Page 41 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
Understanding crashes over me like a cold wave. All day I've been torturing myself with thoughts of rejection, while he's been torturing himself with thoughts of taking advantage. The man who could command armies, who radiates confidence and control in everything else, is terrified of becoming another predator in my life.
Something cracks open in my chest—not breaking, but flowering. Opening like a bloom that's been waiting years for the right conditions to unfurl.
I close the remaining distance between us, noting how his breath catches as I move into his space. Up close, I can see the exhaustion around his eyes, the tension bracketing his mouth. He's been fighting this want as hard as I've been drowning in uncertainty.
"Rhyen." I reach up, sliding my arms around his neck. His hands hover near my waist but don't quite touch, as if he's still afraid of overstepping. "Maybe I can help take your mind off things."
But instead of the heated response I expect, he tenses beneath my touch. His hands finally settle on my waist, but only to gently set me away from him. The careful rejection feels like ice water in my veins.
"Lenny, no." His voice is strained but firm. "I can't—I won't let you think you owe me anything. Not shelter, not safety, not your body. Nothing."
I start to pull away completely, uncertainty and old shame flooding back, but his hands tighten on my waist just enough to keep me close. When I look up, his expression has gentled, those crystalline eyes warm with something that looks dangerously like tenderness.
"I never want to be another man who expected things in return for basic decency," he continues, each word careful and deliberate. "You don't owe me anything, sweetheart. Not a damned thing."
The endearment hits me like a physical touch, and suddenly I understand what's happening. This powerful, confident man is terrified of being like my master. Terrified of becoming another person who takes instead of gives, who demands instead of protects.
The realization cracks something open inside me—not the brittle breaking I'm used to, but something warmer. Like ice melting after a long winter.
"You want to know what my life was before?" The words come out steady, stronger than I've felt in years. "It was never having a choice. Never being asked what I wanted or how I felt. It was hands that took without permission and a voice that commanded without caring if I agreed."
His jaw tightens, fury flashing across his features at the reminder of what I endured. But I'm not finished.
"I know what pressure feels like, Rhyen. I know what it means to give because refusing isn't an option." I step closeragain, letting my hands frame his face the way he held mine last night. "This isn't that. This is the first time in my entire life that I want something for myself."
His expression shifts, surprise giving way to something dark and reverent. The careful control he's been maintaining all day finally starts to crack around the edges.
"You want this?" The question comes out rough, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart ache.
"I want you." The admission feels like stepping off a cliff, but his eyes catch fire at my words. "I've wanted you since the day you took us to that waterfall, maybe longer. Not because I'm grateful or because I think I owe you something, but because you make me feel safe enough to want again."
Something breaks in his expression then—some final wall crumbling under the weight of honesty. He moves so fast I barely have time to register the intent before his mouth crashes down on mine.
This kiss is more intense than our last. This is hunger and desperate need and months of suppressed desire finally breaking free. His hands tangle in my hair as he backs me against the door, his body pressing against mine with barely leashed strength.
I can taste the desperation on his tongue, feel the tremor in his powerful hands as they map the curve of my waist. When he finally breaks away to breathe, his voice is rough as gravel.
"Are you sure?" The question is a rasp against my lips. "Because once we cross this line, I don't think I'll be able to let you go."
Instead of answering with words, I pull his mouth back to mine, pouring every ounce of want and trust and surprising courage into the kiss. He groans against my lips, a sound of pure masculine need that sends heat spiraling through my core.
Then he's lifting me like I weigh nothing, strong arms sweeping me up as if I'm precious cargo. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries me deeper into the room toward the massive bed that dominates the far wall.
21
LENNY
When Rhyen sets me down beside the bed, the world seems to shift into something softer, more reverent. The firelight flickers across his face as he reaches for me, but his hands stop just short of touching, hovering near my shoulders like he's asking permission even now.
"We don't have to rush this," he murmurs, those crystalline eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation. "I know what you said, but I don't want to push you too hard, Lenny."
The careful consideration in his voice makes my throat tight. When was the last time someone asked what I wanted? When was the last time someone cared about my comfort more than their own need?
"I want this," I whisper, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "I want you."
But even as I say it, my fingers tremble against the white fabric. Not from fear—though that's there, threaded through everything like an old scar that never quite heals—but from the overwhelming newness of choosing. Of being asked.
Rhyen's hands cover mine, steadying them. "Together?"
