Page 8 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
I drive into her with more force, the sound of our bodies connecting mixing with her increasingly breathless moans. The moonstone wall is cool against my palm as I brace us, muscles straining with the effort to give her everything she needs while keeping her safe in my arms.
"You're mine," I growl, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "No matter where you go, no matter how far, you're mine."
"Yes," she sobs, voice breaking on the word. "Yours. Always yours."
The affirmation pushes me closer to the precipice. I can feel her body tightening around me, see the telltale flush spreading across her chest. She's close, so close, and I need to bring her over the edge with me.
"Come for me," I command, voice rough with desperate need. "Let me feel you fall apart."
I lean forward, kissing her neck before biting gently as I thrust deeper into her. Her body tightens as she moans, and I grind my hips against hers with each drive to give her the friction she needs.
"Yes," she moans. "Dom, just like that."
Her hips roll to meet mine, my movements turning frantic, and just as she clamps down around me, screaming out my name, I come, filling her. I press Kaleen tighter against thewall, shallowly thrusting a few more times into her as her body shudders through her orgasm.
Once I have my bearings again, I lift my head and gently kiss her lips. "I love you," I tell her, though the words never feel like enough.
This woman is the other half of my soul and while I never want to push her, to ask for more than she is willing to give, I want to tie her life to mine. I want her to be with me in life and death. I'm not sure she ever comprehends how much I love her, need her, want her.
But then she cups my face, her eyes meeting mine with so much emotion. "I love you. I will until the sun fails to rise."
It's what she always says to me, like she knows when I need to hear it most. And right now, I really need it.
Because, regardless of logic, I can't stand the idea of being away from her.
But it's just three days…right?
5
DOMIEL
Morning light streams through the high windows of our room, casting golden reflections off the polished stone floor. The crystal matrices I embedded in the walls catch the early sun and fracture it into dancing prisms that scatter across the ceiling. Usually, the sight brings me satisfaction—evidence of precise engineering married to beauty. Today, it feels like mockery.
Kaleen moves through the space with practiced efficiency, her bare feet silent on the warm stone. She's already dressed in sturdy travel clothes: dark leather boots that lace to mid-calf, fitted brown trousers that won't catch in a saddle, and a deep green tunic that brings out the gold flecks in her amber eyes. The sight of her packed and ready makes something cold settle in my stomach.
I remain sprawled across our bed, sheets tangled around my waist, watching her with the desperate focus of a man trying to memorize every detail. The way her thick chestnut hair catches the light as she bends to check her satchel. The unconscious grace in her movements as she folds spare clothes with quick,economical motions. The determined set of her jaw that tells me arguing further would be pointless.
"You don't have to watch me pack like I'm heading to my execution," she says without looking up, but I catch the slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Don't I?" The words come out rougher than intended. I scrub a hand through my loose hair, trying to shake off the weight of foreboding that's settled on my chest like a stone. "Because that's exactly what this feels like."
She straightens, fixing me with that steady amber gaze that's gotten us through every crisis we've faced together. "It's three days, Dom. I've survived worse than mountain roads and quarry masters."
The casual reference to her past—to the years of indenture I couldn't protect her from—sends a fresh spike of anger through me. Not at her, never at her, but at the circumstances that taught her such resilience in the first place. At myself for being in a position where I have to rely on that hard-won strength.
"Come here," I say, extending one hand toward her.
She approaches the bed with that particular combination of wariness and affection she reserves for my more protective moments. When she's close enough, I catch her wrist and pull her down onto the mattress beside me, ignoring her small sound of protest.
"Dom, I need to?—"
"Check the map for the fifth time? Adjust your supplies again?" I gather her against my chest, burying my face in the warm curve of her neck. She still smells like the soap we shared last night, mixed with something that's purely her—warm skin and determination and the faint sweetness that clings to her hair. "The sun's barely up. You have time."
Her body relaxes into mine despite her protests, familiar curves fitting against my harder angles like we were designed foreach other. Maybe we were. Maybe the gods took pity on a lonely ethereal architect and sent him a woman who could see past gilded wings to the man beneath.
"I've memorized every detail of that route," she murmurs against my shoulder. "Two days north through Kaerion's mountain passes, then I'll go straight to the quarry. I'll have the moonshard lattice by evening on the second day and be back here before sunset on the third. I won't stay anywhere longer than I need to."
The methodical recitation should reassure me. Instead, it emphasizes how far she'll be traveling, how many things could go wrong, how many hours I'll spend wondering if she's safe while trapped in meetings I can't escape.
