Page 14 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

The sunlight shifts through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across Loxley's face. She rises from her spot by the stream, moving with that fluid grace that speaks of yearsnavigating these paths. Instead of continuing on as she usually does, she pauses at a fallen log a few paces away.

"You could sit. If you want." Her words come out measured, careful. She gestures to the space beside her, fingers curling against her palm before dropping to her side.

My chest tightens. In all our encounters, she's never directly invited me closer. I've learned to read her body language, to gauge how near I can be without making her retreat into herself. But this - this deliberate invitation - it shifts something fundamental between us.

I move slowly, each step calculated to telegraph my intentions. The log is wide enough for both of us with room to spare, but I settle at a distance that leaves her space to breathe. Her shoulders remain loose, no hint of that familiar tension that usually accompanies proximity to others.

A breeze stirs the leaves overhead. The gold lines across my skin catch the shifting light, and I notice her gaze track the glow before returning to the stream. Her fingers absently trace patterns in the moss covering the log, but she doesn't edge away.

Something settles in my chest, a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying until it lifted. This small gesture of trust feels more significant than any of our previous interactions. I keep my wings folded close, making myself as unimposing as possible despite my size.

She pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them in a pose that should seem defensive but somehow doesn't. Like I know she wouldn't do that unless she were relaxed. The silence between us feels different now - charged with unspoken meaning.

We spend the entire day out there, sometimes in silence and sometimes sharing stories. I even brought us lunch this time.

I’m growing far too addicted to this woman. I don’t want to leave, even as the sun dips lower, painting the jungle in amberand rose. Shadows lengthen between the trees, and the day's heat begins to fade. Loxley shifts beside me, her movements slow and deliberate. My breath catches as she edges closer to the trunk I'm leaning against.

She settles against the bark, her shoulder a whisper away from my arm. Close enough that I feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but not quite touching. And this time, it’s extended. Not a simple graze or touch of the arm. She’sstayingclose to me. The gold lines across my obsidian skin pulse faintly in response to her proximity, casting a gentle glow in the growing darkness.

Her auburn hair catches the last rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy. The loose strands that have escaped her braids frame her face, softening the usual sharp alertness of her features. Her golden-brown eyes remain fixed on the horizon, but there's something different in her posture now - a subtle yielding that wasn't there before.

I remain perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. Like coaxing a wild creature, I know any sudden movement could shatter this fragile moment. My wings stay folded tight against my back, though they itch to curl around her protectively.

She exhales slowly, some of the ever-present tension leaving her shoulders. Her head tilts back against the trunk, throat exposed - a gesture of trust that speaks volumes. The scar along her ribs is hidden beneath her clothes, but I know it's there, know it tells of why such trust comes at such a high price.

I say nothing, letting the jungle's evening sounds fill the space between us. This close, I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she fights her instinct to maintain distance. But she stays, choosing to remain in this shared space despite everything in her past screaming at her to run.

The moment stretches like honey, sweet and slow. My chest aches with the weight of what this means - this deliberate choice to let someone near. To let me near.

11

LOXLEY

Heat blazes across my skin as massive hands slide up my ribs. My breath catches at the gentleness - so different from what I've known before. Copper-red eyes meet mine, molten and intense. His obsidian skin glows with those ethereal gold lines as he towers over me, wings spread wide like a dark canopy.

"Let me take care of you," Mazan rumbles, voice deep as thunder.

My heart pounds as his lips brush my neck, careful despite his size. His horns graze my cheek when he moves lower, trailing kisses down my collarbone. I arch into his touch, gasping as?—

I jolt awake, sheets twisted around my legs and sweat beading on my skin. Sunlight filters through the leaves outside my treehouse window, painting patterns across my bed. My hands clench in the fabric as I try to steady my racing pulse.

"Fuck." I press my palms against my eyes until spots dance in my vision. This is the third night in a row I've dreamed of him. Of those huge, careful hands. Of gentle touches I've never known.

The familiar ache of want mixes with fear in my chest. I've spent years building walls around myself, learning that desireonly leads to pain. But Mazan... he moves with such measured grace despite his warrior's build. Speaks so softly despite his intimidating presence.

My fingers trace the scar along my ribs - a reminder of why I can't let anyone close. Why I shouldn't even imagine what pleasure might feel like. The dark elves taught me that lesson well.

But these dreams won't stop. Won't let me forget how my body responds when Mazan's near, how something deep inside recognizes his patience as different from the cruelty I've known.

I throw off the covers and pace my small bedroom. The wooden floors creak beneath my feet as I try to shake off the lingering sensation of phantom touches. Of lips that have never actually traced my skin.

"Get it together," I mutter, running fingers through my tangled braids. "He's a demon. This is insane."

But my traitor mind keeps replaying the dream, wondering what it would feel like to actually trust someone's touch.

As soon as the sun is up, I bolt from my house, trying to clear the dream from my mind. I take the jungle path I know best, weaving between thick vines and stepping over gnarled roots. The isolation helps clear my head, pushes away memories of that dream. Birds call overhead, their wings casting shadows through the dense canopy.

My fingers brush rough bark as I navigate the narrow trail. Out here, I don't have to think about copper eyes or gentle hands. Don't have to remember how my skin tingles when he's near.

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