Page 11 of Demon Daddy’s Secret Twins (Demon Daddies #2)

11

LOXLEY

H eat blazes across my skin as massive hands slide up my ribs. My breath catches at the gentleness - so different from what I've known before. Copper-red eyes meet mine, molten and intense. His obsidian skin glows with those ethereal gold lines as he towers over me, wings spread wide like a dark canopy.

"Let me take care of you," Mazan rumbles, voice deep as thunder.

My heart pounds as his lips brush my neck, careful despite his size. His horns graze my cheek when he moves lower, trailing kisses down my collarbone. I arch into his touch, gasping as?—

I jolt awake, sheets twisted around my legs and sweat beading on my skin. Sunlight filters through the leaves outside my treehouse window, painting patterns across my bed. My hands clench in the fabric as I try to steady my racing pulse.

"Fuck." I press my palms against my eyes until spots dance in my vision. This is the third night in a row I've dreamed of him. Of those huge, careful hands. Of gentle touches I've never known.

The familiar ache of want mixes with fear in my chest. I've spent years building walls around myself, learning that desire only leads to pain. But Mazan... he moves with such measured grace despite his warrior's build. Speaks so softly despite his intimidating presence.

My fingers trace the scar along my ribs - a reminder of why I can't let anyone close. Why I shouldn't even imagine what pleasure might feel like. The dark elves taught me that lesson well.

But these dreams won't stop. Won't let me forget how my body responds when Mazan's near, how something deep inside recognizes his patience as different from the cruelty I've known.

I throw off the covers and pace my small bedroom. The wooden floors creak beneath my feet as I try to shake off the lingering sensation of phantom touches. Of lips that have never actually traced my skin.

"Get it together," I mutter, running fingers through my tangled braids. "He's a demon. This is insane."

But my traitor mind keeps replaying the dream, wondering what it would feel like to actually trust someone's touch.

As soon as the sun is up, I bolt from my house, trying to clear the dream from my mind. I take the jungle path I know best, weaving between thick vines and stepping over gnarled roots. The isolation helps clear my head, pushes away memories of that dream. Birds call overhead, their wings casting shadows through the dense canopy.

My fingers brush rough bark as I navigate the narrow trail. Out here, I don't have to think about copper eyes or gentle hands. Don't have to remember how my skin tingles when he's near.

The path winds higher, humidity pressing against my skin. I tie back loose strands of hair that have escaped my braids, focusing on the physical sensations of walking. The burn in my legs. The sweat rolling down my neck.

But as I round the bend toward the waterfall, my steps falter. Mazan sits on a fallen log, massive wings folded against his back. Those gold lines shimmer across his obsidian skin as he peels some kind of purple fruit.

My heart slams against my ribs. I should turn back. Should run after my dream. I’m slowly losing my grasp on any kind of control when it comes to him. But his presence fills the clearing, magnetic and impossible to ignore.

. His huge hands work with surprising delicacy as he splits the fruit in half. When he finally meets my gaze, those copper eyes are warm, patient.

Mazan extends one half toward me, juice staining his fingers. "Join me?"

Two simple words, spoken in that deep rumble that makes my spine tingle. No pressure. No demands. Just an offer I can refuse.

I don’t even ask what he’s doing here because deep down, I’m happy to see him. I’m still adjusting to what that’s like.

I hesitate, feet rooted to the ground as water crashes behind him. Everything in me screams to flee, to protect myself. But something deeper, something I thought long dead, wants to stay.

My legs carry me forward before I can think better of it. I settle on the far end of the log, maintaining careful distance as I accept the fruit.

The fruit's sticky sweetness coats my fingers as I take it from him, careful not to let our hands brush. My pulse thunders in my ears as I settle on the log, keeping space between us when I want to erase it like I did the other day. But the dream plagues me and I force myself not to get too close. The bark is rough against my thighs through the thin fabric of my pants.

Mazan doesn't push closer or try to fill the silence. He simply exists beside me, his presence both terrifying and oddly comforting. The waterfall's constant rush mingles with birdsong overhead.

I steal glances at him between bites. Those gold lines shifting across his midnight skin catch the dappled sunlight. His wings rest loosely against his broad back, relaxed in a way that makes my own shoulders want to ease.

"The fruit is from Galmoleth," he says, voice quiet beneath the water's roar. "We grow them in the upper gardens."

I nod, not trusting my voice. The purple flesh melts on my tongue, unlike anything that grows on Aurelius. Sweet but with an edge of spice that lingers.

He shifts, leaning back against a massive tree trunk behind us. The movement brings him inches closer. Every nerve in my body screams to bolt, but another part of me - a part I thought long dead - wants to close that final gap. To feel his warmth. To know if his skin is as smooth as it looks where those golden lines dance. If my dreams could come to life.

My fingers trace the sticky juice trail down my wrist, focusing on the sensation to ground myself. "Thank you," I manage. "For sharing it."

His copper eyes find mine, gentle despite their intensity. "Always."

That single word shouldn't make my heart stutter. Shouldn't make me want to believe in permanence again. But as the jungle whispers around us and his steady presence remains, unwavering and patient, I find myself leaning back against the same tree. Not touching, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from his massive frame.

The sticky sweetness of the fruit lingers on my tongue as I study his profile. Mazan's features are sharp, regal - a warrior's face softened by those patient eyes. His navy hair falls in wild waves, brushing the base of those curved black horns. Everything about him radiates power, from his towering height to the way his muscles shift beneath obsidian skin.

My fingers tremble as I remember how those same muscles felt in my dream, pressing me into silk sheets. Heat floods my cheeks.

He turns slightly, catching my gaze. The copper of his eyes seems to glow in the dappled sunlight, filled with an intensity that makes my breath catch. No cruelty lurks there, no demand or hunger. Just that steady patience that terrifies me more than any show of force.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I track the graceful way he moves, adjusting his massive wings. They're like living shadows, powerful enough to carry his huge frame yet folded with such careful precision. I wonder if they're as soft as they looked in my dream, when they created a private world just for us...

Terror claws up my throat. I shouldn't notice these things. Shouldn't imagine his hands, so huge they could crush me, moving with impossible gentleness. Shouldn't wonder if his lips would be as careful as they were in my dreams.

"I should go," I whisper, even as every cell in my body screams to stay. To close that careful distance he maintains.

My legs won't move. I'm caught between desperate want and bone-deep fear, drowning in the warmth of his presence. Those gold lines shimmer across his skin like starlight, hypnotic in their dance. He's beautiful in a way that steals my breath - and that realization sends fresh panic through my veins.

I’ve never wanted someone. I learned so long enough to never let my guard down, never let attraction or sweet words or the way a man can draw you in to use it against you trick me again. I can’t let myself feel any of this for Mazan.

But gods help me, I want to. The thought terrifies me more than any nightmare from my past.