finds mine. This isn't the hesitant exploration of before. This is Aurelie claiming something she wants, her lips pressed against mine with purpose.

I freeze for just a heartbeat before my body remembers how to respond. Her hands are at my shirt, pulling at the fabric with surprising strength.

"Are you sure?" I manage to whisper against her mouth.

"I've spent years not being allowed to choose," she breathes back, her fingers splaying across my chest. "This is my choice, Rolfo. You are my choice."

Something primal and possessive roars to life inside me. In one fluid motion, I scoop her into my arms. She weighs almost nothing, this fierce survivor who's somehow found her way into my home, my life.

"My room," I growl, more statement than question.

She nods, arms wrapping around my neck, face pressed against my throat. "Your room."

I carry her down the hallway, hyperaware of every point where her body touches mine. The warmth of her pressed against my chest, the tickle of her breath against my neck, the lingering scent of meadowmint from her evening tea.

My bedroom door is partially open. I nudge it with my foot, carrying her across the threshold like something precious. The moonlight spills through the window, painting silver streaks across my simple bed.

When I set her down, her arms don't release my neck. Instead, she pulls me down with her, our bodies meeting on the bed that has felt too large, too empty for longer than I care to admit.

"I want this," she whispers, her eyes never leaving mine. "I want you."

There's no hesitation now, not as her eager fingers tug at my shirt. I help her, pulling it over my head in one fluid motion. Her hands are immediately on my chest, tracing the ridges of old scars with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.

"Your turn," I murmur against her lips, and she lifts her arms in silent permission.

I peel away the nightshirt that's been driving me mad for weeks, my knuckles grazing the soft skin of her sides. The moonlight bathes her in silver, highlighting every curve, every mark that tells the story of what she's survived.

Her body bears the evidence of Sephy's birth—stretch marks silvering her belly, her breasts fuller than they might have been before. To me, they're not imperfections but badges of her strength, her resilience.

"You're beautiful," I whisper, meaning every syllable.

A flush spreads across her chest, up her neck to her cheeks. "Even with all these marks?"

"Especially with them." I lower my head, pressing my lips to the raised line that curves across her hip. "Every one of these tells me you're a survivor." My mouth moves to another mark on her ribs. "That you're strong." I trail kisses up to the burn scar below her breast. "That you endured."

Her breath hitches. "Rolfo..."

I move lower, my hands gently spreading her thighs. The mark of ownership on her upper arm catches my eye, making something primal surge through me. I'll replace every memory of pain with pleasure. Every moment of fear with safety.

I kiss my way down her stomach, feeling her muscles tense beneath my lips. When I reach the apex of her thighs, I look up, meeting her wide-eyed gaze.

"Let me worship you," I growl, not truly a question but still waiting for her assent.

Her head falls back against the pillow, a breathless "Yes" escaping her lips.

I take my time, exploring her with my mouth, learning what makes her fingers tighten in my hair, what draws those soft, surprised moans from her throat. Her taste is intoxicating, her responses addictive. Each arch of her back, each shuddering breath is a victory.

"Please," she gasps, her hips rising to meet me. "I need you... all of you."

I rise above her, positioning myself between her thighs. "Look at me, Aurelie."

Her eyes find mine, hazy with desire but clear with certainty. I push forward slowly, watching her face as I enter her, gauging every flicker of expression.

"You feel..." Words fail me as her heat envelops me. It's so fucking perfect.

Her nails dig into my shoulders. "Don't stop," she breathes.

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