Page 53 of Demon Monster's Little Human

His smirk is slow, dark, burning like embers in the dim cavern. “You were staring.”

My pulse slams into my ribs.

“I was not!”

He tilts his head slightly, watching me the way a predator watches a struggling thing caught in its claws. Amused. Infuriating. Inescapable.

“Liar,” he murmurs.

My stomach flips, twisting with something too dangerous, too hot. I need space, air, sanity. But his grip tightens, and I feel every inch of him against me.

It’s too much.

The heat of the water, the heat of him.

The smell of him, dark, smoky, male.

The solid weight of his body beneath my hands, his muscles shifting as he moves, as he pulls me closer instead of letting me go.

I should be fighting harder.

I should want to get away.

But my body betrays me.

My breath hitches, fingers tightening against his chest. He feels—gods, he feels like something carved from stone and heat and raw power.

I think he feels me shaking.

Because his smirk fades and his gaze drops to my mouth.

The world narrows.

It should not.

I should not want this.

But his breath is warm against my cheek, his fingers spread against the small of my back, pressing me against him like he owns me.

I am not moving away.

Neither is he.

The air between us fractures, thick with something unspoken, unwanted, undeniable.

His thumb brushes against my spine, barely a touch, but it sends a tremor down my back. Heat pools low in my belly, sharp and dangerous.

“Dain,” I whisper, but I don’t know if it’s a warning or something worse.

His lips hover too close, his breath curling over my damp skin, my jaw, my throat.

His voice drops, something rough, something raw.

“You don’t want this.”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know if that’s true.

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