Page 37 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
Ibarely make it through my bedroom door before my self-control shatters completely.
The afternoon replays behind my closed eyelids—Lenny's skin glistening with water droplets, the way her body was on full display for me, how her laughter echoed off the rocks like music. The memory of her floating in that deeper pool, eyes closed, completely unguarded for once, sends heat straight to my groin. I was dying to run my hands along her curves, to taste her, to strip away the last bits of clothes from her body so I could fully see her.
I shouldn't be thinking about her like this. Shouldn't be imagining what it would feel like to trace those water droplets with my tongue, to map every freckle on her pale skin, to hear her gasp my name in something other than surprise.
But I can't stop myself.
Not as I free myself from my pants, my cock hard and dripping. My hand moves of its own accord, working with desperate efficiency as I picture her beneath me, those amber eyes dark with want instead of wariness. The fantasy builds—her soft cries, the arch of her back, the way she'd feel wrapped around me, trusting and eager and mine.
The release hits me hard and fast, leaving me shaking against my bedroom door like some untried youth who's never touched a woman before. The satisfaction is fleeting, immediately replaced by a wave of guilt so sharp it makes my chest ache.
She trusted me today. Laughed with me, let her guard down in ways I've never seen before. And here I am, using those precious moments as fuel for my own selfish desires.
I'm a bastard. A complete and utter bastard who doesn't deserve the way she looked at me when I promised to protect Ava from those cruel comments in the market. Like I was something good instead of a warrior with blood on his hands and increasingly inappropriate thoughts about the woman under my protection.
The guilt eats at me as I clean myself off and change into loose pants, but it doesn't erase the want. Nothing could erase that. It's burned into me now, this desperate need for Lenny Veras that grows stronger every damn day I spend in her presence.
The knock at my door comes soft but clear, cutting through my self-recrimination like a blade.
I freeze. It could be Lira, asking me about dinner since we all returned so late in the day and Ava's asleep. It could be any of the staff.
But my body is warning me that it isn't any of them. It's the one woman I'm hoping for.
"Come in," I call, my voice rougher than intended.
The door opens hesitantly, and Lenny slips inside like she's second-guessing herself with every step. She's wearing a simple cotton nightdress that falls to just below her knees, her damp hair loose around her shoulders, and she looks so beautiful standing there in my lamplight that it's hard to breathe.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself in a gesture I recognize as defensive.
My heart hammers against my ribs. After what I was just thinking, just doing, having her here feels like some kind of cosmic joke. "Never. You're never disturbing me."
She takes a tentative step closer, and I catch the scent of herbs from her bath. It mingles with her natural sweetness in a way that makes my head swim and my body respond with embarrassing eagerness. Especially as she continues toward me.
"I wanted to thank you again," she says, but her voice wavers slightly, like that's not the only reason she's here. "For today. It was perfect."
"Lenny—"
Before I can finish the thought, she crosses the remaining distance between us in three quick steps. I'm frozen as she slides her hands up my chest and around my neck, and then, like she can't hold herself back, she pushes up on her toes and kisses me.
The contact is brief—barely more than a brush of her soft lips against mine—but it sends shockwaves through my entire system. Her mouth is warm and tentative, tasting of the mint tea she had with dinner, and for a split second I feel her melt against me before she pulls back with a sharp intake of breath.
I'm too stunned to react. Too shocked by the feel of her lips, the hint of heat in that innocent kiss, the way every nerve ending in my body suddenly blazes to life.
Her face crumples with embarrassment, cheeks flushing pink even in the dim light.
"Oh gods, I'm sorry," she whispers, already backing toward the door. "I shouldn't have—that was completely inappropriate. You've been nothing but kind and I just?—"
The sight of her retreating, of her thinking this was some kind of mistake, snaps me out of my paralysis. I catch her wristas she turns to flee, my fingers circling the delicate bones with careful pressure.
"Don't apologize," I growl, pulling her back against my chest. "Don't you dare apologize for that."
Her eyes go wide, lips parted in surprise, and I can't wait another second. I cup her face in both hands, feeling how small and precious she is beneath my palms, and kiss her the way I've been dreaming about for weeks.
This kiss is nothing like her tentative offering. This is heat and hunger and barely leashed desperation. Her lips part under mine with a soft gasp that makes my blood sing, and when I trace her lower lip with my tongue, she responds with shy enthusiasm that nearly brings me to my knees.
She tastes like mint and sweetness and promises I never thought I'd want to make. Her hands fist in the fabric of my sleep shirt, pulling me closer even as she trembles against me, and I pour everything I can't say into the kiss. How much I want her. How beautiful she is. How she's become the center of my entire world without me realizing it.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her pupils are dilated, lips slightly swollen from my attention, and she looks so thoroughly kissed that it takes every ounce of my self-control not to back her against the nearest wall and show her exactly how much I want her.
