Page 45 of Daughter of a Monster

“I wouldn’t have minded reading her a story,” I finally say, tearing my gaze away and dropping it to the floor.

“But then you wouldn’t be here with me.”

My heart is drumming so loudly I’m sure he must be able to hear it. I was supposed to be the one tempting him, teasing him, and yet somehow I’m the one who feels like the prey.

When he doesn’t say anything more, I risk a glance up. He’s closer than he was before, close enough that if he reached out he could touch me. Thoughts of my flashes run through my mind. It’s all too much. Being here with him, knowing the things I’ve imagined him doing to me.

I’m on my knees, mouth open as he pushes inside. He tastes of musk and salt. He’s hard as steel.

Holy fuck.

I try to shake the image from my mind.

“Well,” I smile hesitantly, “I suppose I’d better head to bed.” But I don’t move. I’m trapped merely by his proximity.

“Why do you insist on toying with me, Miss Berkley?” his voice, although deep, is just a whisper. It does something to me that makes my body weak.

“I—I don’t.” I swallow. “I mean, I’m not.”

“Don’t do that,” he growls. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re very aware of what you’re doing. You should know better than to bait a beast.”

I look back up then, matching his glare. “And is that what you are? A beast? A wild animal unable to control himself, acting off instinct alone?” Taking a step forward, I lift my head to look up at him.

Our lips are only inches apart. The heat of his body bleeds into mine. His eyes dance over my face, searching, calculating. They burn darkly and come to rest on my lips. His breathing hitches just the slightest amount.

All he needs to do is take a step forward and we would be pressed together. He needs to just move his mouth a fraction and it would be on mine. But he doesn’t. He holds himself away even though the temptation is there in his eyes.

“See?” I say, taking a step back. “You’re no beast. You’re merely a man.”

“And you assume that’s better?” His eyes dart between mine. “You’re playing with fire, Miss Berkley.” He steps forward. There’s something cold and menacing in his approach. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything.” I pull my lip between my teeth and his eyes trace the movement as I release it. “What is it that you want from me?” I glance up at him.

“From you?” he laughs. “There are many things I want from you, but here, now…” He pauses for a while and the mounting tension between us burns.

I think he’s going to kiss me. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, the one that will reveal whether it’s possible he works for my father. He won’t kiss me if he does. But instead of pushing closer, something inside him changes, it hardens and he takes a step back.

“I want you to dance.”

His request is both a relief and a disappointment but my answer falls out of my mouth like a breath, natural, without thought. “Yes.”

He takes a step back, and then another, his head bowing as though to give me the floor. He sits on one of the chairs, elbows resting on his knee, leaning forward in anticipation. Pulling out his phone, he scrolls until he finds a song he likes, and then he presses play.

An electric guitar intro begins to play through speakers I wasn’t even aware existed. Closing my eyes I inhale, letting all the tension and anxiety leave me and the music soak into my soul.

My body starts to pulse to the magnetic beat. I let it fill me, let it consume me until I move on instinct alone, unaware of the choreography, just letting my body move freely. Once I’m there, once I’m completely lost to the music, only then do I open my eyes to look at him.

He’s watching me intently, his gaze sliding over my body as it twists and turns, forming shapes, exposing flesh. He leans forward when I lean back, my arms dictating the arc of my body, my top rising to expose the underside of my breasts. All technique, all mechanics of dance flee my brain and instead I simply move, feeling alive, driven by his gaze.

When I’m done, I drop to the floor, every ounce of strength drained. And then I look up, searching for approval in his eyes. Striding over, he tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him. He towers over me. There’s desire in his gaze. I can see it. I can feel it. His dark eyes bore into mine as though I’m something to be consumed, something he wants.

Bending down he whispers against my ear. “You are fucking exquisite.” His breath warms my skin. “And you’re right. I am no animal, no beast. When I want something, when I take something, it’s because I’ve chosen to.”

He presses his lips to my forehead and inhales. Every inch of me screams for him to do more. To touch me, kiss me, claim me. But then he walks away, leaving me alone and abandoned on the floor.

I’ve never experienced anything so intense. I felt stripped bare. On display. His gaze was fire on my skin. Flames licked and burned as I ripped myself open. But still he didn’t touch me. Didn’t do anything to quench the rising storm of desire.

I feel foolish, like a little girl prancing around, begging for attention.

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