Page 31 of Demon Daddy's Little Girl

Instead of answering, I pull him back down, claiming his mouth with mine. He growls, deep in his chest, and the sound vibrates through where we're pressed together. His kiss turns fierce, possessive, yet still careful - like he's afraid I'll shatter if he pushes too hard.

My practical earth-toned dress rustles as he lifts me higher, and I cling to him. The last rational part of my mind notes howeasily he holds me, how naturally I fit against him. His ritual markings warm against my skin where my hands have slipped to his forearms.

His lips break from mine, his breathing ragged. Dezoth’s golden eyes search mine, pupils dilated, his expression torn between hunger and restraint. My body still hums from the kiss, but the weight of what just happened crashes over me as he sets me back on the floor.

I back away, my fingers trembling as they brush my swollen lips. He doesn’t reach for me, though his hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge.

“Ada.” His voice is rough, like gravel, and something in it makes my chest tighten. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to steady the storm inside me. “I don’t know. I want to trust you, Dezoth. I really do. But every time I start to, I hear that voice in my head telling me to run. That I’ll only get hurt again.”

He steps closer, but stops when I flinch. His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he studies me. Then, slowly, like he’s approaching a skittish animal, he kneels in front of me. My breath hitches as he looks up at me from beneath those dark lashes, his golden eyes blazing with something that makes my knees weak.

“Let me show you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Let me prove you can trust me. That I’d never hurt you.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “How?”

His hands slide up my thighs, the heat of his palms searing through the fabric of my dress. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. He waits, watching me, giving me every chance to stop him. When I don’t, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of my knee. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch him, but I keep them clenched at my sides.

“Let me show you how well I can treat you, Ada,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm.

I nod, though my throat feels too tight to speak. His lips move higher, trailing slow, deliberate kisses up my leg. My dress bunches in his hands as he lifts it, exposing more of me to the cool air of the library. His gaze flicks up to mine, searching for permission. I bite my lip, then nod again, my heart racing.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t make promises he might not keep. He just shows me with every touch, every kiss, that he’s here for me. That he’s not going anywhere. His hands are steady, his movements careful, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.

When his mouth finds the apex of my thighs, a soft gasp escapes me. My fingers tangle in his obsidian hair, not pulling him closer, just holding on. He pauses again, waiting for me to decide. My hips move of their own accord, urging him on, and a low growl rumbles in his chest as he pulls my underwear to the side and his tongue teases my clit.

He’s thorough, patient, his tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes that send sparks shooting through me. My legs tremble, and I lean back against the bookshelf for support. His hands grip my hips, steadying me, grounding me as he takes me apart piece by piece.

Every touch is a promise, and every sound he draws from me is a surrender. I don’t know when I let go of my fear, but it’s gone now, replaced by something bigger, something brighter. My breath catches, and I clutch at his shoulders as the world narrows to just him and me.

“Dezoth—” His name is a plea, a prayer, and he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, his hands firm on my hips, his mouth relentless, until I shatter in his arms.

My body is still humming from his touch, every nerve alight. I can’t stop myself - I don’t want to. My hands move to the collar of his shirt, fingers trembling as I undo the first button. Hisgolden eyes lock onto mine, burning with something raw and unspoken. He doesn’t stop me, doesn’t move, but his chest rises and falls faster with every button I free.

When the last one slips loose, I push the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His chest is broad, his skin warm under my palms as I trace the ridges of muscle, the faint scars that tell stories I’ve yet to hear.

I tug him up to his feet, marveling at the expansive of his torso, and he stands before me, looking so handsome that I can't deny myself. My fingers slide down to the waistband of his pants, and I glance up, searching for any hesitation in his face. There’s none - only hunger, and something deeper, something that makes my stomach flip.

“Ada,” he growls, his voice rough as I start to undo the lacings. His hands settle on my hips, his grip firm but not restraining. He’s letting me lead, giving me control, and it’s that trust that makes my heart race even faster.

Once I get the laces undone, I push his pants down, my hands brushing against the hard length of him as I do. He sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into my hips, and I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that curves my lips. I stroke him once, slowly, feeling the heat of him, the way he pulses under my touch.

“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, his head falling back against the bookshelf behind him. His obsidian hair spills over his shoulders, and I use my free hand to push it back, needing to see his face, needing to see every reaction I draw from him.

“Not yet,” I whisper, my voice shaky but firm. I step closer, pressing a kiss to the base of his throat, feeling the way he swallows hard. My hand moves again, stroking him in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has his breath hitching.

His hands slide up my sides, pulling my dress higher until it bunches around my waist. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand - he waits, even as his body strains with the effort of holding back.

"You're right." I stroke him again. "I want you."

He lets loose a growl, lifting me up in his arms. He walks to the seating area, settling on his couch with me on his lap. Feeling bold, I pull my dress over my head, full exposing myself to him, and his eyes roam over me.

"You look…incredible." He can't seem to linger on one spot for too long, and it makes me feel bold as I slip my underwear off, savoring the way his gaze heats.

I move to straddle him, my knees bracketing his hips, and he helps me lift up, his hands steadying me as I grip him and sink down onto him.

The fullness of him steals my breath, and I pause, letting my body adjust, letting the sensation wash over me. His forehead presses against mine, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling where they grip my hips.

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