Page 54 of Demon Monster's Little Human

His hand slides higher, fingers brushing along my ribs, exploring, learning, tracing the edge of my collarbone, the damp strands of hair clinging to my throat.

Every touch burns.

Every inch of me is too aware.

I should tell him to stop.

His lips crash against mine.

The world shatters.

The heat consumes.

I don’t think. I can’t think.

His mouth is hard, demanding, devouring, and I am drowning in him.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating through me as his hand slides into my hair, tugging, tilting my head back, opening me further to him.

I shouldn’t let him.

But I do.

I let him take. Let him steal the air that I breathe.

My hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging into skin and scars, my body arching toward his, caught in the storm of him, the storm of us.

I want more. Gods, I want more.

I press closer, pressing against the heat of him, curious, reckless, starving.

He lets me.

He lets me explore, lets me feel, lets me push past his restraint.

His tongue teases, demanding, conquering.

His fingers tighten in my hair, his body pressing me deeper against him, deeper into this thing neither of us can name.

It’s too much, too little, not enough.

He stops.

Rips himself away like he’s been burned.

I gasp, cold without him, furious, aching.

He stares at me, breathing ragged, eyes wild.

I don’t understand.

What just happened?

Why did he stop?

His fingers flex, as if he is restraining himself, forcing something back.

A voice low, tight, dangerous?—

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