Page 51 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Daughter
"Gods, Lenny." My voice comes out rougher than I intend, thick with emotion I can barely contain. "You have no idea what you mean to me."
I pull her in for another kiss, deeper this time, letting all the desperate love and need I've been holding back pour out between us. She melts into me, her small hands fisting in my shirt as she kisses me back with equal fervor. The taste of her, the feel of her pressed against me—it's everything I've been craving and denying myself for weeks.
Without breaking the kiss, I lift her easily, carrying her the few steps to my bed. She's so light in my arms, so perfectly fitted against my chest, and the trust she's showing by letting me hold her this way makes something fundamental shift in my chest. She's never chosen this before, never willingly given herself toanyone, and the fact that she's choosing me humbles me beyond words.
I set her down gently beside the bed, my hands lingering on her waist as I drink in the sight of her. The moonlight streaming through the windows catches the amber flecks in her dark eyes, making them glow like liquid gold. Her hair has come loose from its braid, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and I can't resist threading my fingers through the silky strands.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, tracing the delicate line of her jaw with my thumb. "So fucking beautiful it stops my heart every time I look at you."
A flush spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn't look away. Instead, her hands come up to rest against my chest, her touch burning through the fabric of my shirt. "I want you," she breathes, and the simple admission sends heat racing through my veins. "I want all of you, Rhyen. I want to feel close to you."
The vulnerability in her voice, the trust she's placing in me, makes my chest tighten with emotion. "Are you sure?" I have to ask, even though every fiber of my being is screaming at me to claim her, to make her mine in every way possible. "We don't have to rush anything."
Her hands slide up to cup my face, and the look in her eyes is so fierce, so certain, it takes my breath away. "I've never chosen this before," she says quietly. "Never wanted someone the way I want you. But right now, after today, I need to feel alive. I need to feel connected to you."
That's all the permission I need. I capture her lips again, pouring all my love and devotion into the kiss as my hands begin exploring the curves of her body. She's wearing one of those soft cotton dresses she favors, the fabric worn smooth from washing, and I can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material.
My fingers find the buttons at the back of her dress, working them free with more patience than I knew I possessed. Each inchof skin I reveal is like unwrapping a gift, and I take my time, pressing soft kisses to her throat, her collarbone, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her gasp and arch into me.
"Rhyen." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer, desperate and needy in a way that sends fire racing through my blood. Her hands are busy too, tugging at my shirt with increasing urgency until I have to help her pull it over my head.
When her palms flatten against my bare chest, exploring the scars and war brands that mark my skin, I have to bite back a groan. Her touch is reverent, worshipful, like she's memorizing every inch of me.
"These are beautiful," she whispers, tracing the intricate patterns of my war brands with her fingertips. "You're beautiful."
The dress finally gives way under my careful ministrations, pooling at her feet in a whisper of cotton. Underneath, she's wearing simple undergarments, nothing fancy or elaborate, but the sight of her standing there in the moonlight, all pale skin and gentle curves, is the most erotic thing I've ever seen.
There are scars on her body too—thin white lines on her wrists and hips that speak of cruelty and pain—but they don't detract from her beauty. If anything, they make her more magnificent to me, proof of her strength and survival.
"You're perfect," I breathe, my hands skimming over her ribs, her waist, the flare of her hips. "Absolutely perfect."
She shivers under my touch, her breath coming faster as I map every inch of her with reverent hands. When I reach the clasp of her undergarment, I pause, giving her one more chance to change her mind. But she nods, her eyes never leaving mine, and helps me remove the last barriers between us.
We tumble onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses. I position myself over her, supporting my weight on my forearms as I take in the sight of her spreadbeneath me. Her hair fans out across my pillow like spilled silk, and her skin glows in the moonlight like something carved from ivory and gold.
"I want to memorize you," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Every inch, every sound you make, every way you respond to my touch."
My mouth begins a slow exploration of her body, cataloging the places that make her gasp, the spots that make her arch and writhe beneath me. The soft swell of her breasts, the delicate curve of her waist, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs—I worship it all with lips and tongue and gentle teeth until she's trembling with need.
But when I slide my hand between her legs, feeling how ready she is for me, I force myself to go slow. She's never chosen this before, never given herself willingly, and I want to make sure she's completely prepared, completely lost in pleasure before I take her.
One finger slides inside her easily, and she cries out, her back arching off the bed as her hands fist in the sheets. "Oh gods, Rhyen."
"That's it, love," I murmur against her skin, adding a second finger and feeling her stretch around me. "Let me take care of you."
I work her slowly, patiently, my thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her sob my name. Her hips move restlessly against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, and I give it to her, adding a third finger and feeling her inner muscles clench around me.
"Please," she gasps, her head thrashing against the pillow. "Please, I need more. I need you."
The desperation in her voice, the way she's begging for me, breaks the last of my restraint. "Tell me what you want," Icommand softly, my fingers stilling inside her. "I need to hear you say it."
Her eyes snap open, locking with mine in the dim light. "I want you inside me," she breathes, her cheeks flushed with arousal and need. "I want to feel you, all of you. Please, Rhyen."
The please nearly undoes me completely. I withdraw my fingers, earning a whimper of protest that I silence with a deep kiss. Positioning myself at her entrance, I pause, giving her body time to adjust, to prepare.
"Look at me," I whisper, and when her amber eyes meet mine, I begin to push inside her, slow and careful and infinitely gentle.
She's tight, incredibly tight, and I have to grit my teeth against the overwhelming sensation of being surrounded by her heat. But more than the physical pleasure is the emotional connection—the way she's looking at me like I'm her entire world, the way she's chosen to trust me with this gift.
