Page 35 of Demon Daddy's Secret Twins

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LOXLEY

Istare into Mazan's molten copper eyes, my heart aching at the pain etched across his obsidian features. The faint gold lines beneath his skin pulse with a dim glow, reflecting his turbulent emotions. Three years. Three years of torture at the hands of the xaphan while I cursed his name, believing he'd abandoned me.

My fingers tremble as I reach up to cup his face. His skin burns hot against my palms, and those powerful shoulders that once held me so tenderly now carry the weight of unimaginable suffering.

"I'm so, so sorry." My voice cracks. "All this time, I never stopped to think - I just assumed you chose to leave."

The words taste bitter on my tongue. How many nights had I paced my treehouse, rage and hurt consuming me? How many times had I sworn I'd never let another person close enough to wound me like that again?

Mazan remains still beneath my touch, but his wings shift restlessly behind him, the midnight blue membrane catching what little light filters through the canopy. His horns castshadows across his face, making him look more vulnerable than I've ever seen this powerful demon.

"Every day in that cell," he says, his deep voice rough with emotion, "I thought of you. Of getting back to you." His large hand engulfs mine where it rests against his cheek. "I never meant to hurt you, Lox."

The old pet name splits my heart wide open. I lean forward until our foreheads touch, breathing in his familiar scent of smoke and storm winds. My carefully constructed walls crumble, years of anger and pain dissolving into grief for what we both endured.

"I'm sorry," I whisper again, because what else can I say? How do you apologize for spending years hating someone who suffered so brutally?

His massive hands slide around my waist, and suddenly I'm weightless as he lifts me against his chest. My body remembers this - the safety of being held by someone who could crush mountains but cradles me like I'm precious. I curl into him, breathing in that familiar scent that haunted my dreams for three years.

"I understand." His voice rumbles through his chest where my head rests. Those copper eyes soften as they meet mine. "You've never had reason to trust easily. The timing couldn't have been worse."

My fingers trace one of the golden lines beneath his obsidian skin, watching it pulse brighter at my touch. "I built walls for a reason. When you disappeared..." The words catch in my throat.

"I know." His wings curl forward, cocooning us in darkness. "But I never gave up on finding my way back to you. Not during the worst moments. Not when they..." He stops, jaw clenching.

I press my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath. This close, I can see new scars I don't recognize - thin white lines across his collarbone, a jagged marknear his throat. My chest aches thinking of him enduring that pain while I nursed my bitterness.

"Not a second passed that I didn't want to be back here with you," he continues. "I held onto the memory of you. Your strength. Your fire." His thumb brushes my cheek. "I'm not asking you to forget those three years. I know it must have hurt. Just know that leaving you was never my choice."

I lean into his touch, letting myself sink into the comfort I'd denied myself for so long. His arms tighten, and I feel the slight tremor in his muscles - like he's afraid I'll disappear if he loosens his grip.

I don’t think. I just act. My hands grip the sides of his face, and I pull him down to me, my lips crashing against his. The moment our mouths meet, it’s like the world stops. His lips are hot, demanding, and I can feel the years of longing in the way he kisses me back - deep, desperate, and raw. His hands tighten around my waist, and I’m lifted effortlessly, my legs wrapping around him as he carries me through the jungle paths toward my treehouse.

The air between us crackles with tension, with need. My fingers tangle in his thick, dark navy hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let even an inch of space separate us. His wings shift behind him, the leathery membrane brushing against my legs as he moves, and I can feel the power in every step he takes. The faint gold lines beneath his obsidian skin glow brighter, pulsing with the heat of his magic, his desire.

When we reach my treehouse, he doesn’t hesitate. The door swings open, and he carries me inside, his molten copper eyes never leaving mine. The moment the door shuts behind us, I’m frantic, my hands roaming over his chest, his shoulders, his arms - anywhere I can touch. I need to feel him, to know he’s real, that this isn’t some cruel dream I’ll wake up from.

“Mazan,” I breathe, my voice trembling. His name feels like a prayer on my lips, one I’ve been holding back for years.

He lays me down on the bed, his movements slow but deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands are gentle as they slide under my shirt, lifting it over my head and tossing it aside. My bra goes, too. His touch burns against my skin, and I arch into him, craving more. His lips follow the path of his hands, trailing kisses down my neck, my collarbone, my chest. Each kiss feels like a brand, marking me as his, erasing every doubt, every fear, every moment of pain.

When his mouth closes over my nipple, I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair. His tongue flicks against me, teasing, and I can feel the low rumble of his groan against my skin. “I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “for years.”

His hands slide down my body, pushing my pants down my legs, leaving me bare before him. His eyes rake over me, and I can see the hunger in them, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t hurry. Instead, he takes his time, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of me, as if he’s memorizing me all over again.

When his head dips between my legs, I cry out, my back arching off the bed. His tongue is hot and insistent, and I can feel the tension building inside me, coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open for him, and I can hear the way he groans against me, the sound vibrating through my core.

“You taste incredible,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “I’ve dreamed of this, Lox. Of you.”

The words send a shiver through me, and I can feel myself unraveling, the pleasure crashing over me in waves. My fingers tighten in his hair, and I cry out his name as I come, my body trembling beneath him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, until I’m gasping for air, my chest heaving.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes meet mine, and I can see the raw emotion in them - the years of longing, of pain, of love. He leans down, capturing my lips in another searing kiss, and I can taste myself on his tongue. His hands roam over my body, possessive but gentle, and I know, without a doubt, that he’s here. That he’s mine.

My hands tremble as I reach for the clasps of Mazan’s leathers. Carefully, I remove everything that is standing between us. He watches me, his molten copper eyes burning with an intensity that makes my stomach twist. I fumble with the straps, my fingers clumsy, but he doesn’t rush me. He just stands there, his massive frame towering over me, his wings shifting slightly as if to steady himself.

When the last piece falls to the floor with a heavy thud, I’m left staring at his bare body. His obsidian skin is marked with faint golden lines that pulse faintly, like veins of molten gold beneath the surface. My fingers trace them, feeling the heat of his magic, the power that hums just beneath his skin. His muscles tense under my touch, and I can feel the way his breath hitches, the way his chest rises and falls faster.

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