Page 47 of Daughter of a Monster

She doesn’t let go. I don’t let go. Her mouth is doing dangerous things to my body. I never knew a kiss could elicit this much arousal.

As my hands fall to cup the bare cheeks of her backside, she jumps, wrapping her legs around my waist. I walk us over to the bed and lower her gently, never breaking our kiss. I’m caught between wanting to see her and needing to touch her. She slows the pace of our entanglement, sliding her tongue over my lips and unhooking her legs from around my waist.

It’s torture to unravel myself from her, but the reward is worth it. I stand, looking down at her as she lies on the bed, utterly naked and devastatingly beautiful. She stares at me openly, unashamedly as my eyes fall over her body.

Small dots are scattered over her skin like stars. Some as small as glitter, some larger and more prominent. Most people would call them freckles but on her, they are so much more. There are two on her stomach, beacons pointing to the treasure between her legs. Her breasts are pert and perfect, full and round. Her waist tapers inwards, accentuating the curve of her hips. There’s a scar on her shoulder, small, circular, the color almost silver.

Her scar . . .

My eyes get stuck on it, jolting me out of my lust-induced haze.

It reminds me of who she is.

Whose daughter she is.

Who I am.

I’m caught between my desire to take her, to claim her, and my desire to use her. I fear if I do this, if I allow myself this moment of ecstasy, when the time comes to use her in the way I need to, I won’t be able. I know my limits. I know the man I am.

Backing away from her is torture. My eyes remain fixed on her as I take one step back, then another. A frown of confusion presses between her brows. She lifts, propping herself up on her elbows as I keep walking backward.

“Jericho?” she questions.

Fuck. The torment is almost too much. I close my eyes, steeling myself against her appeal. She has no idea of the real reason she’s here. She doesn’t know what I intend to do to her.

“Jericho?” she questions again.

Turning away before I weaken and succumb, I rip open the door and storm down the passage to the stairs. She scrambles off the bed, her footsteps echoing behind me. But I can’t turn to face her, because if I do, I won’t be able to resist. I’ve already stumbled tonight. I can’t do it again.

Her footsteps quicken as she races down the stairs. I glance behind me. Bad idea. She’s wrapped her bathrobe around her shoulders and nothing else. As she runs after me, the robe flows behind her, exposing her body. In the moonlight that streams through the windows framing the staircase, she looks like a ghost. Pale. Haunting. Fucking beautiful.

“Jericho, stop!” she demands.

My body obeys even though my mind tries to resist. It’s willing to be her slave.

“Stay away.” I raise my hand, as though the barrier will repel her.

“Stay away?” Her eyes flash angrily. “You’re the one who came into my room.” She’s standing on the steps above me, her eyes lining up with mine. Her robe is still loose and free, falling like curtains to display her perfect body.

A groan tears from me when she takes a step closer. All I need to do is reach out and she would be in my arms again. I could kiss her, taste her, fuck her.

It only takes a fraction of a moment. That’s all. I’m weak. I reach for her, pulling her close as I consume her again, kissing and tugging and biting her lips. She jumps, lifting her legs to wrap around me. She fits me so perfectly. We meld together, hands exploring feverishly, moans and pants and heavy breaths falling from us as our mouths battle for domination. I crush her against the wall, a gush of air expelling from her lungs at the force of my desire. I kiss the tender flesh of the curve of her neck. She tilts her head back, allowing me more access and exposing the pillar of her throat. Her hands make their way under the material of my shirt, tugging at it, begging for it to be removed.

“No.” My voice is husky and raw with need. I stop kissing her, pressing my forehead to hers instead. She’s looking at me with a storm of emotion clouding her eyes. They are blue and they are green and they are gray. They are the color of the ocean on a storm-filled day.

She wants me and it’s been such a long time since I’ve had a woman in my arms. And never a woman like this. Never a woman who sets my pulse ablaze, who infuriates and excites me, who is both a challenge and a mystery. One so young, but with a history of pain behind her eyes. She cups my cheeks with her hands, her legs still wrapped around my waist, her eyes boring into mine.

“What do you want?” Her voice is breathless with arousal.

The answer to her question is simple.

Her.

I want her.

But I can’t have her.

I lower her back to the ground, and she once again looks at me in confusion as I turn away.

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